Batshit Crazy

They dragged me into an office

and said “We know that you had

a large flat blade knife here

yesterday. One of those Bowie

knives. Not allowed, dangerous,

you’re going to have to resign.”

I said, “I didn’t have any such knife

here at all.” My “suit” manager

leaned across the table and

shouted “What did you get in that

FedEx package then yesterday,

wise guy?” I replied that I never

received any package as I had left

for home at 10 that morning feeling

sick and that this could be verified

by Pete down in shipping.

That didn’t go over too well the suits.

New to the company in a takeover.

Didn’t like or understand “the culture.”

Thought we looked like thugs or bums

in shorts, Docs, blue hair or shaved or

WHO CARES – it’s fucking California!

Anything goes. It’s Can You Do The

Job – not what color is your fucking

tie and put on some professional shoes.

When we talked on the phone (not

Invited back in to work) the next day,

they conveniently changed the time

I allegedly had that “butcher” knife

at work to now 45 days ago. Somehow

someone had remembered I had

a knife just like that at work 45 days

ago and had just now come forward

to complain? C’mon, give me a fucking

break. I’m not a rookie, wasn’t

born yesterday. Knew railroading

when I saw it. But no knife, no

foul, right? Well, I knew what

was happening. They’d already

made up their minds and tried to

smooth their lies over with a

generous severance package,

leaving me sitting there at home

with my damn knife collection,

thirsty for some of that cheap

rotgut I’d stowed by the bed

for just such eventualities.