I’m a “deadbeat,” as the right-wing assholes call non-right-wing people who go on Unemployment. Have been since early October. [ Update: That whack-job griftercrat Christine O'Donnell hates me and anyone else without a job. Says the Unemployment bennies extension is a tragedy akin to Pearl Harbor! ]
I wouldn’t have needed it, except that I don’t have a job, now. I haven’t even been back to work--or even visited the store where I used to work--since I left it for the Emergency Room and week-long stay at the Crucifix Hotel [a Catholic hospital, for the Goppers trying to read this].
The Company sent me some paperwork to fill in and send back, but in the weeks after I got out of the hospital, I wasn’t very conscious of things. Having a partly-dissected aorta, with all the pain and sleeplessness that goes with it, kind of changes how you look at things. My world was a brown corduroy recliner for more than two months.
I put The Envelope in an “Important Stuff!!” pile, and it and its important pile migrated when I did, from bed to recliner (where I’d fall asleep), recliner to bed (where I’d try to sleep and fail), over to the computer desk (where I’d fall asleep). I was desperate for sleep for the first month but would recline or sit or lie down for hours only to sleep for minutes. My heart would pound in my chest or jump at random, an unpleasant flutter…a ringing in one ear, in time with my pulse…waking dreams…pain as my guts tried to get organized again…exhaustion from simply shambling a few feet to the bathroom (and falling asleep sitting there) or moving from computer to recliner, recliner to bed, trying to get comfortable enough to do more than nap or lie there wondering if I’d wake up again. The Envelope didn’t seem important. Neither did food or much of anything else. Just those few minutes of sleep and a pair of Lortabs every 8 hours.
I misplaced it, at some point, The Letter. When I finally started getting some sleep more than a month later, I wore myself out looking for the thing. Didn’t take much effort to bring me to exhaustion. It's bad when something as simple as moving wears you out. Getting up to go to the bathroom and coming back to collapse into the recliner could take anywhere from 10 to 40 minutes.
Finally found The Letter. Deadline was past. Called the number, was supposedly sent a "WTF?" note via certified mail, supposedly sent back “undeliverable” (I call bullshit--there weren’t many days when there wasn’t someone here and the Postal people are supposed to make more than a token attempt), so I basically got fired for not being at work. Not a single Corporate prick bothered to call to check on me--not the store manager (a good little Company boy and the pet of the Regional Manager), the HR folks, or the DM or RM. “Is he still alive? Did that torn aorta kill him? Is he crippled? Does he need anything?”
Very dickish, these dicks. This is how they take care of their employees. I got one visit from one co-worker. No one at my own store even knew where to find me.
Meanwhile, I’m trying to get a note from the doc. “I need a note so I can go back to work.”
“I’m concerned about your blood pressure! Go to the Emergency room!!!”
Next visit. “I need a note--“
“I’m concerned about your blood pressure!”
“You don’t need a note to apply for a job. Here, go get more blood and urine tests. And an Ultrasound. And a CAT scan. And go to a kidney specialist. And a sleep specialist. Oh yeah, we need to change all your meds. BLOOOOOD PRESSSSUUUUUURE!!!”
Supposedly, I’m good to go back to work and have been since late September--except that this guy wouldn’t stop long enough to gimme a note so I could try to get re-hired. They’re going to want that note. They said so.
But then it occurred to me that I don’t want to go back to that job. I worked for them for three and a half years. The only raise I ever got was a nickel when my 90 days’ probation were up. I’m not counting the “raise” from the Minimum Wage increase. They paid that because they had to.
That lack of a raise wasn’t from being a bad worker; those Corporate pricks are constantly riding the store managers to cut payroll, declaring hiring and raise freezes. No one gets a raise--but those Corporate pricks get their bonuses for keeping costs down. The new District Manager went around bragging about his new $48,000 boat.
For the Corporate pricks’ whining about keeping payroll down and all the typical bullshit they whine over, I helped make them some $300 million in profits last year--me and all the other wage-earners who busted our asses and got stressed out. Look where that got me.
So now the Corporate pricks are paying out half of what I was making in Unemployment, and I’m looking for something better.