The cutoff was 30, but already, her search engine had already linked to several articles describing proposals for the cutoff being raised to 35, if "conditions don't improve." One such article focused upon russia; hillary passed that one by...russia, prudeland central - ugh!
The other plant now sat in the breakroom - replacing one which, last week, had been knocked from the counter; what a mess ... guys and football pools. Slobs - they always left a mess - especially the nuker - and never cleaned up after themselves...is this test hard?
She was being "let go" - in other words, just plain corn-beef "CANNED!" Not because of inadequate productivity or any personality issues; her employee rating history indicated the opposite. Hillary had worked hard, put in plenty of extra hours, significantly some without pay. She had loved her career, and so, monday mornings were never the hissy-fits snarled about on popular media. Hillary suppressed another snifle. No, no, and no, she wasn't going to cry - not one single tear.
They could have atleast held off until the new year; some of the women being "let go" had vaca-pay - which of course, would get double taxed...yep, punish people for getting up each morning and going to work. Yes, there had been rumors for about the past year - but she didn't pay conspiracy websites any mind. Yet she had noticed certain changes.
While the Six was losing its socio-political influence, more and more each day, and already, carbon footprints were becoming less heavy and less numerous. That was a good thing - as if sanity was making its return. Clothing was no longer cheap; India's government had, several years earlier, had put a stop to the manufacture of viscose. Hillary looked at the folds of her skirt, thinking, had she known today was her last, she'd of worn that muted orange pencil skirt - the one she'd worn sometime the previous february, and had been told to "go home and change into something appropriate," as if she was a school girl. She rolled her eyes at that memory - the big guy was such a prude; probably jealous, his wife was a rolypoly.
"..here's to the new boss, same as the old boss..." A distant memory of visiting her grandparents had surfaced; they had a device called a turntable; upon it, spun vinyl disks, about a foot in diameter. The Sixers were annoying and resentful, but the Religious Right - seemingly gaining power by the minute - they were getting scary.
Seriously what next? Burkas?
Hilary checked her phone. She had time for a cup of hot tea. As she turned to enter the break room, she caught a glimpse of cadly. She so wanted to march right over to his desk, and slap that smirk off his face - after all, what could they do? Fire her?
It was guys like him who started the trouble, in the first place. While off-line, he was but a corporate cog - who, before the day was out, would begin moving his stuff into, what was, her corner office. Anyway, on-line, he was a major socio-political player - had a vlog, with a large following. On-line - and too often, on work time. Hillary, barely having been able to suppress her pleasure, had called him on the carpet, several months ago, and given him an average eval. Neither had she been surprised to read a comment on his site, a day or so later, from someone screen-named "mgtowmartin," or what freaking ever, which sounded nearly identical - except that ma-ma-mmaartin made no mention of being caught using company resources for personal fun and profit.
Had our hardworking heroine done some further exploration of the links, which had shown up on the it report, hillary probably could have had creepo-cadly's job. Atleast one of the links sounded ... ew! Anyway, hillary had been, the usual, busy, and another meeting had been five minutes away.
Atleast cadly had enough principle to leave Jesus Christ out of his game - unlike several of his churchian toadies, who had the annoying habit of hosting scriptural cherry-picking soirees. Then again, having read or listened to many of their posts, such were of another religion entirely - either darwinian or just plain hedonistic - so, Christ's Name, apart from the churchians, came up as either an expression of surprise, rage or mockery. Not that Hillary even professed any religion - but there was something very very wrong using the bible to further agenda that had nothing to do with "furthering the Gospel."
It was guys like cadly, who inadvertently, cancelled roeVwade - talk about shooting oneself in the...foot, and that bullet still was ricocheting all over the place.
Her phone buzzed. She read her husband's text. She quickly responded with a "...please, not necessary, box lite, b rite down." A knock on her door announced, too late! Chet must have sent the text when he'd stepped out of the elevator. Security, of course, had also entered the office space; that was only to be expected. But she could only watch as the two guards riffed through the box she'd so carefully packed. As one of the mooks reached for the tin, hillary made a grab for it, but was stopped by her Husband's arm encircling her waist. "Honey, they're only doing their job." She lunged forward again, but too late. The tin opened, it's very personal things poured out and landed atop the formerly neat box of items. The plant lay uprooted, clumps of potting soil lay within and without the box. The other mook then said something to the effect that all was clear and that they could go. No apologies, no nothing.
Except for the one mook, who obviously was getting his cookies off at hillary's distress. One the way out, and likely within earshot, of atleast one other employee, he murmured to Chet some snarky little comment. Chet - with the box in arm, his other, at his wife's back, guiding her toward the elevator - ignored the pug-faced ignoramus.
On the way home, both man and wife rode in relative silence. Hillary just stared ahead, blinking away tears, determined that not a single one fall onto her sky blue silk blouse. Chet reassuringly touched her hand. She blinked again, but her nose continued to fill up with yuk; she reached for a tissue from the console and blew. "Bluuck!" She deposited the used tissue into a small waste container.
Her husband turned right, instead of going straight. She didn't think anything of it; after all, contractor planet lay just beyond the next red light. The light was green, and they continued for about 20 miles. Where were they going? With gas being...he turned into the parking lot of a rather pricey restaurant.
"Honey?"
"Haven't had lunch, I'm hungry."
"Chet, i, i don't have a job anymore." Hillary reached for another tissue.
He turned off the ignition, then touched her hand, caressing her professionally manicured fingers. "We'll manage," he smiled.
Inside, the waitress/owner of the business -a rather stately looking 50-something woman - stepped to their table to take their order. Chet ordered seltzer water, and the surfNturf pasta entre. Hillary chose iced tea and a tossed salad, which included a breadstick. As the waitress received back the menus, chet also ordered a shrimp croissant to go with his wife's salad.
"Still have to eat." Chet smiled, his eyes met hers, then - as if they could see through the table - focused upon her flat midriff.
Hillary was perplexed. She could only conclude the reality of having to "manage" on one income hadn't set in. Of course, it was her job that went bye-bye - per some stupid exec order, donalds had signed that morning - not chet's job. One thing for sure, she wouldn't be voting for that arsehat come november. As far as food was concerned, her appetite was about 35 miles north east of where they sat. The food was served, and chet dug into his, like he hadn't a worry in the world.
On the way home, they passed several campaign billboards. As Mr.NoWorries chatted into the console with a client, about, of course, the election - one man firm about donalds, the other somewhat partial to rowan. Oh bells no! hillary's eyes shot open. rowan went well beyond mere arsehat; he was full fledged disgusting. She'd seen footage of some kind of state function, where the senator was, as usual, running his mug while wolfing down some kind of pasta. His poor wife appeared to be embarrassed - and somewhat afraid; there were rumors... It was then a very disturbing possibility crossed hillary's mind.
Would the 19th go the same direction as her job had gone?
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