A Slice of Humble Pie.

I am finally beginning to realize the difference between work and labor. When I was a child, to my parent's dismay, I aspired to become a toll booth collector. I watched the portly gentlemen sitting down all day, collecting money, without a care in the world. That was the job for me! Where do I sign? But now, I am caught in a world of unpaid overtime and unrealistic goals. I also find it strange to be so thankful to have the opportunity to get up in the morning and go to work.

Two years ago, my old pal in New York got fired over Labor Day weekend. Think about that for a second. He has relived the episode over and over countless times, telling me that he thinks he is suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. I actually believe him. Even I memorized the encounter of the canning:

"N, step into my office.. close the door behind you. Look, I might be wrong.. hey, prove me wrong.. I just don't think you are suitable for Industrial Design.. Prove me wrong.. Listen.. I'm going to let you go after work today. I wish you well, but you should consider another profession. But, prove me wrong.."

In his left hand, N was holding a dry cleaning stub for the boss's wife and in the other hand the cappuccino that the boss told him to fetch. Every morining when he wanted his yuppie coffee, he used to shout, "Hey N, Crap me!" and giggle senselessly to himself.

That weekend, I remember taking my pal to his favorite restaurant, 2nd Ave. Deli, and then we whisked off to Brighton Beach to take his mind off things. We watched the garbage collect on the shore and a humongous woman flashed him as we strolled by barefoot.

His company actually wound up hiring him on a contract basis for another two months. I remember how low he felt when he returned to the office, everyone aware of his situation. Then, they actually let him go earlier than what his contract stipulated. To continue this painful story even more, he was actually asked to return on contract yet another time. He finally said, "What the hell, I feel like Billy Martin!" and told them to shove it where the sun don't shine.

Until you've danced with the Canman at Midnight, that slice of humble pie is just waiting for us under that glass case on the counter. Oddly enough, the worse the job is, the worse it is to get that dreadful visit from the Canman.. most likely 'cause you're working at that job since you have no options... and like everything else in life, you're only as good as your options.