It happened.
I was "let go."
When something you don't like is taken away from you, the sense of loss is small. I hated my job. So to have Mike yank it away from me all of a sudden felt like waiting for someone else to finally just break up with you. To be honest, my first feeling was one of relief. I calmly accepted my dismissal from Courthouse Coffee, took my check, and drove home. I didn't feel the proper effects of being fired until I was on the freeway, driving in silence through a world that decided this was the morning it was going to turn its back on me. Suddenly I cared--not about the job, but about the job. Now I didn't have one. I was one of those people. What was I going to do? How was I going to pay rent?
Here are the circumstances of my firing: My grandmother owned a coffee-shop called Courthouse Coffee. She eventually opened a separate, smaller shop in a new business complex across town. A Roseville courthouse also let her run their coffee kiosk. Then, in March, my grandmother sold the business. I was taken in by Mike Zuvella, who continued operating the second coffee-shop (named Creekside Cafe) and the kiosk, in addition to the main business. Almost instantly, the income of the business dropped when Mike cancelled the beer/wine license, rearranged the furniture, and altered the menus. Loyal customers went elsewhere. The barely-busy Creekside Cafe, where I worked, suddenly became an unecessary cost. With six employees to pay, it was only a matter of time before one of us was let go. I felt particularly vulnerable as the main worker at the Creekside location.
This morning I went to work like normal (yesterday my car overheated and I had to have Mike find someone to cover me), parked, got out, waved to Virginia, said hello to Mike, and went inside. But when I went into the kitchen to collect the day's supplies, Mike asked me to go outside. He asked me to sit. Then he said he was letting me go. He mentioned that I'd made a few mistakes. He said it wasn't about cost, but performance. No warnings, however, of these mistakes. No hint that I was under-performing at all. Mike and I--we don't even know each other. I saw him on Thursdays when he had me work at the main business, though he usually went off to the store or the bank and left me there alone, so he never got to see me actually working. At Creekside, where it's rarely busy, I basically sit around for five hours and do all my chores and clean shop and give good customer service when needed. The place makes a little over a hundred bucks a day. It's a waste. I get that. So why couldn't Mike just say that?
It's been five hours since I was let go.
I've since sent out five resumes. I also took my dog for a walk. Then I got in touch with Derek, who may or may not have a job for me, but he's going to get back to me at 1:00pm.
My girlfriend, AJ, is asking every customer at her coffee-shop if they have any knowledge of a job opening. It's easier to ask that kind of stuff when it's for someone else. In the meantime, I have my eyes set on this nearby coffee-shop that would make for a good replacement. Sure, I want to get away from espresso machines and customer service, but it's not exactly like I have a choice. I have a Bachelors in English and I don't want to be a teacher--so it's coffee or cubicle, for me.
I feel the best when I write, so I thought a running journal about this upcoming experience might help me out. It could even motivate me to be creative, because I'll want to brag about it in this blog. I've moved past my initial depression by convincing myself that this is happening for a reason. I hated that job, anyway. I'm better off without it. Now I'm a man of action. Now I'm off to get a cup of coffee.
Wish me luck.
- Left to Fry
I was "let go."
When something you don't like is taken away from you, the sense of loss is small. I hated my job. So to have Mike yank it away from me all of a sudden felt like waiting for someone else to finally just break up with you. To be honest, my first feeling was one of relief. I calmly accepted my dismissal from Courthouse Coffee, took my check, and drove home. I didn't feel the proper effects of being fired until I was on the freeway, driving in silence through a world that decided this was the morning it was going to turn its back on me. Suddenly I cared--not about the job, but about the job. Now I didn't have one. I was one of those people. What was I going to do? How was I going to pay rent?
Here are the circumstances of my firing: My grandmother owned a coffee-shop called Courthouse Coffee. She eventually opened a separate, smaller shop in a new business complex across town. A Roseville courthouse also let her run their coffee kiosk. Then, in March, my grandmother sold the business. I was taken in by Mike Zuvella, who continued operating the second coffee-shop (named Creekside Cafe) and the kiosk, in addition to the main business. Almost instantly, the income of the business dropped when Mike cancelled the beer/wine license, rearranged the furniture, and altered the menus. Loyal customers went elsewhere. The barely-busy Creekside Cafe, where I worked, suddenly became an unecessary cost. With six employees to pay, it was only a matter of time before one of us was let go. I felt particularly vulnerable as the main worker at the Creekside location.
This morning I went to work like normal (yesterday my car overheated and I had to have Mike find someone to cover me), parked, got out, waved to Virginia, said hello to Mike, and went inside. But when I went into the kitchen to collect the day's supplies, Mike asked me to go outside. He asked me to sit. Then he said he was letting me go. He mentioned that I'd made a few mistakes. He said it wasn't about cost, but performance. No warnings, however, of these mistakes. No hint that I was under-performing at all. Mike and I--we don't even know each other. I saw him on Thursdays when he had me work at the main business, though he usually went off to the store or the bank and left me there alone, so he never got to see me actually working. At Creekside, where it's rarely busy, I basically sit around for five hours and do all my chores and clean shop and give good customer service when needed. The place makes a little over a hundred bucks a day. It's a waste. I get that. So why couldn't Mike just say that?
It's been five hours since I was let go.
I've since sent out five resumes. I also took my dog for a walk. Then I got in touch with Derek, who may or may not have a job for me, but he's going to get back to me at 1:00pm.
My girlfriend, AJ, is asking every customer at her coffee-shop if they have any knowledge of a job opening. It's easier to ask that kind of stuff when it's for someone else. In the meantime, I have my eyes set on this nearby coffee-shop that would make for a good replacement. Sure, I want to get away from espresso machines and customer service, but it's not exactly like I have a choice. I have a Bachelors in English and I don't want to be a teacher--so it's coffee or cubicle, for me.
I feel the best when I write, so I thought a running journal about this upcoming experience might help me out. It could even motivate me to be creative, because I'll want to brag about it in this blog. I've moved past my initial depression by convincing myself that this is happening for a reason. I hated that job, anyway. I'm better off without it. Now I'm a man of action. Now I'm off to get a cup of coffee.
Wish me luck.
- Left to Fry
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