jennings rampage

I suppose I do just “gloss over” getting fired.

Here’s my driving log for yesterday, 9 Feb 2003:

My ride to work didn’t show up, so I pounded on my brother’s door and asked if I could take his car. This beat the alternative of two forty-minute roundtrips for him, so he reluctantly agreed.

As I’m really starting to get the hang of this whole driving thing, this was the first trip which featured use of the radio. I tuned to the local classic rock station, WAFX 106.9, which is a really really awful radio station. Norfolk is known for being a glittering monument to the military-industrial complex, whatever that is, not for its radio stations, which, on balance, are terrible. But still, it was the best I had, and I decided to avail myself of the opportunity to choose the music on the car stereo, which I never get to do.

It’s about two miles on a four lane divided county road to the interstate, which was no problem, and merging onto I-64 East was smooth sailing. Traffic was moderate, and I did a good job of maintaining my speed right around 65 mph (10 mph over the limit) to stay with the flow of traffic. Exiting the interstate was an adventure, as I found myself in the wrong lane and had to speed up and cut across two lanes to make the ramp. That was pretty empowering. Since parking is still the weak part of my game, I pulled in far away from the other cars and went ahead and took the walk. I cut the engine and took the key out, and the damn thing just kept screaming at me — I had no idea what was going on. So I ignored it, locked up, and went inside.

On my way to my desk, I was stopped by no fewer than four people who all said, “Scott, weren’t you fired?” Not to my knowledge. So I asked a supervisor, and yes, as it turns out, I had been fired for poor attendance, the past two days off putting me over the limit. Everyone had been informed of my termination except for me, including the dude who took me to work, which is why he didn’t show up. Well, being fired sounded like a terrific idea, so I cleared my browser cache, got my timesheet signed, confirmed that I wasn’t keeping anything I cared about at my desk, and said goodbye.

Good thing, too, because I had left my headlights on, which seems like a good reason for the car to have been screaming at me. The ride back was uneventful, except for an ominous warning of an accident just past my exit which was to be the source of a delay which never materialized. I’m still driving like an old woman, doing somewhere between 62-65 mph in the middle lane of the 55 mph interstate, and drawing tailgaters and others unimpressed with my driving skills. I was passed several times, and unlike the majority of other drivers around here, managed to not take it as a personal affront. Back at my apartment, I pussed out of pulling into the spot in front of my door since it was a little tight, and parked in the open a little further away.

I also drove to the grocery store later that evening, and although Jeff was fairly impressed with my use of the brake and prowess at turning into the correct lane, he insisted on driving home, since it’s his car.

In the coming days, I’m planning to drive to the Virginia Employment Commission, my major undisclosed staffing agency (who loves me and just ate up my spin on the situation when I called them this morning), my interview at this major undisclosed consulting firm, and perhaps an interview for a software testing job at a major undisclosed military installation that I got a callback for this morning (which brings the score to Old Cover Letter: 1, New Cover Letter: 1).

Until then, happy motoring!