Rewind 24 years: I was 21 years old. I'd just quit my job to go back to school, and suddenly found myself separated from my husband. Moving back, temporarily, into my old bedroom in my parent's house...I needed a job.
I landed one at a KwikCopy on Campus, but for some reason, with trepidation on the manager's part. I hadn't worked with the public much, she told me, "and we don't think you're going to work out."
Hey, how much experience could I have had by then? I'd waited on the public for 3 years, and then worked in a printing factory for 2 more after that; I had absolutely no doubts that I would wow them. It wasn't rocket science, for heaven's sake; it was a copy machine and binding tool.
I arrived to work early, on the first day, as one does on their first day of work yes? The girl in charge showed me where to stand.
And without another word, she opened the doors for business. She then exasperatedly snapped at me to get people's orders! ring them up! answer the phone! transfer calls to other satellite stores! This, of course, with no tour of the cash register, and no explanation of which line which went to which satellite store. Furious, she was furious! Eeeeeeeeeee!!!
The straw that broke the camel's back was when I was ordered to take a passport photo. In the corner stood a large black camera with an actual drape over it, that I was to step into to take the photo. Having no direction here either, she was again furious that I didn't know how to run the camera, barking orders at me from across the room and flying into a rage when I finally pulled about 4 feet of film right out of the camera, exposing all of it, ending up with a huge mess and a frustrated customer in a hurry to get on her way. Talk about a Lucille Ball episode!
At noon, she said "I was told you'd never work out, and they were right!"
I was fired. 4 hours after I was hired.
I was, at the time, young and shy, and in light of the state of my marriage, too insecure about my ability to do anything right. Stunned, stressed, demoralized, I hit the sunny sidewalk and wept all the way back to my car, and all the way home, where, to top it off, I had to tell my dad I was canned.
That which doesn't kill us, eh? I'm a *lot* older now, and a *little bit* wiser, and know that hell would freeze over before I bothered to shed a tear over the two dingbats that set me up on that dreadful day. I laugh now, and shake my head.
So tell me: Have you ever been fired? Give us the dirt!