Correct to 100 things: the firing.

2003-10-15 at 8:31 p.m.

I said I was fired twice. Once I deserved (I called in to Blockbuster with a "sprained ankle". Hey, I was fifteen, there was a boy I liked, anyway.) and once I didn't (long story, but they still suck ass).

That wasn't quite true. I was fired one other time too. This past spring, in fact.

I was temping for a state agency that I'll call... the Oregon State Noard of Bursing. My job was semi-temp, meaning it was supposed to last through the summer, and might even turn permanent if the budget got approved by the state legislature. I didn't care--I was so excited to have a full-time temp job that lasted three months, I was over the moon. We were hurting for money, so I didn't care that the job was brainless (it was) or that I would be bored (I was) or that I'd be the youngest person in the office (indeed, I was). I'd be working forty hour weeks at 10 bucks an hour, baby!!! Didn't care if it was washing dishes.

The job basically consisted of me answering the phones, checking on how people were doing with their applications, and answering questions. Nothing hard, and really truly a situation that could have been handled by hiring a web firm for $20,000 and having them put everything online. Seriously. But whatever.

So at the end of my first week, I'm getting in the groove. I've got stuff to do, I keep busy, I keep my head down. I even take out my nose ring every day because them's the rules. I show up ten minutes early every morning, come back from lunch breaks five minutes early, and don't take bathroom breaks. But I'm anticipating a three-month stint, so I've brought in my coffee mug. I'm trying to fit in, but not too much, y'know? No one told me about a dress code, so I am sure to ask. Business casual, except they have this thing? Called "Casual Friday"? Where we get to wear jeans! No tee shirts, no tennies, no low riders or tank tops, but isn't that great? Jeans!

So Friday I wear some colored jeans I have, figuring this way, I'm not trying to dress up too hard, but I'm also not coming in schlebby, y'know? The jeans are a cool plaid--not like golfer plaid, but a cool plaid--not loud. I wear a turtleneck sweater and a pair of lace up Campers. Pretty tame outfit.

I'm fittin' in here, people.

At 8:30 on Friday, I get a call from the temp agency. It's their MO, y'know, the check-in.

"Hi, Kari, this is Connie! So, how're things going? We're getting great reviews!"

I modestly say I don't know about that, but I'm getting a handle on the work (while mentally rolling my eyes--my fourteen year old niece could have gotten a handle on the work).

"Well, call if you have any problems, I just wanted to check in" blah blah blah.

9:15: forty five minutes later. I'm on a call with someone, so a phone call goes to voice mail. When I've finished with my current call, I check my voice mail.

"Hi Kari, this is Connie. Call me back as soon as you get this."

That was a no-foolin' voice if I've ever heard one.

I call her back.

"Hi Connie, what's up?"

"Hi, Kari. I need you, when you hang up the phone, to gather your things and tell everyone you're taking a fifteen minute break. Don't turn off your computer, don't do anything, just call me when you get home."

"Whaaaaat?" My voice had reduced to a whisper, to a mere breath. "Have I... have I done something wrong?"

"It will be much less awkward if you call me once you've left the building. Just leave. We'll work this out."

"Um. Well. Okay. I guess I don't have much choice, do I?"

I hung up the phone gently, and quietly leaned over to the temp next to me.

"Have I done something wrong that you've noticed?"

She looked at me, shocked. "No!" she breathed. "Whyever are you asking?"

I was fighting back hyperventilation at this point, and knew I'd have to leave quickly. "I've been asked to leave."

Her eyes widened.

"Listen, I was in the middle of granting a temporary license to the woman on my desk. Take care of that for me, would you?" I quickly updated her on the work I had outstanding.

And I gathered up my coffeemug, my jacket and my bag, and walked out the door. "I'm taking my break now!" I said tightly.

I wasn't out the door two steps before my cell phone was out.

"Connie, what just happened?"

"Well, I called to check on you this morning, and they said you were doing great. Then Dwayne had our contact Stacey call me back, and apparently, you wore unacceptable clothing today."

"No one's said anything to me about it."

"Apparently you're wearing low riders today?"

"What? Connie, I'm six-one. EVERYTHING looks like low riders on me. I'm NOT wearing low riders, for the record."

"But did anyone say anything to you?"

"NO Connie! I had to ASK about the dress code! And even then, I made sure to wear something nicer than the dress code! Look, I live LESS THAN A MILE AWAY! If anyone had asked me to go home and change, that would have been FINE!"

Of course, by this time I'd started crying, which took a little wind out of my righteous-indignation sails. And the begging. That didn't help. But I really needed the job.

Apparently, though, according to the terms of their contract with Kelly, they could fire me on a whim.

And boy did they.

Becca's theory, so far my favorite, is that Dwayne, the nominal boss and the only guy in the office, had a cousin who needed a job, and so they had to make up some reason to get rid of me. Otherwise it just doesn't make sense. If my clothes were enough of a problem to get me FIRED, how did no one come up to me and say, "Oh, no, Kari, you have to go home"?

There's not really anywhere else to go with this story, except that, I really hope one day, I get to laugh and point at Dwayne for having his fly down in a public place.

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