That time I got fired.

I got fired.

O told me to never refer to the situation in those terms (using the word "fired"), but I was.

I was just sitting in my office, reading the real estate news like I did every morning, and O's dad (L) came in and said that since O was leaving the company, and he was supposed to train me and wouldn't be around, that I should start looking for another job. That I hadn't done anything wrong, but without this training I probably wasn't able to contribute to the company.

Awesome.

Hey L, remember that time I gave up a really competitive graduate school program to move to New York City and work for you?

Or that time I designed logos for your properties so that you wouldn't have to pay graphic designers a couple thousand dollars to do it?

Or that time I got your building in the NY Post with a phone call?

Or that time I memorized the market research for all of your comparable buildings on the Upper East Side so that you wouldn't have to know what you were talking about?

Or that time I looked up every single floor plan for units in those comparable buildings so that we could compare them to our intended floor plans?

Or that time I put up with your broker sexually harassing me at work, almost apologizing, and then saying that I could put him in his place by spanking him, because he likes things like that?

Etc.

But of course L, you don't know any of those things because you never bothered to figure out what I did. Or you know, my last name.

He said I could keep the apartment until the end of the month, and that I would be paid through the end of the month. I could leave whenever, I didn't need to come in to finish my projects- I didn't even need to stay for the rest of the day.

I told Jamee first. She was the first friend I made here, I tell her everything. And being Jamee, she was the best about it, because that's just how she is. If I needed another job (which I did), she'd do whatever she could to help me find one. If I needed another apartment (which I also did), we'd find one. She even let me use her laptop the next few days while mine was being fixed to start my job hunt.

Mark interrupted.

After putting on his nice personality, our lawyer (previously referred to as "the other Mark") came into my office and told me that he wasn't going to watch me pack up because he didn't think I'd steal anything confidential (so sweet of him), that he had no idea that was going to happen (meaning me being fired, which was most likely a lie), and that I could use him as a reference when I was looking for a new job (because as I reporter, I definitely need a good lawyer as a reference. Maybe?). He said he'd have to send me something to sign and needed my e-mail address.

I almost cried, but since I'm stubborn it only got to that point where my chin started shaking (more of a muscle wobble, really) because I trying so hard not to cry. It's a good look for me.

Hm. But what to do with my $5,000 computer, fully outfitted with Adobe CS5 and Final Cut Pro? Did O pay for it, or did the company? I left it in the office, as I wasn't sure. I did take the Apple gift card I bought it with though, assuming that I would see O later and give it back to him. If it was in fact the company's, he could deal with it.

I called Alicyn to tell her. She came downstairs and shut the door to my office.

I packed up my stuff, organized the files they needed, and called O. Naturally, he didn't answer. I e-mailed him to say that his dad had fired me and that I wasn't sure what to do with the Apple gift card. Because I'd just lost my job, was about to lose my housing, and was worried about gift card ownership.

The worst was when I told Joy. She's crazy, has strange mood swings and told me that my outfits were "interesting." But she also taught me how to use the copy machine, put more paper in the printer and looked in my throat when I was sick. And however crazy she was, I was going to miss her Macy's-coupon-collecting, general-stuff-hoarding, white-purse-cleaning, overly-mothering self. I was going to miss her a lot. Because when you move somewhere where you don't have a family, or friends, or anyone, that one person who cares about you enough to look at your disgusting, spotted case of strep throat and then yell at you to go to the doctor means a lot. They mean a lot more than the person who pays for everything.

So I told her. She got up and hugged me. I burst into tears and knew I'd have to leave soon.

I got lunch with O a few days later. He said he was working on getting the company to pay me for more than a month, and that I now had six months in the apartment. He said that this entire thing was his fault. He said that I should go on vacation while I had the time off, that I should try new things while I figured out what I wanted to do with my life.

I've known what I wanted to do with my life since I wrote my first not-so-hard-hitting news story on sanitary conditions in my high school's bathrooms when I was 15. I don't know how to be anything other than a journalist. I had three jobs while I was a full-time college student- I am not okay with taking vacations while unemployed. Normal people aren't. But O's not normal, he's rich, and so he doesn't understand.

I have an interview Wednesday for a job that barely pays, but that I might actually like.