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We started on April 7, and on all but 3 days because of minor medical flare ups we walked and walked and walked and played tennis and walked.
ON OUR WAY TO SASKATOON WE PASSED
(CLICK PICTURES TO BE WHISKED AWAY)
(CLICK PICTURES TO BE WHISKED AWAY)
BRITISH COLUMBIA
Chilliwack + Manning Park + Princeton + Hedley + Oliver + Rock Creek +
Grand Forks + Christina Lake + Blueberry Creek + Creston +
Grand Forks + Christina Lake + Blueberry Creek + Creston +
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CRESTON
|CHANGE|
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There is an old adage CHANGE IS GOOD.
It is probably coming from the mind of that asshole named They.
Taran just turned sixty. Starting anew at that age, how could that possibly be good?
Kids need their parents. Duh. Parents are their lifeblood. Duh. When they reach their teens, many begin to despise the authoritarian nature of parenting and would welcome if their parents went away—THE VIRUS for them is an extra bullet in the chamber.
“Mum, Dad, I hate you. By the way, I just tested positive for VIRUS. See you in hell, suckers.”
School is over, university is completed; the career world has arrived.
Fuck, you’re fired. Change is painful. Oh, please, your twenty-two. You’ll bounce. Your whole life is ahead of you. You don’t know squat, but whatever is next will be better than the last, a door slams shut. Twenty doors open.
Marriage comes, children arrive, divorce rears its ugly head. You’re fired. That’s okay, you are still listening to the soundtrack of your twenties. There is a whack of time to reinvent yourself. You reinvent.
You find calm—a new career. You turn forty. Your job ends—the company downsizes. You are a casualty. What the hell. You hit the pavement searching for new. Only five doors open, slightly. There are ten people in their twenties ahead of you waiting to be interviewed.
It is probably coming from the mind of that asshole named They.
Taran just turned sixty. Starting anew at that age, how could that possibly be good?
Kids need their parents. Duh. Parents are their lifeblood. Duh. When they reach their teens, many begin to despise the authoritarian nature of parenting and would welcome if their parents went away—THE VIRUS for them is an extra bullet in the chamber.
“Mum, Dad, I hate you. By the way, I just tested positive for VIRUS. See you in hell, suckers.”
School is over, university is completed; the career world has arrived.
Fuck, you’re fired. Change is painful. Oh, please, your twenty-two. You’ll bounce. Your whole life is ahead of you. You don’t know squat, but whatever is next will be better than the last, a door slams shut. Twenty doors open.
Marriage comes, children arrive, divorce rears its ugly head. You’re fired. That’s okay, you are still listening to the soundtrack of your twenties. There is a whack of time to reinvent yourself. You reinvent.
You find calm—a new career. You turn forty. Your job ends—the company downsizes. You are a casualty. What the hell. You hit the pavement searching for new. Only five doors open, slightly. There are ten people in their twenties ahead of you waiting to be interviewed.
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They conducts your interview.
“You’re resume is impressive. But if I can be frank, you are overqualified for this position. And we are looking for new blood—someone who is pliable. We find people of your age to be set in their ways. I wish you luck in your search.”
I don’t think They was sincere. And besides, They is twenty-five. Taran might be screwed. Taran is terrified. T thinks: how will I cope? How will I provide for my family? Fuck, They, I’m still relevant; aren’t I?
Crap job. Crap job. Crap job. Finally, a break, desperation leads to an active mind. A busy mind leads to an Opinion Editorial gig. The Opinion Editorial gig catches the eye of IYCSTUWCUYC's owner.
“I know Taran isn’t part of our nepotistic model, but I don’t think we are exploiting Taran sufficiently. I think we should allow Taran to create a position. What do we have to lose? If my hunch is right, Taran will bring in a ton of business at little cost to us because Taran is talented, but Taran is also broken, teetering on the cliffs of doom. That makes Taran a prime candidate to be used, and we will be able to get away with paying Taran peanuts.”
“You’re resume is impressive. But if I can be frank, you are overqualified for this position. And we are looking for new blood—someone who is pliable. We find people of your age to be set in their ways. I wish you luck in your search.”
I don’t think They was sincere. And besides, They is twenty-five. Taran might be screwed. Taran is terrified. T thinks: how will I cope? How will I provide for my family? Fuck, They, I’m still relevant; aren’t I?
Crap job. Crap job. Crap job. Finally, a break, desperation leads to an active mind. A busy mind leads to an Opinion Editorial gig. The Opinion Editorial gig catches the eye of IYCSTUWCUYC's owner.
“I know Taran isn’t part of our nepotistic model, but I don’t think we are exploiting Taran sufficiently. I think we should allow Taran to create a position. What do we have to lose? If my hunch is right, Taran will bring in a ton of business at little cost to us because Taran is talented, but Taran is also broken, teetering on the cliffs of doom. That makes Taran a prime candidate to be used, and we will be able to get away with paying Taran peanuts.”
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ONCE AGAIN: The creator of fictitious Taran has been informed some of the fictitious characters portrayed in this work of fiction, are upset by how real the creator of fictitious Taran has made them. Therefore; the creator of fictitious Taran has chosen to put part of the story on hold. Before doing so, the creator of fictitious Taran would like to make it perfectly clear: Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
The creator of fictitious Taran would like to continue now. |
Taran turns fifty, T has love in T's life.
Taran's family is vacant, T |nuance lost| T's job. It pays the bills, Taran does not dare to change, Taran does not dare to step out on T' own—T turned fifty.
Taran's family is vacant, T |nuance lost| T's job. It pays the bills, Taran does not dare to change, Taran does not dare to step out on T' own—T turned fifty.
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ONCE AGAIN: The creator of fictitious Taran has been informed some of the fictitious characters portrayed in this work of fiction, are upset by how real the creator of fictitious Taran has made them. Therefore; the creator of fictitious Taran has chosen to put part of the story on hold. Before doing so, the creator of fictitious Taran would like to make it perfectly clear: Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
The creator of fictitious Taran would like to continue now. |
A decade slips by. Taran's work is devastating to T's health. People die. IYCSTUWCUYC. doesn’t show an ounce of compassion for Taran's plight.
Taran's mother just died. Taran shares the grief. Taran is met with platitudes.
"It's probably great being at work to keep your mind off things."
Taran isn't entirely used up, yet.
A VIRUS comes. Taran is scared.
Taran is canned.
WTF now? Reinvent?
There is only one thing on Taran's resume that matters: fifteen years of allowing yourself to be...|nuance lost|.
CHANGE. IS. NOT. GOOD.
There are no longer twenty doors swinging open. There is only one. But where is it? How does Taran find it? Where does T search?
If Taran can't find it, Taran risks being on the outside in a doorless world.
There is nothing left to kick down.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Taran must define Taran before its too late. T's scared. Petrified really.
Use your words. Never give up.
Those are the only options. Taran has been given a gift.
At twenty, CHANGE is a blip.
At thirty, CHANGE is an inconvenience.
At forty, CHANGE is daunting.
At fifty, CHANGE is eye-opening.
Beyond sixty, CHANGE is life-threatening.
Can someone please explain where during this journey, CHANGE is good?
Needless to say, Taran is terrified about what lays in store.
Taran will never give up. T will use T's words. T will SCREAM OUT for all facing the harshness of CHANGE later in life. T doesn't want to be alone. T doesn't want you to be alone, either.
When CHANGE unceremoniously arrives later in life, there is a chance that in the wake of CHANGE, a lost generation of broken souls will be left behind.
Taran cries.
Taran's mother just died. Taran shares the grief. Taran is met with platitudes.
"It's probably great being at work to keep your mind off things."
Taran isn't entirely used up, yet.
A VIRUS comes. Taran is scared.
Taran is canned.
WTF now? Reinvent?
There is only one thing on Taran's resume that matters: fifteen years of allowing yourself to be...|nuance lost|.
CHANGE. IS. NOT. GOOD.
There are no longer twenty doors swinging open. There is only one. But where is it? How does Taran find it? Where does T search?
If Taran can't find it, Taran risks being on the outside in a doorless world.
There is nothing left to kick down.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Taran must define Taran before its too late. T's scared. Petrified really.
Use your words. Never give up.
Those are the only options. Taran has been given a gift.
At twenty, CHANGE is a blip.
At thirty, CHANGE is an inconvenience.
At forty, CHANGE is daunting.
At fifty, CHANGE is eye-opening.
Beyond sixty, CHANGE is life-threatening.
Can someone please explain where during this journey, CHANGE is good?
Needless to say, Taran is terrified about what lays in store.
Taran will never give up. T will use T's words. T will SCREAM OUT for all facing the harshness of CHANGE later in life. T doesn't want to be alone. T doesn't want you to be alone, either.
When CHANGE unceremoniously arrives later in life, there is a chance that in the wake of CHANGE, a lost generation of broken souls will be left behind.
Taran cries.
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ONCE AGAIN: The creator of fictitious Taran has been informed some of the fictitious characters portrayed in this work of fiction, are upset by how real the creator of fictitious Taran has made them. Therefore; the creator of fictitious Taran has chosen to put part of the story on hold. Before doing so, the creator of fictitious Taran would like to make it perfectly clear: Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
The creator of fictitious Taran would like to continue now. |
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9 ZEROS
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9 ZER0S
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9 ZEROS
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FAKE MEDIA
CHECK FOR TATS
THEHOTDOG PROFITS FOR THE DIRECTORS AND PROMOTERS = $$$MILLIONS
THEHOTDOG PROFITS FOR THOSE WHO COULDN'T AFFORD TO INVEST BUT WERE
ENCOURAGED BY A THEHOTDOG DIRECTOR = $(MINUS)-60,000+
LIFE ON THE INSIDE IS FILLED WITH RICHES - SUCKERS
THEHOTDOG PROFITS FOR THOSE WHO COULDN'T AFFORD TO INVEST BUT WERE
ENCOURAGED BY A THEHOTDOG DIRECTOR = $(MINUS)-60,000+
LIFE ON THE INSIDE IS FILLED WITH RICHES - SUCKERS
WELCOME TO ALBERTA
Summit Creek + Lundbrek + Fort MacLeod + Picture Butte +
Turin + Suffield + Empress +
Turin + Suffield + Empress +
SUMMIT CREEK CABINS
PICTURE BUTTE
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EMPRESS
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|CONTRIBUTIONS|
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TARAN (15)
COST
RESULT
YOU'RE FIRED WITHOUT COMPENSATION
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IYCSUWCUYC (20+)
OFFICE SUPPLIES
COST
RESULT
MORE $$$ FOR ME
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The creator of fictitious Taran, believes it is vitally important to make it perfectly clear the above story in the CONTRIBUTIONS SECTION is fictional. It most certainly would have to be, because treating IYCSUWCUYC's most senior fictitious employee in such a disgusting fashion (likely becaue of greed), would be unfathamabole. (15) - of uncompromised, loyal service where fictitious Taran played a huge role in IYCSUWCUYC's success, surely wouldn't result in a horrific result such as above. The creator of fictitious Taran would hope the powers that be at IYCSUWCUYC would find a way to make the fiction more bearable for fictitious Taran's future.
The creator of fictitious Taran would like to make it perfectly clear: Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. |
|THE HARSH REALITY OF BEING CANNED WHEN YOU ARE GETTING OLDER: A QUESTION|
DEAR FICTITIOUS IYCSUWCUYC
I have a fictitious question for you. It will come at the end of these fictitious points.
Would you consider suicide?
DEAR FICTITIOUS IYCSUWCUYC
I have a fictitious question for you. It will come at the end of these fictitious points.
- If you were canned after a long career with a company where you made them a truckload of money.
- And they used a pandemic as an opportunity to fire you without separation pay or even the decency of checking in on you (regular communication) to “really” see how you are faring after you gave them your health + years of impeccable service.
- And they almost criminally pretended you weren’t fired, but your career was put on hold. Proof in point: zero communication about being let go (no notice or discussion + no input about...anything) + no ongoing discussion about when and how you'd be returned to work--so as--to alleviate the stress of the uncertainty on how to survive.
- And you take no responsiblity for the lack of communication or what your actions are doing to your always loyal employee.
- And because no lifeline has being thrown your way to help you transition into the next phase of life.
- And with a transparent attempt, to avoid, at all costs, doing the right thing, after taking away 6-months of income—by pretending to un-fire you, so they could attempt to prevent paying separation pay once more (at what the company thought was the last possible moment to un-fire).
- And as the money runs dry with no options to replace the lost life savings as the pandemic continues to run wild.
- And with fall + winter + homelessness on the horizon.
- And with your age leaving you terrified of how you will survive.
Would you consider suicide?
IYCSUWCUYC
We got your last drop of blood – you're screwed - now beat it sucker.
We got your last drop of blood – you're screwed - now beat it sucker.
I THINK I MIGHT BE SCREWED.
HOMELESNESS WILL BE A DEATH SENTENCE.
WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO ORGANIZE THIS YEARS IYCSUWCUYC CHRISTMAS PARTY?
TARAN
Postscript
A second question: Why are you treating a human being this way?
HOMELESNESS WILL BE A DEATH SENTENCE.
WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO ORGANIZE THIS YEARS IYCSUWCUYC CHRISTMAS PARTY?
TARAN
Postscript
A second question: Why are you treating a human being this way?
|COMMUNICATION|
DEAR LINES OF COMMUNICATION
DEAR LINES OF COMMUNICATION
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Why are you doing this?
I am not your enemy. I gave you a decade-and-a-half of my life, health + service.
I played a large role in your success and everyone’s success up + down the company roster. You cannot argue this. If you did, you’d most certainly sound foolish—my length of time making you wealthy screams that out loud and clear.
I understand business. I know you were in the process of trying to find a way of shuffling me out the door. But you owe me the decency of a grand exit—not this bullshit.
You asked me if I’d relocate and resuscitate a struggling branch. I could not have screamed my NO(s) more resoundingly. It didn’t matter. I think it was part of your planned exit strategy for me: set me up for failure when I was struggling with my health. Maybe you didn’t know about my health concerns—or you likely didn’t care. Perhaps the Regional Manager failed to do his job and inform you? Maybe the Regional Manager only cared about his own career path, and by letting you know my challenges, he wouldn’t help out his cause?
Anyway, a pandemic hit. I made the mistake of uttering my concern.
And WHAM—an opportunity presented itself to you, you could shift into my position a childhood friend of the Regional Manager at a fraction of the cost, while at the same time, pretending you were looking out for me.
How?
You fired me while pretending to put my career on hold.
You can pretend you didn’t—however, the truth is not invisible.
When you showed me the door, you had a responsibility to look out for my well-being. You had a duty to give me financial footing, which would allow me to reinvent myself—at an advancing age. And most importantly, you had a responsibility to discuss my future with me, to keep me in the loop.
You did none of these.
There was no discussion. I didn’t ask or accept being let go. I never for a single second said I need a break because of health concerns—I’ve heard the lies to others floating in the wind.
You saw an opportunity, and you took it: no separation-pay; no thank you for increasing your wealth, no fucking communication at all. Just silence.
I did receive calls from your sycophants. One of them bore a hole into my being, “We’re going to do you a favour to help you out. We are going to put the one-week of holiday pay we owe you on your final cheque.”
Since this is a work of fiction, fictitious sycophants, pay no heed to the label. Or better yet, prove fictitious Taran: wrong.
Funny, FINAL doesn’t say: Career on Hold.
The days, weeks, and months slipped by. The lines of communication remained silent. Except for when clients called me, and I stayed dedicated and professional by passing on the messages. Even though I had been fired, I was still being used, + I continued to make you money. This time, without renumeration.
Other than that, there were no calls to see how I am holding up, no calls to see if the “one week of holiday pay” saved my looming financial demise, no calls to offer help in finding my next chapter in life. NO CALLS.
There were a couple of texts: Did you buy this or that stock? And: How fast could you run a mile in?
Buying stock with my dwindling resources, wow.
Sadness has knocked on my door, I resisted answering, so bouts of depression kicked it in. I’m scared. I don’t know what is coming next? Maybe eviction? Maybe worse?
You won’t care. You’ll likely think that means you are winning.
You’re not.
Two months turned into three turned into—a need to protect me.
You had a responsibility to tell me at the thirteen-week mark your plans for me, by law. Then again at the sixteen-week mark, and again, at the twenty-week mark. I guess the lines of communication had been cut.
The epidemic still rages on. Nothing has changed. The only thing that has changed, but not really, is you failed your most fundamental responsibility: decency. And now, you attempted to deepen my depression by pretending to recall me after, by law, you had fired me. You put me on hold for more than five months, and I am supposed to jump at your beck and call, return to what could only be deemed a toxic environment, only to indeed be fired again.
The epidemic rages on—you pretended you did this for my health—but you have no problem thrusting me back into a dangerous scenario. Your original "pretend" concerns ring shallow. Are you really that person?
I am not your enemy. I gave you a lengthy period of my life being a great employee. I helped provide you with much of what you have.
It’s your turn to do the right thing and take care of my future.
It’s your turn to stop—punishing me for making you richer.
I am not your enemy.
TARAN
I am not your enemy. I gave you a decade-and-a-half of my life, health + service.
I played a large role in your success and everyone’s success up + down the company roster. You cannot argue this. If you did, you’d most certainly sound foolish—my length of time making you wealthy screams that out loud and clear.
I understand business. I know you were in the process of trying to find a way of shuffling me out the door. But you owe me the decency of a grand exit—not this bullshit.
You asked me if I’d relocate and resuscitate a struggling branch. I could not have screamed my NO(s) more resoundingly. It didn’t matter. I think it was part of your planned exit strategy for me: set me up for failure when I was struggling with my health. Maybe you didn’t know about my health concerns—or you likely didn’t care. Perhaps the Regional Manager failed to do his job and inform you? Maybe the Regional Manager only cared about his own career path, and by letting you know my challenges, he wouldn’t help out his cause?
Anyway, a pandemic hit. I made the mistake of uttering my concern.
And WHAM—an opportunity presented itself to you, you could shift into my position a childhood friend of the Regional Manager at a fraction of the cost, while at the same time, pretending you were looking out for me.
How?
You fired me while pretending to put my career on hold.
You can pretend you didn’t—however, the truth is not invisible.
When you showed me the door, you had a responsibility to look out for my well-being. You had a duty to give me financial footing, which would allow me to reinvent myself—at an advancing age. And most importantly, you had a responsibility to discuss my future with me, to keep me in the loop.
You did none of these.
There was no discussion. I didn’t ask or accept being let go. I never for a single second said I need a break because of health concerns—I’ve heard the lies to others floating in the wind.
You saw an opportunity, and you took it: no separation-pay; no thank you for increasing your wealth, no fucking communication at all. Just silence.
I did receive calls from your sycophants. One of them bore a hole into my being, “We’re going to do you a favour to help you out. We are going to put the one-week of holiday pay we owe you on your final cheque.”
Since this is a work of fiction, fictitious sycophants, pay no heed to the label. Or better yet, prove fictitious Taran: wrong.
Funny, FINAL doesn’t say: Career on Hold.
The days, weeks, and months slipped by. The lines of communication remained silent. Except for when clients called me, and I stayed dedicated and professional by passing on the messages. Even though I had been fired, I was still being used, + I continued to make you money. This time, without renumeration.
Other than that, there were no calls to see how I am holding up, no calls to see if the “one week of holiday pay” saved my looming financial demise, no calls to offer help in finding my next chapter in life. NO CALLS.
There were a couple of texts: Did you buy this or that stock? And: How fast could you run a mile in?
Buying stock with my dwindling resources, wow.
Sadness has knocked on my door, I resisted answering, so bouts of depression kicked it in. I’m scared. I don’t know what is coming next? Maybe eviction? Maybe worse?
You won’t care. You’ll likely think that means you are winning.
You’re not.
Two months turned into three turned into—a need to protect me.
You had a responsibility to tell me at the thirteen-week mark your plans for me, by law. Then again at the sixteen-week mark, and again, at the twenty-week mark. I guess the lines of communication had been cut.
The epidemic still rages on. Nothing has changed. The only thing that has changed, but not really, is you failed your most fundamental responsibility: decency. And now, you attempted to deepen my depression by pretending to recall me after, by law, you had fired me. You put me on hold for more than five months, and I am supposed to jump at your beck and call, return to what could only be deemed a toxic environment, only to indeed be fired again.
The epidemic rages on—you pretended you did this for my health—but you have no problem thrusting me back into a dangerous scenario. Your original "pretend" concerns ring shallow. Are you really that person?
I am not your enemy. I gave you a lengthy period of my life being a great employee. I helped provide you with much of what you have.
It’s your turn to do the right thing and take care of my future.
It’s your turn to stop—punishing me for making you richer.
I am not your enemy.
TARAN
|COWARDICE|
“Taran, have you considered the question I asked you on Friday?”
“No, Hector, I have not, why would I?
Each time I’d been asked my opinion about this bleeping company, it was just semantics, there was no interest in my answer, the decision had already been made.”
“The question was about the direction of your future with IYCSTUWCUYC?”
“I tell you what, Hector, what I did do was stress over the weekend—thanks to you. And, what the hell, is Ricco doing here? Fuck. This is a discussion about my future, and you bring along a guy who one month ago you were asking me if I think Ricco is showing the signs of addiction. Heck, Ricco has been deemed unreliable and fired twice, but yet; I’ve been training him to probably be...”
“Taran, have you considered the question I asked you on Friday?”
“No, Hector, I have not, why would I?
Each time I’d been asked my opinion about this bleeping company, it was just semantics, there was no interest in my answer, the decision had already been made.”
“The question was about the direction of your future with IYCSTUWCUYC?”
“I tell you what, Hector, what I did do was stress over the weekend—thanks to you. And, what the hell, is Ricco doing here? Fuck. This is a discussion about my future, and you bring along a guy who one month ago you were asking me if I think Ricco is showing the signs of addiction. Heck, Ricco has been deemed unreliable and fired twice, but yet; I’ve been training him to probably be...”
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ONCE AGAIN: The creator of fictitious Taran has been informed some of the fictitious characters portrayed in this work of fiction, are upset by how real the creator of fictitious Taran has made them. Therefore; the creator of fictitious Taran has chosen to put part of the story on hold. Before doing so, the creator of fictitious Taran would like to make it perfectly clear: Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
The creator of fictitious Taran would like to continue now. |
“You need to, Lester wants to know what you want to do?”
“You told me on Friday, Lester would be calling me. No call, Hector. Hector, we have had lunch meetings almost every Monday for ten years—mostly so you can vent about your... |the fiction that came after the ellipses was deemed to upsetting to the fictious character it portrayed and has been put on hold|. During that time, I had a stroke, was diagnosed with a rare inflammatory disease likely caused by the work environment. My mom died for the second time. My mom died for the second time. Two more family members died. I’ve listened to you over and over and over and over and fucking—over again. I’ve listened to you drone on whenever the numbers drop, “Taran, slow day today." "Taran, Lester is concerned, we (you) must do a blitz to get the numbers up." "Taran, how’s the procedure manual coming along?" "Taran, stop working on the manual, we need you on the phone blitzing." "Taran, Taran, Taran.”
Taran needed to continue to vent.
“I’m tired. I’m tired of coming into the office the day after my mother’s death and having to listen to you or a co-worker start the day with how tired you are because... |the fiction that came after the ellipses was deemed to upsetting to the fictious characters it portrayed and has been put on hold| ...asking me if I think the pimple on his back is Cancer?
I'm tired.
My mother died, I had a stroke, my sister and niece died… Nobody asked me once how I’m doing? But I sure heard enough, “Lester is freaking out about the numbers.” I never took a single day off. I’m a goddamn fool. My mother died.”
“Lots of people have issues, Taran.”
“Why don’t you just tell me to shut up?”
“You know, Taran, when my father died, some people were insensitive. And—”
“You told me on Friday, Lester would be calling me. No call, Hector. Hector, we have had lunch meetings almost every Monday for ten years—mostly so you can vent about your... |the fiction that came after the ellipses was deemed to upsetting to the fictious character it portrayed and has been put on hold|. During that time, I had a stroke, was diagnosed with a rare inflammatory disease likely caused by the work environment. My mom died for the second time. My mom died for the second time. Two more family members died. I’ve listened to you over and over and over and over and fucking—over again. I’ve listened to you drone on whenever the numbers drop, “Taran, slow day today." "Taran, Lester is concerned, we (you) must do a blitz to get the numbers up." "Taran, how’s the procedure manual coming along?" "Taran, stop working on the manual, we need you on the phone blitzing." "Taran, Taran, Taran.”
Taran needed to continue to vent.
“I’m tired. I’m tired of coming into the office the day after my mother’s death and having to listen to you or a co-worker start the day with how tired you are because... |the fiction that came after the ellipses was deemed to upsetting to the fictious characters it portrayed and has been put on hold| ...asking me if I think the pimple on his back is Cancer?
I'm tired.
My mother died, I had a stroke, my sister and niece died… Nobody asked me once how I’m doing? But I sure heard enough, “Lester is freaking out about the numbers.” I never took a single day off. I’m a goddamn fool. My mother died.”
“Lots of people have issues, Taran.”
“Why don’t you just tell me to shut up?”
“You know, Taran, when my father died, some people were insensitive. And—”
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in·sen·si·tive
/inˈsensədiv/ adjective
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“Ricco…don’t say another fucking word. I don’t want to hear it. Hector, you should have just told me to shut up. Doing it this way, wow.”
Taran calmed, rose, and left the meeting. As Taran drove away, Ricco + Hector remained in the parking lot of the restaurant, discussing Taran’s future. Taran’s phone rang ten minutes later.
“You were rude to Ricco. He was trying to help.”
“Trying to help? I needed to vent, and Ricco, who’s twenty years younger than me and had no business being in a discussion about my career, starts giving me a lesson about sensitivity. Please. You’re being rude. Ten years of me listening to your frustrations with your... |the fiction that came after the ellipses was deemed to upsetting to the fictious characters it portrayed and has been put on hold|.”
A week later, just as the pandemic hit our city, with the first deaths, another meeting was held. Ricco was once again present.
“This pandemic looks serious. OMG people are starting to drop. I need you to train Ricco as fast as possible to run your office just in case you go down.”
“Hector, I don’t think joking about my death is funny.”
“Taran, when my father died…”
“Shut up, Ricco.”
Two weeks later, Taran expressed concern regarding the raging pandemic. The next day... |the fiction that came after the ellipses was deemed to upsetting to the fictious characters it portrayed and has been put on hold|.
Two weeks later, Taran received a call from Hector.
“I’m sorry, we have to put your career on hold. It frustrates me. The pandemic is scary. We may lose our home.”
Are you being kicked to the curb, having your income taken away? Taran thought.
“Lester will be giving you a call today. He appreciates your fourteen plus years of service. He wants to show his appreciation.”
Fifteen Minutes Later
Taran calmed, rose, and left the meeting. As Taran drove away, Ricco + Hector remained in the parking lot of the restaurant, discussing Taran’s future. Taran’s phone rang ten minutes later.
“You were rude to Ricco. He was trying to help.”
“Trying to help? I needed to vent, and Ricco, who’s twenty years younger than me and had no business being in a discussion about my career, starts giving me a lesson about sensitivity. Please. You’re being rude. Ten years of me listening to your frustrations with your... |the fiction that came after the ellipses was deemed to upsetting to the fictious characters it portrayed and has been put on hold|.”
A week later, just as the pandemic hit our city, with the first deaths, another meeting was held. Ricco was once again present.
“This pandemic looks serious. OMG people are starting to drop. I need you to train Ricco as fast as possible to run your office just in case you go down.”
“Hector, I don’t think joking about my death is funny.”
“Taran, when my father died…”
“Shut up, Ricco.”
Two weeks later, Taran expressed concern regarding the raging pandemic. The next day... |the fiction that came after the ellipses was deemed to upsetting to the fictious characters it portrayed and has been put on hold|.
Two weeks later, Taran received a call from Hector.
“I’m sorry, we have to put your career on hold. It frustrates me. The pandemic is scary. We may lose our home.”
Are you being kicked to the curb, having your income taken away? Taran thought.
“Lester will be giving you a call today. He appreciates your fourteen plus years of service. He wants to show his appreciation.”
Fifteen Minutes Later
|
The creator of fictitious Taran would like to take a moment for to apologize. Because of the fictitious characters upset, the creator of fictitious Taran feels the story is missing much of the nuance and the flow has been greatly impacted. If you'd like to know the full story, the creator of fictitious Taran suggests you contact Taran. Contacting fictitious Taran is of course, impossible, because fictitous Taran is a work of fiction. And besides, the characters who'd be contacting fictitious Taran are also fictitious, therefore; impossible once more.
The creator of fictitious Taran would like to make it perfectly clear: Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Taran would like to continue now. |
Nuance lost.
Fifteen Minutes Later
Fifteen Minutes Later
|
|
|
“Hello.”
“Hello, oh, hi, Rudy.”
Rudy is IYCSTUWCUYC's Chief Operating Officer who when told about the death of Taran’s mother, replied, “It must be great being at work to keep your mind off things.”
“|nuance lost|.”
Is that why Ricco will be doing my job?
“We appreciate everything you’ve done for the company. To make things easier for you, we will add the week of holiday pay we owe you on your next cheque.”
Let me get this perfectly clear, you are going to pay me what you owe me to help me out? Rich.
“I don’t want this to be the end of your career any more than you do.”
|nuance lost|.
“Lester will call you today to express his enormous appreciation for your efforts.”
Five Months Later
Lester has yet to call.
|nuance lost|.
Another hour. No call.
Taran was being schooled on the definition of |nuance lost|.
“Hello, oh, hi, Rudy.”
Rudy is IYCSTUWCUYC's Chief Operating Officer who when told about the death of Taran’s mother, replied, “It must be great being at work to keep your mind off things.”
“|nuance lost|.”
Is that why Ricco will be doing my job?
“We appreciate everything you’ve done for the company. To make things easier for you, we will add the week of holiday pay we owe you on your next cheque.”
Let me get this perfectly clear, you are going to pay me what you owe me to help me out? Rich.
“I don’t want this to be the end of your career any more than you do.”
|nuance lost|.
“Lester will call you today to express his enormous appreciation for your efforts.”
Five Months Later
Lester has yet to call.
|nuance lost|.
Another hour. No call.
Taran was being schooled on the definition of |nuance lost|.
|
cow·ard
/ˈkou(ə)rd/ noun noun: coward; plural noun: cowards
|
When my father died?
Shut up, Ricco. Why are you here?
|nuance lost|
Taran will probably laugh.
Shut up, Ricco. Why are you here?
|nuance lost|
Taran will probably laugh.
|
ONCE AGAIN: The creator of fictitious Taran has been informed some of the fictitious characters portrayed in this work of fiction, are upset by how real Taran has made them. Therefore; Taran has chosen to put part of the story on hold. Before doing so, the creator of fictitious Taran would like to make it perfectly clear: Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
The creator of fictitious Taran would like to continue soon. |
|
9 ZEROS
|
9 ZER0S
|
9 ZEROS
|
FAKE MEDIA
?him to same do ,day one likely would
.Co the realizes Hector if wonders Taran Fictitious
Nah, fictitious Taran doesn't care.
.Co the realizes Hector if wonders Taran Fictitious
Nah, fictitious Taran doesn't care.
Hello, I am a furry kitty. I’ve spent most of my life at clown college.
|
You may ask yourself:
How did I get here? And you may ask yourself: How do I work this? And you may ask yourself: Where is that large automobile? And you may tell yourself: This is not my beautiful house! And you may tell yourself: This is not my beautiful wife. |
Why would a furry quadruped go to college — let alone a college for clowns?
I beg to ask: why not?
Clown College isn’t only for humans — it’s for all of god’s creatures; whatever god is?
Come on. Come on. Come on.
Billy Idol?
No, my decapitated mind is fuelled by the uncertainty of living. It hovers above me, capturing my glare, telling me things, whispering to me, so only I can hear the insanity.
Where are you going?
I’m going there—where you are—where we need to go—to the final point.
My name used to be Fuzzy Nose + Toes.
I like using a + sign in place of “and” —often because I write my own writing rules. And my rules belong to me.
I beg to ask: why not?
Clown College isn’t only for humans — it’s for all of god’s creatures; whatever god is?
Come on. Come on. Come on.
Billy Idol?
No, my decapitated mind is fuelled by the uncertainty of living. It hovers above me, capturing my glare, telling me things, whispering to me, so only I can hear the insanity.
Where are you going?
I’m going there—where you are—where we need to go—to the final point.
My name used to be Fuzzy Nose + Toes.
I like using a + sign in place of “and” —often because I write my own writing rules. And my rules belong to me.
Perfection doesn’t exist.
Fuck grammatical rules. We don’t speak in a grammatically correct fashion — so, why the need to pretentiously limit our audiences by writing for proofreaders, editors + the fucking game?
Fuck the proofreaders. Especially if they are fuck-able. We’re all fuck-able, we’ve all been fucked.
I’ll eat you if I get a chance. But I won’t.
Why?
You feed me + I think you might be gamey.
Back to my name, I changed it, I now go by Taran. I’m no longer a furry kitty. I have morphed into a maniacal demented demon.
I’m not nuts, or I’m not nuts enough, a debatable topic.
Why?
You feed me + I think you might be gamey.
Back to my name, I changed it, I now go by Taran. I’m no longer a furry kitty. I have morphed into a maniacal demented demon.
I’m not nuts, or I’m not nuts enough, a debatable topic.
Where is your family?
Mine is gone.
Yours, I’ve taken yours from you — do you feel the visceral pain, the unbounded emotional loss?
Call them. Your call will ring hollow; your family members no longer can answer, not your mothers, brothers, sisters, father — none of them.
Why is my father last?
Because you need his love the most, but he punished you with lack.
Now, I’ve punished you more, saving you by taking away your non-existent wholeness, making you fucking grow. If you don’t, you’ll sink into crippling despair like the rest of society’s clones. You’ll find yourself trapped in a moment, never accepting anything new as better, progressive, real, life-changing and affirming.
I know you are listening, you must; it’s your only chance.
Mine is gone.
Yours, I’ve taken yours from you — do you feel the visceral pain, the unbounded emotional loss?
Call them. Your call will ring hollow; your family members no longer can answer, not your mothers, brothers, sisters, father — none of them.
Why is my father last?
Because you need his love the most, but he punished you with lack.
Now, I’ve punished you more, saving you by taking away your non-existent wholeness, making you fucking grow. If you don’t, you’ll sink into crippling despair like the rest of society’s clones. You’ll find yourself trapped in a moment, never accepting anything new as better, progressive, real, life-changing and affirming.
I know you are listening, you must; it’s your only chance.
Where is your work family?
Shall we guffaw?
Why did he let you go?
Because he’s greedy. He doesn’t care about you, about anybody really. He’s cruel. Broken himself, but he refuses to grow. I think his power comes in $ signs. It does. It’s all he has. So, he punishes. He pretended he was doing things for you. But if he can, and he most certainly will, he’ll punish you with the only thing he knows—his mighty dollars. If he keeps them all to himself—it’ll suck to be you.
He has no problem bending the rules to achieve your despair. Your |ex|colleagues don’t understand their day will also come—and he’ll start the dance of deception once more.
Your time with him—was exclusively for his benefit: Cars + Homes + Vacations + Opportunities. He’s a user, preying on those ripe to be used, dangling carrots. A truth he’ll never admit. I’m certain he doesn’t care.
Shall we guffaw?
Why did he let you go?
Because he’s greedy. He doesn’t care about you, about anybody really. He’s cruel. Broken himself, but he refuses to grow. I think his power comes in $ signs. It does. It’s all he has. So, he punishes. He pretended he was doing things for you. But if he can, and he most certainly will, he’ll punish you with the only thing he knows—his mighty dollars. If he keeps them all to himself—it’ll suck to be you.
He has no problem bending the rules to achieve your despair. Your |ex|colleagues don’t understand their day will also come—and he’ll start the dance of deception once more.
Your time with him—was exclusively for his benefit: Cars + Homes + Vacations + Opportunities. He’s a user, preying on those ripe to be used, dangling carrots. A truth he’ll never admit. I’m certain he doesn’t care.
Stay strong. Fight. You are not the one telling the lies.
All you did was everything ever asked of you—all he did was what his conditioned marginality and cruelty allowed, to use.
He may have the $’s.
What you have is growth + a powerful voice + at the end of the day: you define the rules.
Take them where you may.
Weild them like a sword.
All you did was everything ever asked of you—all he did was what his conditioned marginality and cruelty allowed, to use.
He may have the $’s.
What you have is growth + a powerful voice + at the end of the day: you define the rules.
Take them where you may.
Weild them like a sword.
|
|
sub·ter·fuge
/ˈsəbtərˌfyo͞oj/ noun
|
HELLO SASKATCHEWAN
Alsask + Kindersley + Rosetown + Delisle
KINDERSLEY
|
ROSETOWN
|
|CRUELTY|
DEAR IYCSUWCUYC
Sitting in limbo sucks.
I’m not sure why you feel the need to make me suffer?
It wasn’t enough that you fired me—while pretending you were putting me on hold—but now you seem to think my decade-and-half of stellar service is, or was, worthless to you. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate you allowing me to flex my skill set and make you a small fortune. You knew I was a competitive person, and you deftly tapped into my drive. I allowed you to take advantage of me, to underpay me, to use me—that’s on me, not you. I’m not angry about that. You knew I was in a perilous life position, and you knew you could take advantage of that fact, I let you.
I never made the decision to be put on the shelf. The decision solely rests on your shoulders, all of yours. I thought I would cherish some of the friendships that blossomed during my years working for you, but when the pandemic hit, the closest of those friendships turned and started treating me differently, with the friendship seeming to turn adversarial. It was glaringly obvious long before the epidemic hit, I was on my last legs with the company. I’d have to be blind-dumb to not realize I was training my replacement—and pardon the language—why the fuck was my replacement present in discussions about my career future?
Why?
Anyway, what’s done is done, and you may try to convince yourself that wasn’t the case, but c’mon.
I gave you my health. And now, you seem to want to make me suffer more.
Why?
All I’ve done is what I thought necessary to protect myself. Wouldn’t you do the same?
You are a thriving corporation, thanks in large part to my efforts—I am a one-person—yet you insist on battling me instead of saying THANK YOU for all that I’ve done + helping me to make my next life chapter less painful. But instead you want to make me pay. I can't articulate the level of cruelty you are displaying.
Life sent me a gauntlet of challenges during my time, making you successful.
Suffering a stroke springs to mind.
You do know I suffered a catastrophic stroke, don’t you?
You do know my mother died for a second time?
You do know my youngest niece and sister both died the same year as my mother?
You do know I developed an inflammatory disease, likely caused by my work environment—a condition that made walking close to impossible, don’t you?
If you don’t know, why don’t you?
If you know, not once did you show concern for what I was dealing with, nor did anyone suggest I take some time to regroup?
Instead, what you did do, was nothing.
For two days, I mentioned at work, “Something is wrong, every time I turn, I feel lightheaded, I feel like I am going to collapse.”
When I mentioned this, nothing, nothing, nothing.
On the third day, a Friday, I went to Emergency. If I hadn’t, I’D BE DEAD.
I was back at work on Monday.
As for the inflammatory disease, at least 20 times, during company meetings + lunch meetings with clients and prospects, my throat closed, and I needed to violently vomit— at least 20 times, did you hear anything about this?
I never complained. I never missed work. I was never offered a break.
It must be hard to care.
Hell, when asked if I’d like to run a specific branch, I emphatically stated at least 25 times, “NO.” But that didn’t matter, the decision had been made—my no(s) meant nothing.
When I expressed my upset over my new role, do you know what I was told in return?
Let me clarify, I expressed concern about my health and the new position changing my work hours from painfully early to life-threateningly early—with an added commute of more than 2-hours. I have a note from my doctor saying the new role would eventually kill me.
Anyway, what I was met with when I shared my disdain, rang meek, without a shred of understanding.
“If you want to get more sleep in the mornings, you should speed during your morning commute.” And “Do you know what I did when I had to get up early—I slept in my work clothes ready to go, and I’d wake up on my drive to work.”
I kid you not.
cru·el·ty
/ˈkro͞o(ə)ltē/
noun
If I followed the advice to speed and do my morning constitutional in the vehicle on the way to work, I could have changed my waking time from 3:30 AM to 3:40.
I lost. Drive faster + sleep in your work clothes—my promotion for more than a decade of impeccable service.
Was I in an abusive relationship?
I was guaranteed I would be at the branch temporarily—a month at most.
After a month, I was told someone had been found to take over the branch, and I would be returned to my original branch. That fell through.
Several months into my transfer, I was then put in the unenviable position of training my replacement, who just so happens to be a childhood friend of the manager.
Then the pandemic hit. I expressed concern. I was fired the next day, under the guise of something else. Under the guise.
After being canned, the lines of communication went silent. Except for when clients called me, and I did the noble thing of passing those calls along to an |ex| colleague.
And except for, when my birthday came, three months into my unemployment, with my life savings slipping away, birthday greetings arrived, saying, “How’s your summer going?”
You fire me. You take away my livelihood. And then, when I've reached a milestone birthday, you have the bleeping audacity to ask me how's my summer going?
My ability to articulate my next thought, once again escapes me. Nah, it doesn't. I think you are a...
I’ll get back to my original thought, why are you punishing me?
I made you a small fortune, but now, I’m suffering.
Taking care of what’s next for me is a small drop in a bucket for you.
For me, it’s (I don’t want to use ALL CAPS, but I will) A LIFELINE. A RESET. A CHANCE.
But instead, after firing me, and after the silence of the last five months, SILENCE, and obviously to avoid doing the right thing, you are pretending to recall me—I know it’s to punt me to the curb again, as swiftly as you possibly can. This disgusts me; I was fired, my life savings are almost gone, eviction is on the horizon, and you insist on screwing me more. You don’t want me back. You are only attempting doing this because you think you hold the cards.
I’ve got to go now, I’m sick of writing this work of fiction.
Do the right thing.
I can’t drive faster.
It is not okay to sleep in my clothes.
The last question, I implore you, to be honest, what’s changed since the day you fired me?
Is the pandemic over?
I gave you a decade-and-half of my life and health.
You owe me a lifeline. If not for my decade-and-a-half of impeccable service and loyalty, then for the fact that 6-years of under-the-table left me non-existent and vacation free. That's correct, your kindness in screwing me made taking vacations unaffordable.
I won’t quit trying.
I won’t just go away.
Respectfully Yours,
Taran
DEAR IYCSUWCUYC
Sitting in limbo sucks.
I’m not sure why you feel the need to make me suffer?
It wasn’t enough that you fired me—while pretending you were putting me on hold—but now you seem to think my decade-and-half of stellar service is, or was, worthless to you. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate you allowing me to flex my skill set and make you a small fortune. You knew I was a competitive person, and you deftly tapped into my drive. I allowed you to take advantage of me, to underpay me, to use me—that’s on me, not you. I’m not angry about that. You knew I was in a perilous life position, and you knew you could take advantage of that fact, I let you.
I never made the decision to be put on the shelf. The decision solely rests on your shoulders, all of yours. I thought I would cherish some of the friendships that blossomed during my years working for you, but when the pandemic hit, the closest of those friendships turned and started treating me differently, with the friendship seeming to turn adversarial. It was glaringly obvious long before the epidemic hit, I was on my last legs with the company. I’d have to be blind-dumb to not realize I was training my replacement—and pardon the language—why the fuck was my replacement present in discussions about my career future?
Why?
Anyway, what’s done is done, and you may try to convince yourself that wasn’t the case, but c’mon.
I gave you my health. And now, you seem to want to make me suffer more.
Why?
All I’ve done is what I thought necessary to protect myself. Wouldn’t you do the same?
You are a thriving corporation, thanks in large part to my efforts—I am a one-person—yet you insist on battling me instead of saying THANK YOU for all that I’ve done + helping me to make my next life chapter less painful. But instead you want to make me pay. I can't articulate the level of cruelty you are displaying.
Life sent me a gauntlet of challenges during my time, making you successful.
Suffering a stroke springs to mind.
You do know I suffered a catastrophic stroke, don’t you?
You do know my mother died for a second time?
You do know my youngest niece and sister both died the same year as my mother?
You do know I developed an inflammatory disease, likely caused by my work environment—a condition that made walking close to impossible, don’t you?
If you don’t know, why don’t you?
If you know, not once did you show concern for what I was dealing with, nor did anyone suggest I take some time to regroup?
Instead, what you did do, was nothing.
For two days, I mentioned at work, “Something is wrong, every time I turn, I feel lightheaded, I feel like I am going to collapse.”
When I mentioned this, nothing, nothing, nothing.
On the third day, a Friday, I went to Emergency. If I hadn’t, I’D BE DEAD.
I was back at work on Monday.
As for the inflammatory disease, at least 20 times, during company meetings + lunch meetings with clients and prospects, my throat closed, and I needed to violently vomit— at least 20 times, did you hear anything about this?
I never complained. I never missed work. I was never offered a break.
It must be hard to care.
Hell, when asked if I’d like to run a specific branch, I emphatically stated at least 25 times, “NO.” But that didn’t matter, the decision had been made—my no(s) meant nothing.
When I expressed my upset over my new role, do you know what I was told in return?
Let me clarify, I expressed concern about my health and the new position changing my work hours from painfully early to life-threateningly early—with an added commute of more than 2-hours. I have a note from my doctor saying the new role would eventually kill me.
Anyway, what I was met with when I shared my disdain, rang meek, without a shred of understanding.
“If you want to get more sleep in the mornings, you should speed during your morning commute.” And “Do you know what I did when I had to get up early—I slept in my work clothes ready to go, and I’d wake up on my drive to work.”
I kid you not.
cru·el·ty
/ˈkro͞o(ə)ltē/
noun
- callous indifference to or pleasure in causing pain and suffering.
"he has treated her with extreme cruelty"
- If you want to get more sleep in the mornings... Do you know what I did when I...
If I followed the advice to speed and do my morning constitutional in the vehicle on the way to work, I could have changed my waking time from 3:30 AM to 3:40.
I lost. Drive faster + sleep in your work clothes—my promotion for more than a decade of impeccable service.
Was I in an abusive relationship?
I was guaranteed I would be at the branch temporarily—a month at most.
After a month, I was told someone had been found to take over the branch, and I would be returned to my original branch. That fell through.
Several months into my transfer, I was then put in the unenviable position of training my replacement, who just so happens to be a childhood friend of the manager.
Then the pandemic hit. I expressed concern. I was fired the next day, under the guise of something else. Under the guise.
After being canned, the lines of communication went silent. Except for when clients called me, and I did the noble thing of passing those calls along to an |ex| colleague.
And except for, when my birthday came, three months into my unemployment, with my life savings slipping away, birthday greetings arrived, saying, “How’s your summer going?”
You fire me. You take away my livelihood. And then, when I've reached a milestone birthday, you have the bleeping audacity to ask me how's my summer going?
My ability to articulate my next thought, once again escapes me. Nah, it doesn't. I think you are a...
I’ll get back to my original thought, why are you punishing me?
I made you a small fortune, but now, I’m suffering.
Taking care of what’s next for me is a small drop in a bucket for you.
For me, it’s (I don’t want to use ALL CAPS, but I will) A LIFELINE. A RESET. A CHANCE.
But instead, after firing me, and after the silence of the last five months, SILENCE, and obviously to avoid doing the right thing, you are pretending to recall me—I know it’s to punt me to the curb again, as swiftly as you possibly can. This disgusts me; I was fired, my life savings are almost gone, eviction is on the horizon, and you insist on screwing me more. You don’t want me back. You are only attempting doing this because you think you hold the cards.
I’ve got to go now, I’m sick of writing this work of fiction.
Do the right thing.
I can’t drive faster.
It is not okay to sleep in my clothes.
The last question, I implore you, to be honest, what’s changed since the day you fired me?
Is the pandemic over?
I gave you a decade-and-half of my life and health.
You owe me a lifeline. If not for my decade-and-a-half of impeccable service and loyalty, then for the fact that 6-years of under-the-table left me non-existent and vacation free. That's correct, your kindness in screwing me made taking vacations unaffordable.
I won’t quit trying.
I won’t just go away.
Respectfully Yours,
Taran
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