Now what am I supposed to do all day?

I gave you the best 30 years of my life you sneaky sons-a-bitches. I showed up every day, even when there wasn’t anything to do. I was part of the team. I attended all those company picnics when I could of been playing golf.

I sat through all those endless town hall meetings pretending I was paying attention, calculating my 401K and my annual bonus. Why should I have to know what EBITDA means? That’s your problem, not mine. Watching you put slides up there that looked like the Iranian Nuclear Program gave me narcolepsy. Was there a hidden message there?

Now you want to dump me to make your investor’s happy? Oh, no you don’t. I stuck with you through thick and thin. The moly shortages, the manufacturer’s snafus, the fact that you couldn’t partner with a Dunkin’ Donuts franchise?  It’s not my fault you lost all your (one) customers, I have kids in college, you dolts.

I helped you spend all those millions BMS gave you. I stifled the laughter when Cory and Bob came up from Plainsboro. Seriously, that was almost not funny. Did Fellini cast that?

Isn’t the incredible feat of mental flat lining worth something to you ungrateful wretches?

I made like I had a bad cough when your last CEO put on a loin cloth and broke out the flip chart. A flip chart? Talk about time travel. The whole room went black and white and I started humming “It’s Howdy Doody Time” It was surreal. Almost had a Xanax-Zoloft overdose on that one.

Now they have a woman VP who comes to work in a Hummer, with a “Bite Me” tattoo on her neck, wearing a biker’s helmet and says ‘do you mind?” when she accidentally knocks over a file cabinet.

You owe me. I’m almost 60 with no marketable skills besides knowing how to change the water on the Keurig Coffee Maker. I’m getting casting calls from “The Last Man Standing.” But that doesn’t let you off the hook, you liars.

I had to spend the last two years working with the your “leftovers.” You know, the living dead with the defibrillators strapped to their backs? The ones who put in 28 hours a day? For the team? Who double up at the cafeteria and mow the lawn? Because they are sooooo valuable? The mouth breathing foot draggers who send safety a text if they see you doing 21 mph on site?

Corporate Al Quaeda. The ones who would rat you out for using too much ink on that out dated printer? Or making copies of your resume?

The human turnover was so great I needed a cheat sheet just to pass someone in the hallway. Now you have no money, no customers, no manufacturers and no clue. No shit! What’s that supposed to mean to me? Nada!

I did all the right things. I showed up almost everyday, when I could. I didn’t steal office supplies and I always lifted the toilet seat.

And when someone on the Executive Leadership Team needed to know how to block out their meeting calendar for the day when they were either too high or hungover, who showed them how? Me! You ingrates!

Oh, lest I forget, as your video producer, I have out takes. What were you thinking? Like the see saw of life, when the company goes down, the videos go up. See you on the red carpet.

So let’s just calm down with the Machiavellian B.S. Why would you go take a leak with a wireless mic on in the first place and rip everybody up the ass you didn’t like? Including, your humble correspondent? Did you think that blinking red light was just checking your pulse? Oh, FYI, to the guy who called me a troglodyte, I looked it up and my wife disagrees with you. Kinda! But I am working on it.

Think you’re gonna walk away after you’ve had your way with me? Oh no, you don’t. You better leave a little something on the night stand. Get some more oxygen starved investors. Let’s get the road show on the road. Get rid of the labs in Australia and Puerto Rico. It costs more money to fly there than what they make in a whole year. Get rid of stuff!  Anyone but me. Remember “Death do us part?” I do!

I never thought it would end like this. Everyone’s scattering. There’s nothing to sell. The reps are pushing real estate and one in the midwest is (really) actually working in a bicycle shop during the day to cover her ass. But me? I don’t get it. I used to blend into the woodwork. I laughed at all your jokes. I acted like I gave a flying fuck. Where’s the love, baby?

I was a pain in no one’s ass. I did hear someone say about me once, “He’s been here for years, wonder what he does? If they only knew. If I only knew. Now I’m out in the cold with a 21 day severance package. You lied to me!!!! I want my ring back. You popped my cherry, and then dumped me. You never even called. (Until you were snooping around about the footage you forgot I had.) Oops!

Now I’m home all day forced to use my own electricity, my own bathroom, using my own toilet paper, newspaper and worse, my own coffee. My wife just told me, “I don’t know what you think you’re gonna do all day, but you’re not gonna do it here.” Oh, God’s gonna make you pay.

The least you can do for me is give me a heads up when you start auctioning off your office furniture and secure me a lifetime golf membership when those two hundred acres turn into the Billerica Country Club Annex.

I’ll be watching when you hold your next town hall meeting in the gazebo outside building 600.

But as MacArthur once said, “I shall return!” As soon as I can find those fucking wire fence cutters!