How lame is this? I am blogging into a Word document so I can copy and paste the text when I am live tomorrow, as our apartment is currently sans an internet connection (perhaps this is as lame as using the word lame). However, it’s been far too long since I last sat down to type it out, and, quite frankly, I miss LadyLaidOff.
Now, a little countdown of key events in my life of late. Since coming back to work I have:
- Been contacted by five (yes, count ‘em) recruiters for potential job opportunities
- Made four drop-offs to the White Elephant (the resale shop benefiting Children’s
- Been accepted to three grad programs
- Lived in two apartments (it wasn’t eviction, per say, but it was a battle)
- Had one massive, debilitating migraine (and several just “pretty bad” tributaries)
Here’s a good story for you.
About a week into my new stint at the old company, I ran into someone who was pretty directly involved in my lay off. They walked into the break room to wash out their mug (sustainability, people!) while I was making popcorn in the microwave. These individual actions committed us to sharing a mildly awkward space for at least two minutes.
They start by asking “So, are you glad to be back?” I respond with my standard (trite, but truthful) “Oh, yes. It’s great. It’s great to be working again, have some new challenges.” From there, the conversasion goes a little something like this:
Person: “It’s funny how things have a way of working out, it’s great we could bring you back.”
Me: “I know, good connections, good people.”
Person: “So, what did you do with your time off?”
Me: In my head…Oh, yes, isn’t it nice how we can call it time off now?...Out loud “I…”
Person: “Were you even looking?”
Now, at this point, if, all at the same time, the record could scratch, the crickets could chirp, the room could fall silent and the waiter could drop the drinks, clichés that scream “STUNNED/STUMPED/STUPIFIED” would not be enough to describe the my incredulous befuddlement.
Me: (After a loooong pause) “Yes. Very much so.”
Person: “Ah, so it’s as bad out there as they say.”
Me: “Yes. Very much so.”
Person: “Well, then it’s great you could come back!”
Me: “Yes. Very much so.”
At this point, they may have realized I was acting as if Voldemort himself had just put a stunning and repeating curse on me, or perhaps the beep of the microwave was their excuse to leave.
Person: “Well, good luck! Great to have you back.”
Me: “Thanks.”
Truly, this was the most insulted I have felt in recent memory. After unlocking my jaw (no easy task – I have TMJ – if you don’t know what it is, look it up and be thankful) and taking my eyes down from saucer-size, I grabbed my popcorn and headed back to my cube.
With relative certainly, I believe this person didn’t mean to convey the message I received. I don’t think they pictured me sitting on the couch (imprinted with my ass, no less), covered in orange Cheeto dust, wearing holey XXL sweatpants and four-day dirty hair waiting for the phone call from Old Company asking me to come back. However, to ask if I had even looked? Child, you don’ gon’ crazy.
