Skip to main content

Sacked!

Ah Cinco de Mayo.  Viva la Mexico!  Thinking of that yesterday reminded me of the U2 song Vertigo, which was featured in the planetarium show I saw Friday night with my neighbor, Kathy.  I haven't heard that song in awhile.  There was Bono, shouting, "Uno, dos, tres, catorce!"  Hmmmm... All I can say is, let that be a lesson to you kids out there.  Stay in school!  If you drop out, you two (U2?) could become a bajillionaire rock star who cannot count to four in Spanish.  One, two, three fourteen?  Hello, hello....  Really, could nobody tell the guy?  Is he that cool?

Speaking of the planetarium show, I'm proud to say I didn't get dizzy or queasy 'til the third to last song.  Maybe it was Vertigo.  I don't remember.  I just know it took about an hour after I got home for the fuzziness in my head to clear.  

Anyway, back to Cinco de Mayo.  It will be a memorable day for me.  I was laid off.  Got an official letter telling me how great I am and how it's purely a financial matter and how much everyone enjoys working with me and on and on.  I know, I was laid in December and worked more after receiving my official severance letter than before.  Somehow, I think this one might be for real.  My last day will be May 14.  The owner of the winery has said he will not put any more money from his own pocket into the business and since we are losing money daily, well let's just say things aren't looking up right now.  Management (and I use that term loosely) is compelled to keep the new girl, since she's free (the state pays her wages) and of course all the managers are still working full time with no concessions.  We've talked about reducing our hours of operation and being closed one day a week, but nobody is willing to make a decision like that to save money and keep more people employed, because we have brochures printed that say we're open all day every day so damn it, we must be open.  It would apparently be too arduous to make a sign for the front gate posting our new, abbreviated recession hours, so there you go.  Rumor has it we are down $5000/month from where we need to be to break even.  Since I only make about $400 a month, I'm guessing it won't be long before other heads roll, heads that can't afford to.  Of course, the managers left behind will have the fun of picking up the slack when there's nobody left in the tasting room to pour tastings for tour groups that never buy anything.  Oh, and we can't tell the tour groups to stop coming or charge them a per-van fee for their free tastings because those people just might go home and order case loads of wine to be shipped to their addresses on the mainland.  Of course, e-com as we call it is way, way down, so there's no evidence of that happening, but hey, it could happen, so let's just keep pouring those free tastings just in case. 

My friends Kathie and Janet and I celebrated both my layoff and the day Mexico's ragtag army trounced the French by drinking Margaritas.  That was fun!  

So now I have no excuses not to get into better shape and write buckets of deep, reflective, riveting fiction.  No excuses, that is, except that I'm lazy and have no talent.  So, onward!  Uno, dos, tres, catorce!


Comments

Unknown said…
My favorite part is when you said you got laid in December and then worked more. apparently there is a corolation between the two. I guess when your ready to go back to work, you'll know what you need to do!:)
Toni said…
Hey, we all need a little spending money, and a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. But seriously, those typos can be a bitch. Some are obviously worse than others.

Popular posts from this blog

Born and bred

The creature stared at me, wide-eyed through the florescent glare, Saran Wrap stretched tight across its broad back. Alone in the seafood cooler, he was the only one of his kind, there among the farmed, color-added Atlantic salmon and mud-flavored tilapia, perched on a blue foam tray, legs tucked 'round him like a comfy kitten. He didn't blink. He was dead, red, cooked and chilled, ready to eat. Such a find is rare in the City Market fish department in Gunnison, Colorado. What if nobody takes him home? I thought. This beautiful animal will have died needlessly, ripped from his home, family and friends (Dory, Nemo, Crush and Gill?) only to be tossed in the trash when his expiration date came and went. I lifted him for closer inspection, checked that date, felt the heft of him, scanned his surface for cracks and blemishes. The creature was perfect. I lowered him back into the cooler, nodded farewell, turned to walk away, took one step, and stopped. Shoppers strolled past, stud

General goofiness

I was driving home from an abbreviated shift at work last night when I turned on the radio and heard Bob Dylan singing Everybody Must Get Stoned .  I was reminded of a placard I once saw at a Dairy Queen in Colorado that read, Everybody Must Get Coned .  So it occurred to me, there navigating through the misty darkness, that with a slight modification, this could be a great slogan for a number if different businesses.  Here's my list. Telecommunications company: Everybody must get phoned . Cutlery shop and knife sharpening services: Everybody must get honed . Credit Union: Everybody must get loaned . Brothel: Everybody must get moaned. Winery: Everybody must get Rhoned . Fitness Center: Everybody must get toned . Local planning commission: Everybody must get zoned . Bio-research company: Everybody must get cloned. Doggy daycare: Everybody must get boned. Manufacturer of modern, unmanned spy planes: Everybody must get droned . Reader of corny mottoes and slogans listed on a chees

Re-writing Twain: Adendum

The best thing about rants, at least among the civilized, is that someone smart always makes a valid point to the contrary. My fellow University of Alaska Anchorage classmate, Wendy, directed me to this column, written recently for the New York Times by a writer I admire, Lorrie Moore . She's on both sides of editing Twain issue, and for good reason, posing the notion that maybe Mark Twain was never intended to be children's literature and that that is the problem. Give it a read, then tell me what you think, if you're so inclined. It was Flannery O'Connor who said, "The fact is that anybody who has survived his childhood has enough information to last him the rest of his days."  No matter how idyllic one's childhood, no matter how hard grown ups try to protect their young charges, trauma happens, sometimes the likes of which no child should endure. Stories that reflect this are often the fodder for great literature, stories not necessarily suitable for y