Except, from the instant the elevator stops on my floor, I know something’s off. It’s weirdly quiet inside Purry Furniture & More’s downtown headquarters, and I’m half expecting to see the cutesy black cats on the posters come leaping out after me with their claws drawn.
I also spot Vanessa, my boss, as soon as the steel doors pull apart. She stands at the front desk and smiles.
Not a nice one, exactly. More like a wooden smile that says, oh, hey, I’m trying to pretend I have it all together, but I’m actually juggling atomic bombs, and I’m about to drop one in your lap.
What now? Is it my timing?
I step out, brandishing my heel.
“Vanessa, so sorry I’m late. My alarms were off and I had a little mishap with a hungry elevator, so...” Before I can even get my whole sob story out, she stops me with a raised hand, her fingers splayed apart.
“No big, Sabrina. Can you come into my office for a sec? I need to talk to you.”
Odd.
So is her ominously formal use of my name. Why didn’t she just call me Brina like always? Like everyone always has, since the dawn of time.
As I follow her, limping on my broken heel, I swallow a cold, bitter rock in my throat.
Friday the Thirteenth.
My boss wants to “talk.”
How screwed am I?
She wheels herself behind her massive glass desk with another awkward semi-smile and tents her fingers in front of her.
“Well. Sabrina, there’s no easy way to say this and you’re too good for me to sugarcoat it, so here goes. You’ve been a fabulously talented, hardworking member of our Purry creative team. We absolutely love your designs; however...I’m afraid we’re facing budget cuts.”
“Oh.” That sounds like a downer. But I’m a valuable member of this team. I get things done! “I...I thought you told me the designs I did were phenomenal? Half of them are hanging around the office.”
“And they are, yes. But the hard truth is, Mr. Tillis, the owner, believes it’s time to take a look at hiring talent to save costs in the same places where our furniture is manufactured. Jack found a way to get similar graphic designs from Bangladesh at about one dollar a piece. They’re not quite as polished as yours, of course, but...”
I’m not listening anymore.
Jack? Did she just say Jack? Jack-ass?
“You mean the frat boy I’ve been training—um, I mean, the—Jack the Intern?”
Frowning, Vanessa clears her throat and nods.
Holy Hannah. It’s hard not to roll my eyes right out of their sockets.
Now I get why the kid was so interested in buzzing around my desk to find out what parts of the process we—meaning he—could automate or outsource. All for a shiny unpaid internship to slap on his college resume.
“So this means I’m fired?” I ask numbly.
Her eyes widen in a Goodness, no! kind of way.
For a flimsy second, I think this day might not sink into the tar pit it’s heading for.
“Let go,” she whispers, as if that softens the blow. “Mr. Tillis prefers the phrase right-sizing.”
I choke on the air in my lungs and focus on trying to breathe through cement so I don’t flip her the bird by reflex.
You’ve got to love whatever evil genius came up with comically brutal corporate speak like right-sizing.
Whatever we call it doesn’t change the cold, hard facts.
This is the third entry-level position I’ve lost this year.
The last time, in the spring, I had to beg Paige to cover my rent for a couple months. Hardly a burden for a girl who’s grown up semi-wealthy, but I hated it with a vengeance.
I also chowed down on ramen noodles and instant mac and cheese for every meal. Going out for a six-inch sub felt like an extravagant use of my funds.
I’ve known young adult poverty in the big Windy City, and it sucks to suck. Definitely not something I want to revisit.
Vanessa stares at me with a worried look from across her desk.
With the resume-dusting, pavement-pounding, ass-kissing horrors of the job search swirling in my mind, I wonder if it’s not too late to rewind and salvage this job. Make such a good impression during my exit interview that she decides she’s making a terrible mistake.
If I could just get her to sweet-talk surfer dude cat furniture mogul CEO Tillis into keeping me on...
“Vanessa, tell me one thing...is there anything I could’ve done differently? To help me at my next job?”
She gives me a relaxed, sad smile. “You’re a hard worker and a positive employee. You haven’t even been here long enough for me to give you any kind of real appraisal beyond that, I’m afraid. These things happen.”
I feel my eyeball twitch.
Why, yes, these things do happen on a craptacular day when the entire universe spins on its bitch axis.
“It really is a budget cut. Nothing personal and no reflection at all on your impressive skills,” she drones on. “Your last paycheck will be direct-deposited next week. I’ve paid you for today, but once you’ve packed up, you’re free to leave.”