So, I Got Fired...

Time for me to emerge from my hole and start talking again. I apologize for the delays. Short version: I got my happy ass fired from my job, found a new one, and am now in the process of picking up the pieces. The longer version is, well, longer.

Let's back up a bit. September, 2006 in the wayback machine. I'm in Wilson, NC, living in my happy little bungalow with Mrs. Wiggy, Mrs. Wiggy's mom, two Dogs of the Apocalypse, three cats, and an unidentified rodent chewing on the wires in our attic. I drive two miles to work everyday. My life is slow, uneventful, and this is a good thing.

Then, I got a warning from my employer. I had replied to a blog entry that I read on my lunch hour, and I inadvertently quoted an obscenity that the person I was replying to had used. In other words, to a complete idiot, it might look like I said the naughty word.

Well, it appears a complete idiot was reading my reply that day. He or she complained to the blog owner. That person complained to my employer. They investigated, found out I have made the response, and gave me a warning not to use that type of language online again from work. They didn't give me a chance to explain that I hadn't used the word in question, but whatever. Fair enough, I should not have even quoted it. Point made.

Now, let's move forward to October.

One day, on a Friday, our office is visited by the local 'hatchet lady' from Human Resources. Speculation runs rampant. Some feel that she is there to sack the whole lot of us. After all, we've had a lot of layoffs and downsizings and offshorings of late - so it could be the end for all of us. However, the end of the day comes, and no one is gone. We go off on a three-day weekend.

On Monday, I come to work, sit down, boot up my laptop, and log into my workstation. My phone rings. It's my boss. She asks me to come to her office.

Oh. I know, with ringing certainty, what this is. I'm getting the sack. Not the entire department. Just me.

I walk down the hallway to her office, and she meets me outside her door. She asks me to walk with her down this hallway to a conference room I've never been to before. Inside, there are several people. My bosses' boss. The hatchet lady from HR. Oh yeah, and two uniformed armed guards. Yeah, armed guards. In uniforms.

Now, this is interesting. I've seen people get fired at this company - they've never had armed guards. In fact, they didn't get marched to some undisclosed location or meet with the hatchet lady. They just got called to their bosses' office, got the sack, and he escorted them to the door. Armed guards?

The hatchet lady introduces herself to me and holds out her hand to shake hands. Shake hands? I have to shake hands with the woman who is about to lop off my snarglies? Sigh. OK, let's get on with it. I shake her hand and we sit down.

My boss is upset, visibly shaken, and nearly in tears. She reads a prepared statement that goes kind of like this:

"On [date], you were warned against inappropriate use of the internet using company property. Our network security team has monitored your workstation, and we have determined that you have used the internet in an inappropriate manner. Your employment is therefore terminated, effective immediately."

Wow. OK, I'm racking my brain here. What did I do? I know I didn't do or say anything on any blog that would get me turfed. Oh. I think I know. Email.

The company has a policy against accessing personal email from work. That means no Yahoo mail, no Google mail, no web-based email thingies. Most of them are blocked - you can't even access them. But I have my own clever little domains, and I have my own web and email servers, and I just ignored that little rule. The previous Friday, I had noticed that my access to my little email webserver was suddently blocked. A-hah.

[Note: I can only guess that's what it was that got me fired. They never told me the specifics.]

I was thinking to myself, "They were serious about that rule?" Hmmm. Guess so.

About this time, my former boss stands up. We all stand up. None of us are looking at each other. We make vague motions towards moving to the door. We begin to move.

I asked, "Ah, excuse me? Can I go back to my desk and get my car keys and wallet and stuff?"

My former bosses' boss interposes himself between me and the door.

"You can't go back to your desk."

"How do I get my car keys, my wallet, my briefcase, and the rest of my personal stuff?"

He hems and haws. They all look at each other. Apparently, no one thought this through. You'd think they'd have this kind of planned out.

"Well, you can't go back to your desk."

"Well, I'm not going to walk home. Without my car keys and my wallet, I can't unlock my car, I can't unlock my house."

My former boss decides that she'll go and get my stuff. I'm thinking that I have a lot more stuff than she's going to be able to carry. We stand and look at each other while she's gone - the security guards hover around, looking important. We say nothing to each other. She returns with my car keys, my wallet, and my briefcase. Apparently, they've decided to hold my lunch and my coffee hostage.

My former bosses' boss asks me, "Where is your car parked?"

"In the back of the building (in the employee parking lot, duh)."

He blinks at me. "You can't go back there."

"How do I get my car?"

"You can't go back there."

OK, we're getting nowhere, and the rent-a-cops are getting nervous. I go with my former bossses' boss towards the front of the building, away from the parking lot, my car, my lunch, and my coffee. Away from my desk. Well, correction on that. Away from what was my desk.

We walk to the front of the building, and I go through the security turnstile one last time. My former bosses' boss asks me for my key card, which I surrender. I ask him, "How do I get my personal belongings? I have a lot of books and stuff at my desk."

He blinks at me again. He stares. He clearly has no idea what to say. He blinks again. Finally, he says, "You can call me at my desk and come pick up your stuff after five o'clock."

One of the security guards opens the front door. The other puts his hand on my shoulder and tries to propel me through the door. I'm incredulous.

"You've got to be kidding. Take your hand off me."

"Sorry, sir, it's my job."

I give up. Whatever. He escorts me out the door and removes his hand. I look back - my bosses' boss is gone. The security guards are leaving. I ask the one who had his hand on my shoulder, "What happens if I try to walk around behind the building and get my car? I have to have it to get home."

He shrugs. "Not my job to stop you from doing that. My job is over now. I'll even give you a ride around the back if you want."

I go get in my car and drive home. I'm fired. No more job. And the bastards still have my lunch. Worse, they have my coffee.