You need to call me tomorrow.
Let's take that apart for a moment. Without any context and without any knowledge of whatsoever of what I do or who this lady is, doesn't it just sound like I'm in trouble? First, it's already a demand, one that places the ball in my court, making me the subservient one in the conversation or phone meeting. Second, the fact that I "need" to sent warning signals at me. No, "Hey Georgette, please call me!" or "We should talk tomorrow!" Just: "you need to..."
Things you need to do are never fun for you, right? Like I need to add more greens into my fruit smoothies and I need to wear that pair of shoes with arch supports when I go to work. I need to call my boss in the morning because clearly I did something wrong.
I ended up staying awake for a bit over this, and then I ended up waking up early for it. I woke up to that cartoon about Gaspard, a French dog, and I took this for a good sign because I like dogs and France and cartoons.
I couldn't go to sleep, so I ended up taking a shower in the early morning. I ended up singing my name and talking to myself as I massaged my hair with handfuls of shampoo. I comforted myself that it would be okay if I got fired, excuse me, laid off, because I'm better off anyway. I didn't need this. I had...um...well, I had more time for opportunities now at least, and if not that, I'd have more fun-writing and reading time.
I worked myself into a frenzy over this. I told everyone in my household about it. I told Evee the sad news as she sat in front of me, waiting for a pat on the head. I created a mantra as I drove around this morning about how much I didn't care and could work through this, despite the fact that this would be first job I've ever had that had to let me go. I told myself that I could laugh or write about this later, and I started to pick songs for my break-up mix.
Roy Orbison's Crying came on my CD when I started to do that. Eerie.
It wasn't like I was working with a subject I'm that passionate about. It wasn't as if I didn't have anything going for me; although, when they cut back my hours, I did have an immediate panic attack, which was compounded with a nosebleed, because I wasn't sure if I would have money to go to New York. I had New York to look forward to, and thanks to this, I would have a clean slate.
That was just how the world worked, I thought. First, your hours start to dwindle and then they cut you off completely.
Of course, by the time I sat there, waiting for a call from my online boss, my retail boss called to see where Judy was, because she was late and not answering her phone. Judy usually called the store if she was running late. Her phone sent calls immediately to voicemail. Did I know where she was? Didn't we go out last night?
"Yeah," I said calmly. "But we didn't stay out that late. We were home before ten."
She didn't seem heartened by that information, so I offered to call around and see where Judy was. I also advised that she didn't have to panic yet anyway.
"Okay. When should I start worrying?" I looked at the clock, contemplating. I suggested ten o'clock.
After making a call, I got back to her, and she sounded relieved and chagrinned to talk to me. "I forgot. She had a dentist appointment this morning."
Right.
So when the phone rang next, I wasn't expecting online boss at all, lulled into the false sense of worry from my retail job.
Apparently, she wanted me to take on my hours again. She also had some nice things to say about my move to New York.
All that sleep lost for nothing.