I Got Fired Today (My Balls & My Word)

I GOT FIRED TODAY. Well, not today but six years ago on this date. I was a loyal and dedicated employee, so needless to say I was caught completely off guard. For four years I carried the title of "The Hardest Working Man At The..." so news of my dismissal came as a surprise to everyone, even the man delivering the message.

"There are a dozen people I would let go before you,” said the company’s COO. “You're one of our best workers, but this is came from above and..." (His words kinda trailed off as I tried to grasp the reality of what was being told to me).

The reason for my dismissal is a long drawn out yarn filled with finger-pointing, but long story short, I was fired for emailing Marcus, a friend who happened to work at a publication that was owned by the same publisher of a competing magazine. My transmissions were innocent enough—party invites, jokes, etc.—but there was some memo about "communicating with other publications" that was sent out a few weeks prior and I was to be made an example of. Bullshit, I know.

The executive who gave me the bad news was gracious enough to walk me back to my desk himself rather than have security do it. I could tell from his words and body language that he was just as upset as I was. As I stepped into my office to gather some things, I looked around and had no idea where to begin. At the time this job was my fuckin’ life. I was there anywhere from 8 to 12 hours a day, and lost my girlfriend because of it. Now, in a flash, it was all taken away from me—for some bullshit no less.

I sunk deeper down into my chair trying to figure out what I should take and what I should leave. Then the editorial assistant knocked on the door and said there was a quick meeting in the editor-in-chief's office. I knew it was about me and didn't wanna be flooded with the questions, so I grabbed both of my rolodexes, five copies of the new issue and tossed them in a white Chinese food bag I grabbed from a drawer and unceremoniously left the building.

Once outside, I stood there not sure where exactly I was going. I called my best friend/co-worker Dwayne who had actually left early that day. The managing editor had asked for him moments before they called me into the COO's office and I knew he used to email Marcus just as much as me, so if I had gotten fired I figured he did too. Dwayne didn't answer, so I left a brief message explaining what happened and stressing the point that I was not joking. I think I called my mother and Jessica, the girl I was seeing at the time next, but neither answered so I called Marcus and told him what had happened.

"Get the fuck outta here," Marcus responded.

“Nah, son, I'm serious. I just got fired.”

"But you're the hardest working man at the.... What did they fire you for?”

“Emailing you.”

"Yeah, right. You're kidding."

“Son, I'm standing here in Union Square with my fuckin’ Rolodexes and some magazines in a damn Chinese food bag. I'm dead ass. I got fired.”

"What you gonna do?"

“Fuck if I know.”

"Come on, man. You gotta be kidding. Just come through here then?"

“Aiight, I'm on my way.”

I solemnly trudged the 11 blocks to Marcus's job. When I got there, I placed both my rolodexes on his desk and said, “Do you believe me now?” Marcus’s eyes opened wide in amazement. His co-workers overheard the conversation and expressed their concern but it was what it was. I was numb until my cell rang. I looked at the caller ID and saw it was Dwayne finally returning my call. I told him what happened and after swearing on my unborn seeds that I was telling the truth, he finally believed me and hung up.

The plan was we’d meet up in about an hour in BK and talk about it then. Marcus and I broke out and headed towards our normal hangout spot, Brooklyn Moon. While en route, I drafted a mass email announcing my dismissal from my job on my Skytel 2-way pager (remember those?) and hit send once we got above ground. During dinner the replies began to flood my pager as people expressed their concern and I kept hearing the same question: "What are you gonna do?" Fuck if I know.

Finding solace in a bottle seemed to be our best bet. So Marcus, Dwayne and I got bent on Henny and coke, or whatever it is we were drinking, and headed to some party. Life is what you make it. Muthafuckas wanted to give us lemons, we wasn't gonna make lemonade we were gonna make lemon wedges to chase our tequila shots. We may have gotten fired, but it was a celebration, bitches.

I stumbled home at some point during the night, and left my alarm set for work out of habit. I had no reason to wake up early, but I still rose at my normal time. I got dressed and headed back to the office to gather the rest of my things. As I walked the same path to the office that I made every day for the past four years, my feet felt heavy. This route was no longer mine. It felt uncomfortable like someone else had sprinkled dog shit all over the path.

I arrived at the front desk as if a stranger. Rather than just walking right in and to the back like I normally did, I asked the receptionist to see the HR manager. I was told to sit in the waiting area and, well, wait. I sat there staring at the company logo and thought back about my first interview here and how I sat in this exact same spot for an hour-and-a-half to meet with my then-future boss. Memories were filling my mind and that same damn question: What are you gonna do? Fuck if I know.

As I sat there, more and more co-workers started coming in. At first, they didn't recognize me sitting on the couch. I seemed just like a normal visitor waiting for access. Shit, in that instance, I was. Then came the pounds, the hugs, and that same question: What are you gonna do? Fuck if I know.

One co-worker turned to two and two turned to several. I could see pain in their eyes. Heard concern in their voices. The emotion level in the reception area was on high. At least one girl cried and I know I had to hold back a tear or two myself. It was just a surreal and emotional experience. I eventually banished them to their desks so I could gather my composure. (Must have been dust in my eyes or something, sniff, sniff).

Once I was finally granted access to my office, I spent the next couple hours packing my belongings. I had four years worth of crap to sort through and I had to separate the necessary from the trash. I gave certain nick knacks and promotional items to some of the cool people as keepsakes to remember me by. When my duffle bag was full, I cranked the volume on my stereo, which had been playing Eminem’s "Stan" maxi single on repeat the whole time, and locked the door behind me with the record still blaring out the speakers. Key tucked firmly in my pocket, I heard Em's voice: "You ruined it now/We could've been together, think about." (Dramatic, yes, I know).

The celebratory energy from the night before carried over to the that night as well. Dwayne and I had tickets to a Common show at SOB's and wasn't gonna let a little thing like being fired stop us from going. So we went, got bent and club hopped till the sun came up. During the course of the night I bumped into one of my writers and of course came the same question: "What are you gonna do?" Fuck if I know.

In theory, my firing couldn't have come at a worse time. It was two weeks before Christmas and my 26th birthday. My first reaction, well, once I sobered up, was to STOP EVERYTHING. Yeah, as part of my severance package I got a month's extra pay, an end of year bonus and my last batch of expenses, but how long was that gonna last? I had just bought my first co-op the year before, how the hell was I gonna pay my mortgage and other bills? No one hires around the holidays, so I was like, Fuck that, Christmas is cancelled.

The thing is, I have younger siblings. One brother was 16, my sister was 13, and the youngest was 10 at the time. I couldn't do that to them. I couldn't be their Big Brother Scrooge. Of course, I didn't realize this until the last minute and I found myself shopping for their presents on Christmas Eve. The older siblings and my mom were a breeze to get gifts for; it was my youngest brother that was the problem. He wanted a specific GameBoy title and I couldn't find it anywhere.

After trudging through my normal shopping grounds downtown, I headed to the big Toys R Us in Times Square. If anybody had the game, they had to have it. I'm sure they did, but for some reason the bastards closed early on Christmas Eve (go figure) and I was shit outta luck. Damn, out of everyone, my youngest brother was the one that wouldn't understand not getting a gift for Christmas.

On a whim, I cut into a random electronic store that was still opened and low and behold, tucked in the corner of the top shelf, laying on its side and practically hidden, was the final copy of the very game he wanted. Thankfully, my 20/20 peepers peeped it because the cashier completely missed it. So Christmas was saved and Big Brother was the hero once again...

Looking back at it now, despite the shitty timing, getting fired was actually a blessing in disguise. I was tired of my job, but too addicted to my paychecks to leave. I was too comfortable and afraid to try something new. My firing was a wakeup call. It put a battery in my back. Now trying something new wasn't just some distant possibility it was a necessity. The holidays also forced me to sit still for two weeks and spend time with my family, get a damn Internet connection in my crib (can you believe I didn't have online access at home until 2003?), and start the New Year with a bang.

Luckily, finding freelance work as a writer is a little bit easier then other fields so I was able to make a living pitching stories, reconnecting with former colleagues and getting on my grind. After about three months, my freelance work was so steady that I stopped applying for unemployment checks. I was doing what I wanted to do in the first place: write. See, although I was an editor for four years at my old job, my day-to-day duties kept me from writing as often as I would have liked to. In fact, during that entire span of time I had only written one feature story. Now, as a full-time freelancer, I could indulge in my own words and write for a living, write for life, and get paid for it.

I was so happy doing writing that I wasn't even looking for another gig. I was living off my words. I was writing features, traveling out of town on assignment every few weeks, actually found time to take two international vacations a year for the next three years, and all my bills were paid on time with no real headaches (Well, 2005 was a bit tight). My firing also led me to meet up with a crew of individuals that were starting their own mag and needed someone to help steer that ship as Editor-In-Chief, an opportunity I’d always dreamt of but never would have considered had I not been fired.

So ultimately getting fired was not the end for me, but a new beginning. The whole experience taught me the value of my balls and my words. ’Cause that's what got me through the past six years and to the point I'm at now. It also taught me that a job isn't everything, and sometimes there's good in even the worst news. Maybe I should have quit my job, instead of getting fired for some bullshit, but if someone asked me if I saw myself quitting, starting my own magazine, traveling the world, eventually getting a better job, and launching a blog of my own, my answer probably would have been, Fuck if I know...

Dedicated to anyone that’s ever been fired or lives in fear of losing their job. Can anyone out there relate? Have a crazy "got fired" story you'd like to share?

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