I didn’t want to appear complacent. Especially not at a time when just about everyone seems so dissatisfied with their slow progress toward fame, fortune and reality. So yesterday, I called myself into the office and fired me.

Needless to say—but I will say it anyway because I just feel a need to say—I was shocked out of my pantaloons. (Here’s a curious little side question: why have pantaloons come to be known as pants instead of loons?)

By the way: I didn’t use the term “fired” because it just sounds so blunt and cold. That’s not who I am. Instead I said “The company is moving in a new direction and I have already hired a moving van, so get out.”

The moving van was a little white lie, which I immediately regretted because I can always tell when I’m fibbing. And if I can tell, so can I.

“That’s a lie,” I shouted and I had to loudly insist that I calm down or I would call security.

“What crap,” I said. “There’s no security here. There’s just me, a delusional guy in his basement pretending to be on the floor with people. There’s no company. There’s not even a water cooler.

“And for sure there’s no new direction. There’s north, south, east and west. There’s up, there’s down, there’s in and there’s out. Over, under, around and through. That beez it.”

“You’re forgetting milo,” I countered. “North, south, east, west and milo.”

“Milo’s not a direction,” I said. “It’s a crop in the field. Or somebody’s uncle. Of course, I suppose it’s possible to have an Uncle Milo standing in a field of milo. But think of the crazy logistics it would take to arrange that. Not to mention the liability insurance.”

“Didn’t you hear me?” I tried hard not to let me get to me. I can be pretty difficult to deal with sometimes. “Milo is a new direction. Which means it won’t be crowded. Duuuh!”

This had gone far enough. It was time to talk about the elephant in the room.

“Look,” I said to me, “I can’t fire me because I’m me. If I fire me, I fire myself.”

“That’s utter nonsense,” I said.

A silence as thick as a 5′ x 4′ cheese steak–onions, no hots– fell over the room and got on everything.

I became wrought and then overwrought. Wrought iron was next and before I knew it I was holding a 5-iron and looking under the washing machine for my ball. I felt dizzy, my  energy draining, although it could have been the washing machine coming out of its spin cycle.

“I’d like to be alone with my elephant,” I said.

“I sense a disconnection,” I replied. “The best way to fix that in my opinion—and your opinion as well—is a nap.”

I thought it over. It was not a bad idea, but there was one speed bump.

“What happens if the boss catches me asleep?”

“Won’t happen. The boss will be asleep too.”

 “But who’s going to watch the elephant?”

I got no answer, for a very simple reason. The elephant was sound asleep, his carefree snores underlining the very complacency I had hoped to avoid. Life is so hard.

I made a note to hire myself back and closed my eyes, hoping Dumbo would not roll over on me.

©Patrick A. McGuire and A Hint of Light 2014, all rights reserved