Yesterday

Thursday April 17/2014

It took approximately twelve city blocks, several pints of cider, and eventually an entire bottle of champagne to process the fact that I had just been fired. As I walked away from The Alexandra, I hadn't a clue as to where I was going, but I walked as if I had a distinct destination. Swift and efficient, but without a single ounce of focus. I just walked. This must be what shock feels like. 

"Greenking has recently become aware that you write a blog. Effectively immediately, your employment at The Alexandra has been terminated." 

Effective immediately, I felt my heart sink and my breathing slow to an almost non-existent pace. 

"You're firing me?"

I was quickly left sitting alone at a table in the upstairs bar. I felt like I had just been hit by a truck. An incredibly effective "sack and run". I sat there, for what felt like an eternity. If I don't leave, maybe it doesn't count. If I stay here, nothing will change. Once I walk down those stairs and out that door, that's it. Admitted defeat. Jobless, and inevitably homeless. My face instantly turned hot, my head pounded as all of the blood rushed to my cheeks leaving the rest of me feeling completely weightless. As if my head was the only thing keeping me from floating away. A head that was now not only filled with blood, but suddenly rushing with millions of thoughts. What am I going to do? I was meant to move into The Alex at the end of the month. Two weeks. I have no where to live in two weeks. And no money. No job. The Alex was free rent. There's no way I can afford a place. I DON'T HAVE A JOB. My eyes started to burn and well up. Not here. I walked down the stairs, looking straight ahead but seeing nothing. I walked behind the bar one last time, dropped my fob, and left. Admitted defeat. 

And I just kept walking. Eyes glazed and forward. Where do I even go? I had everything figured out. I boasted about life being so easy, everything just falling into place. And now, just as easily, I have nothing. In a matter of seconds everything had changed. All because of a measly blog. 

Without realizing, I had arrived at a bar. With the fewest words possible to prevent an unauthorized outburst of tears, I asked the bartender for a cider. Though I was the only one inside, the room felt suffocating, and my head felt hot again. I sat outside on a picnic bench next to the sidewalk. The moment I sat, every single word I had ever written went rushing through my head. What did I write that was worth being "terminated, effective immediately"? I loved The Alex, and everyone in it. What could possibly be so offensive? I read over every sentence, every post, every quirky anecdote, every sarcastic side note in my head. How they could have been misread, my sarcasm misinterpreted. Maybe I shouldn't have said anything. Maybe I was naive to think my blog was just a harmless means of entertainment. I started to think about who could have thought it was more than that. Who would have turned me over to the big wig, Greenking? Surely such a massive company would have had to have been informed of one out of their millions of employees silly little blog. But who would want to do this, knowing my fate would be instant unemployment? I couldn't stop. Thought after thought kept stacking, one on top of the last until the very last one: What now? Tears started to pour. It couldn't be helped. There, on the side of Clapham High Street, surrounded by strangers, I cried. I cried until every thought fell from my eyes and I was left alone. And then I cried some more. 

And then the strangest thing happened. I looked across the street, blurry eyed, tears still streaming down my blushed cheeks, and I laughed. And I couldn't stop laughing. I laughed until my eyes dried and the blood settled from my face. Only one thought remained in my head:

Damn, this will make a great blog post. 

I smiled, grabbed what was now more so my tears than cider and went inside. 

In that moment, the unknown was irrelevant. All I wanted to do was write, and that feeling was more powerful than any that came from losing a job at a bar. Besides, what kind of writer would I be if I didn't stir up a little controversy? 

Regardless of this new found perspective on life's turn of events, I would still have moments of feeling defeated, lost, scared, and utterly hopeless. I had never been fired before. This isn't something I took lightly. Even if my borderline psychotic public outburst had made me feel differently, I was still jobless and soon to be homeless. Not to mention the blow to my pride. Later that night, I found myself exiting the overground station at Hackney Wick with a bottle of the cheapest 'champagne' this unemployed hobo could afford. I may have been drunk. With the intention of heading to Bryan, Bernie, and Angela for emotional support, I found myself immobile, leaning against a wall strewn with hipster graffiti. As the tears pooled in my eyes, I slid down the wall. The moment I hit the pavement, the tears flooded my face. Champagne in hand, I sat there, careless of yet another street side melt down. The streets were empty and carried my sobs in echos down the dark road. The sound of a sliding door jolted my attention. A man stepped out from a navy blue Volkswagen van parked beside me. He said something that I couldn't hear through my own dramatic blubbering. 

"You alright?" He may have repeated. 

"Oh ya. Just grand, thanks."

"Rough night?"

"I've just been sacked, actually. From a job that was meant to house me. In one day, I have managed to become jobless and homeless in a city that's half a world away from my home." I managed to control my crying long enough to respond and begin to uncork my champagne. "So yes, you could definitely say it's been a little rough."

"I'm sorry to hear that." The strange van man continued, though I vaguely listened. He talked about what he did for a living and how he moves from place to place wherever the work takes him. I shared my champagne, and between swigs he shared his cigarette. Then he mentioned something about how things will work out and not to worry about finding work or a house, because it will all work out. It always does. I cocked my head in his direction.  

"…You live in a van."

Silence. 

"My girlfriend says everything happens for a reason."

"People keep telling me that."

The next day, an amazing friend got me a trial shift at the very bar I cried out front of. The bar that I am now employed at. This bar will remain unnamed (I may be dumb, but I'm only dumb once). In the course of twenty-four hours, I was fired and hired--there has got to be some kind of record I've broken here-- and for this I am actually quite impressed with myself. I won't say much, but I will say that this bar makes me very happy. I felt instantly welcomed, and already feel so at home. And I get to use a dumb waiter. 

Though it still appears that I will be homeless come May, many amazing people have offered incredible love and positive words, as well as their support until I'm back on my feet. Things may not be perfect, but I'm not worried. I might even be starting to see this recent disaster as a blessing in disguise. After being hit by unemployment, I sat in The Alex, afraid to leave--afraid of change. But life is always changing. I may have gotten everything I needed from that place and now it was time to move on, move forward. To experience the next chapter of this ever evolving adventure I am living. Perhaps the strange van man was right. 

Maybe everything does happen for a reason.