Fired

The weight of the car shifts as the jack rises with each twist of the handle, only to slip off the cradle of the jack and landing the tire on my rather ill-placed fingers. 

“FUCK! MOTHERFUCKER! GODDAMNIT! ARRGHHH!” The curses explode from my mouth in a torrent till the initial shock of having the front end of a car sitting on one’s fingers passes, to think clearly enough to be able to find a way out of the situation.  Focusing on the task at hand and not the tire on the hand, I slowly lower the jack, reposition it back under the car and once more start the process of lifting the tire off of the ground.; hopefully this time, without it sliding off once more.

Oh, did I mention it was raining? No? Well, it is, as in, as a downpour. 

Of course no other driver is slowing down or easing over a little or even offering assistance.  It seems every car that passes seems to be hitting the puddle behind me and spraying me every time one of those fuckers passes.  Karma’s a bitch.  I hope they realize that.  I hope that something happens one day to them; them alone, that is substantially worse that being sprayed with water as they pass in the pouring rain while having fingers caught under a vehicle.  Something along the lines of getting your man-meat caught in a blender while making margaritas during a pool orgy.

After what seems like an eternity, I manage to free myself from the Goodyear finger trap, finish changing the flat tire and continue heading to work.  Luckily, I don’t believe my fingers are broken, sore but not broken.  I can wiggle them and they still look straight, just hurt like hell.  Good thing I was off the side of the road in the grass, otherwise, my fingers would look like some Tex Avery wolf cartoon fingers.

Pull into work late, not that I am some paragon of on-time attendance but late in this regard means like a couple of hours late, not some usual run-of-the-mill 15 minutes late, so I mean late. This wouldn’t really be a bad thing on any normal day but today there is a special meeting that I am to attend that started 30 minutes ago.  By the way, this is a very important special meeting that is a must attend type of thing and I’m fucking late to it.

Willy, that’s my boss, spots me as I walk in… No, Willy is not yellow, does not speak with a Scottish accent or speaks of the years he was a janitor at a high school in Springfield.  Though, everyone that knows him makes fun of him as if he did.

Anyways…

So Willy spots me and intercepts me on my way to the meeting. “You’re not going in there.  You know you’re late, right? Besides that, you look like crap.  You’re filthy and soaking wet.  Did you run to work?’  He says in a tone parents tend to reserve for their children.

“I know I’m late,” not going to further on the fact that I am almost always late.  “I had a flat tire, car slipped, landed on my fingers but I’m ok.”

“You’re still not going in there and your fingers don’t look broke.  I think you are lying to me.”

Great, just fucking great.  Being called a liar as if this is some story I concocted to explain my excessive tardiness.  “My fingers aren’t broken; the ground was soft from the rain and sank in.  They are just sore but otherwise fine.  I have a spare set of clothes that I was going to change into before the meeting as well.”

“The meeting isn’t important right now.  What I want you to do is go home and think about this until you come in to get your last paycheck.”

“Wait, what? You’re letting me go?  Just for nothing?! You’re letting me,--“

“You need to leave before I call security and have you escorted off the property.”

With that, I left the building. 

Now, I’m not really the violent sort, but today was just one of those days.  Fired, soaking wet, fingers hurting and all that just lead me to being pissed off.  So to relax, I decided to take up the game of golf.  I decided to fix my being teed off, I would tee off on my former boss. 

No cameras in the parking lot, no security, no lights and its dark when he leaves.  I wait by his Corvette and when he unlocks it, I come around and crack him hard in the knee.  His knee crumples under the blow, he gasps in pain as he starts to go down.  I swing again contacting his hip and he lets out an agonizing yell of pain.  I consider for a moment on just leaving him there but decide a parting shot would do wonders for my therapy.  So, one more shot to the back of the knee on the other leg for the coup de grace.