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Something had to give, and, in the end, I guess it was me. I'd worked a full day at the office, making sure the accounts I'd been assigned to were up to date, and that the clients were happy. I'd been an accountant at the marketing firm in Los Angeles for eleven years, and had done a good job. At age thirty-two, I believed I was dependable. But when the company changed ownership, and the "new boys" came in, they made a number of changes no one saw coming. You can imagine my surprise when, at the end of the day, some twenty-something year old punk stopped by my desk with a white envelope and announced that my services were no longer needed. "Here's a severance check for your time here. You'll need to clear your desk and when you're ready, give me a call and I'll have security escort you out." Then, incredibly, the little shit eater actually looked at his watch, and said, "You know, we need to make that fifteen minutes. I'm scheduled to take my Ferrari to the detailer and I simply cannot be late." With that, the little bastard turned on the heels of his five hundred dollar shoes and slinked into his office. I did exactly as he instructed me to do, and fifteen minutes later, Joe, the security guard, walked me to my car. I liked Joe: he came to the company the same day as me, and he was a regular kind of guy. In fact, I'm sure he looked the other way when I made sure my car key left a deep, ragged scratch on someone's bright red Ferrari sitting near the front door.

I guess I should have seen all this coming, but to be honest, I truly expected to be one of those who remained from the old staff. I know now ...

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