Ginger Krinkles Read Free Page B

really happened at my job. Getting fired is horrifying enough, but going out the way I did left me deep-fried mortified. If anyone knew the real reason, Lauri, Olive, or even Frankie, they would all try to make me feel better. And I knew I didn’t deserve it.
    A few weeks ago while I was still gainfully employed, I was at lunch with some co-workers and we were shredding our Creative Director, Violet. Violet Hickle, to be exact, who, for reasons unknown, went by V. Hickle. The name on her door, desk plate, business cards and email address, read V. Hickle. Come on, she was asking for it.
    I don’t think I started it, but I sure spent a lot of my time contributing. “Car was riding her broom today,” I would begin the pile-on. Another day, it might have been Sedan, Low-rider, or Edsel. She once nearly caught me as I whistled after her, as if hailing a cab. I know the defense of “we all did it” is no excuse, but still.
    Once again, my mouth got me in trouble. She heard me talk about her behind her back. Actually, it was behind my back, because I obviously didn’t see her when I had been upset with her for trashing one of my campaigns. “She makes my butt itch.” My friends laughed until they realized, she heard me. Thinking back, it had felt exactly like smashing that snail. Though it was an accident, I hadn’t meant for her to hear me, (in fact I really liked her) it didn’t mitigate the collateral damage.
    My humiliation had been complete when she was the one who “let me go” and had to terminate me for my crime against humanity. She acted like there was no poetic justice there, and said that she was genuinely sad. I bet anything she was doing the equivalent of joyous donuts-in-the-parking-lot on the inside.
    When “Bucket of Bolts” called me in to give me my last paycheck, I wasn’t prepared.
    “Miss Krinkles,” she said, as I started to become even more upset. “While I am aware that I am the source of unending amusement to you and your little friends out there, I truly had expected better from you.”
    I gulped. Turned red. Wished I was dead.
    “You’ve had your fun, but when all is said and done, this Lamborghini ,” she pointed to herself as she stood up and came around from behind her desk, “is all gassed up and ready to go.”
    I couldn’t help it, I was nervous and upset and got the giggles, as if she really had farted or something. Yes, I’m the one who laughs in church and at people who fall down.
    She folded her arms across her chest, her turquoise Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress did make her look like some powerful sports car, revving down upon me.
    “I hate to see Jeff let you go,” she said, waiting for my gulping hiccups to stop. I covered my mouth with my hand and spit out a few strangled coughs. It really wasn’t funny; I was pretty panicked. My meditation app picked that moment to chime in. Is something bothering you? Can you inhale and exhale and release your fears?
    “You’re smart, when you’re not being a smart ass.” Violet handed me my check. “You want my advice?” I opened my mouth but she didn’t want to hear from me. “Why don’t you try using your powers for good, not evil? It’s not about always being in the spotlight. Sometimes it’s good to be part of the audience.”
    And then she told me why I was really being fired. It wasn’t for gossiping. It wasn’t for teasing her behind her back. I deserved it. I had grabbed my check and doubt that she even heard my “so sorry; so, so sorry” as I left. If she did, I’m sure she didn’t believe it. I had been sincere, too.
    I wrote her a note and sent her flowers but never heard a word back. I couldn’t blame her; I would have fired me, too.
    I took Olive’s arm and helped her over a cliff-sized crack in the sidewalk. I didn’t want to worry her yet that I most likely had to move out. Because what if there was some kind of Christmas miracle and I could end up staying? I didn’t want to stress Olive out