On Getting Fired, Drunk, and Seeking Alternative Employment

Benson was a tall and rather obese man, probably in his mid-fifties, although Ray had heard stories that he was much younger and had simply aged very rapidly. He always reeked of tobacco, and was known for his habit of chain-smoking more than two packs a day. When he ran out of cigarettes he would switch to the Cuban cigars he kept in his office, in the drawer where he kept his handgun.

Benson's voice was hoarse from years of alcohol abuse and tobacco use. When Ray entered his office, Benson pulled back from his desk in his swivel chair and placed his hands together, forming a steeple. "Hi, Ray. Thanks for stopping by." When he spoke it sounded as if he were choking.

"No problem." There was a chair on the other side of Benson's desk, and Ray instinctively began to move for it, realizing halfway through the motion that it was perhaps an improper thing to do. He froze awkwardly, unsure whether to proceed or return to his standing position. Benson saw the hesitation and thought it was strange.

"Take a seat, Ray."

"Thanks." He moved into the chair and rubbed his palms together awkwardly.

There was an uncomfortable silence until Benson asked, "Want a smoke?" He leaned forward, holding out a half-empty pack of Marlboros.

"Umm...no, thanks, I'm - I mean, I'm fine. Thanks." More awkwardness.

Benson shrugged his shoulders, returned to his relaxed position and the cigarettes disappeared somewhere behind the desk. He was waiting for Ray to initiate the conversation.

"So...?" Ray stopped. He didn't know how to go about it. Benson arched an eyebrow.

"Yes?"

"What's up?" He said this too fast.

"Well, Ray, I'm afraid I need to speak with you about your position here at Wilkinson Insurance."

Ray waited, but he didn't continue. So he prompted him. "Yes?"

Benson let out a heavy sigh, which seemed to Ray to be rather overly dramatic and fake. "Well, Ray, I'm...well...I always hate having to do this, but I'm afraid we have to let you go." We. Not I. We.

Ray's eyed bulged, and he surged forward in his chair, his hands bracing the armrests. "I'm...I'm sorry?"

"I can't keep you as an employee here, kid. It's...it's just not going to work out anymore. You've done a great job these past three years, but we're downsizing, and unfortunately your name came up. It's just a matter of, you know, who's vital to the company right now, because there have been some financial issues..."

Disbelief washed across Ray's face as he managed to stutter a reply. "You-you mean, you're firing me? I'm being fired?"

Benson just nodded solemnly, once again very obviously feigning regret and sympathy. He crossed his arms, exhaled forcefully, leaned back in the chair. Ray noticed the silver Rolex he was wearing loosely on his wrist.

"I've been here three years."

"I know, Ray, but as I said, we're having to let some people go and so you're not the only one, you understand? You weren't specifically targeted--"

"Well, clearly I was. If I'm being fired then I was selected for a reason."

Benson just stared at him, contemplating a response. Finally, it came:

"I'm sorry, Ray. It's not entirely up to me."

Not entirely.

But mostly.

Ray nodded, chewing the inside of his lower lip to conceal a torrent of profanities racing through his mind at that moment. "Okay." Gritted teeth. A vein in his forehead swelling. Sweat increasing. "I guess, well...my paycheck, then, for this week?"

"It will be directly deposited as always," Benson said. "You won't need to be returning for it."

An eternity of silence seemed to pass. Ray was digging his nails deep into the armrest of the chair.

"Right. I'll be going, now, then. Today's Friday, so...?"

"So you have a free weekend, Ray. Once again, I'm sorry about this and I wish there was something I could say."

Ray wished there was something he could say - but he didn't want to make a scene, so he stood up and said, "All right, then." He remained in place for a moment before leaving.

On his way out of the office he noticed Mitchell from accounting sitting in the waiting area, fidgeting with his glasses. Ray made eye contact with him as he passed by, and Mitchell saw the look in his eyes and suddenly his entire face went blank. Ray returned his gaze to the floor and walked by without saying a word.

The secretary finished a phone call and turned towards the waiting area. "Mitchell Rydell? Mr. Benson will see you, now."

Mitchell flinched.

"Three years down the drain, man. Just like that. I can't believe it." Ray reached into his pocket for a pack of cigarettes and came out empty. "I'm too poor to even afford my smokes anymore, Charlie."

Charlie was entirely intoxicated by this point and was trying to catch his balance on the spinning bar stool. "I'm tellin' ya, Ray, you wasted...what did I tell you when you started there? What did I say? I told you then, big fuckin' waste of time. That prick of a boss - I told you he was a pig, man. Sacked after three years of working your ass off? Forget it."

Ray was staring at the dirty mug of beer in front of him, his eyes fixated on what little amount of alcohol was left in the glass. "Yeah, but...it's not that easy, Charlie. I can't forget three years just...like that, you know? I don't know what I'm going to do about...you know, I have to make a payment on my car at the end of the month, and I was waiting on next week's paycheck for that. I've got child support; when my daughter visits me I can't even afford to take her out for lunch, I've gotta feed her out of a fucking macaroni and cheese box."

Ray stopped and let out a sigh, his voice immediately trailing off as he began to start another sentence. He gave up and continued pouting.

"Listen," Charlie said, stumbling off of the seat and gaining balance against Ray's shoulder. "I..." He paused, suddenly, and seemed to change his mind. "I gotta take a piss. I suggest you start getting drunk to help forget this mess." And then he made his way off towards the back of the bar, disappearing into a fog of thick smoke.

The bartender moved from his position at the end of the bar towards Ray, noticing the now-empty beer glass in front of him. "You want another?" the guy said, tossing a cloth he had been using to clean silverware over his left shoulder.

Ray looked down at his beer - or, rather lack thereof - and weighed the question for a moment before realizing he didn't even have enough money to pay for the first glass. "No, I can't. I...I don't have...I mean, I'm fine. Thanks." He looked back down and avoided eye contact with the bartender, feeling completely ashamed of his financial situation. The guy knows, Ray was telling himself. He knows I don't have money. He's trying to give me the hint. Of course the bartender hadn't actually known this, and thought nothing of it when Ray passed on another drink, but Ray misinterpreted the entire situation and suddenly he felt even worse.

He placed his palms up over his ears and leaned forward with his elbows pressed against the edge of the bar, closing his eyes and grimacing at, just, everything.

As he sat there feeling bad for himself he could hear Charlie re-emerge from the smog of thick smoke surrounding the area.

"Fuckin' assholes," Charlie said, stumbling out of the clouds, heaving himself towards the bar again, pulling out a cigarette as he fumbled drunkenly with the broken lighter.

"Huh?" Ray reemerged from his zoning.

"I was giving it some thought while I took a piss," Charlie said, leaning against Ray once again for support as he hoisted himself backwards onto the bar stool, briefly losing his place and sliding about on the cushion. "They're just a bunch of assholes," he said.

"Who?"

"Who," he repeated incredulously. "Your boss, your ex-wife, your...your...you know...?" Charlie had become very drunk and was losing track of his own thoughts, so he sat back, stared at the refilled glass of beer in front of him, and let out a breath of air, extending the motion as far as possible until his chest felt like it was going to collapse for lack of oxygen. "Life's a bitch," he finally said, diverting his attention once more from the glass and instead towards Ray. Charlie was smiling again, and whatever momentary doubts he'd had while visiting the men's room had abruptly vanished. "Sometimes you've just gotta say, 'Forget it.' And take another swig." Which is exactly what he proceeded to do.

Ray let out his hundredth sigh of the night and ran a hand through his hair as he did so. "It's not that easy for me."

"Listen," Charlie said, moving in closer to Ray, beginning to whisper. "I've been meaning to talk to you about this, man, and I think - I think now, you know...that maybe now is the time." He paused, then continued: "I think you and I should start working together again."

Ray leaned back, raising his hands in a defensive gesture. "No. No way. I told you before - I'm through with that shit."

"Ray, you've--"

"Forget it. The answer is no."

"What are you going to do? Start over? Some minimum wage job? Look at you. You're a lowlife. That isn't an insult, man, that's the truth. We both are - me and you. You think you're gonna get hired walking into some rich bastard job offer? They're going to laugh at you, man. You slaved away for three years in an office and look what happened. He dumps you for a relative. Just like that. That's the business world, Ray - that's what happens. I went through that twenty years ago and I haven't looked back since."

"And how much are you pulling in these days? I don't see you driving around in a sports car. I'm pretty sure that piece of shit out there cost you two grand, if that."

"Hey, as of right now, I'm making more than you, man," Charlie said, taking a drag on his cigarette and exhaling the smoke towards the ceiling. "I'm making enough to get by, and next week you're fucked. No job, no money, no nothin'."

"And what are you saying I should do, Charlie? Go back? Start doing jobs again with you? Risk it all for -- "

"Risk what, Ray? What? You don't have anything, man. What's your daughter gonna think when she comes to visit you and you're living out of a suitcase in some rat-infested apartment somewhere?"

Ray thought about this for a moment. Charlie had a point. He didn't want to have to admit this, but it was true.

"I don't care," he finally spat out. "I'm not getting into...that again."

Charlie just kept staring at him. "I need you, man. I...I need you to come back. We need each other. The guy I was pulling jobs with bailed on me last week. I'm stuck. I have a ten in mind but I need someone else for the job." He placed a hand on Ray's shoulder and Ray shrugged it off. "Ray, come on, man. A ten, you know me, I don't give them out often."

Ray recalled Charlie's rather obvious rating scale of one through ten in relation to how promising a job might be. A ten meant they'd be in financial security for months.

He shook his head back and forth, wincing. "I...I can't. I won't. It's not--"

"Fine, Ray. Whatever. But just remember that you slaved three years for the real world and it turned its back on you. You can sit there and mope around worrying about how you're going to afford everything or you can pull off a quick job with me. You'll be set. Then you can go find yourself a fucking job and take a vacation first as well."

"I just want to finish my drink, okay? Just stop with this shit."

"Fine. Just think about your daughter. And if you change your mind? Do me a favor - let me know." Charlie started to slide off the stool.

"Where you going?"

"I'm going home. I can't f*cking stand you when you're like this."

"What? What's that supposed to mean?"

But Charlie was already on his way out and that's when Ray noticed his drink was almost empty. He hung his head again and sighed.