Now for the Disappointing Part

by Steven Barker

  “I know. How is sending you to the unemployment office protection?”

  “I wish I could stay,” she whined and then stopped herself and laughed.

  “I wish you could stay too,” I said. “I don’t want to have to get to know someone new. There’s no way your replacement will be as cool.”

  “That’s obvious,” she said. “I bet they won’t even help you with your poor Canadian grammar.”

  “And I doubt they’ll be Judas Priest fans.”

  I’d formed a friendship with Sandy that I had never developed with a coworker. She knew all about my failed relationships, and on the day Melissa’s Facebook status changed to in a relationship, Sandy said, “If he’s not Canadian, it’s a step down for her.”

  When Sandy’s boyfriend moved out of the country, I happily ran her meeting so she could take the day off to spend it with him. She teased me like a younger brother, and one day got access to my phone and changed my name to “Moose Boy.” The thought of her leaving the team was upsetting, not only because it was a reminder of my eventual dismissal, but I was losing a friend.

  David felt the same way. He’d built our team exactly how he’d wanted and didn’t want to lose anyone, but policy was policy and it was out of his hands. Or so I thought.

  With only a couple weeks left on her contract Sandy entered my office and closed the door behind her.

  “I’ve got some news, but you can’t tell anyone,” she said.

  “What you got?”

  “David is working on renegotiating my contract,” she said, through a beaming smile. “It’s possible I won’t have to leave at eighteen months.”

  “That can be done?”

  “Apparently, there’s a loophole. He’s put in a request. If it works, I imagine he’ll do the same for you.”

  “That would be amazing.”

  “I’m not going to get my hopes up, but it sounds like it could happen. We’ll still be vendors, but with open-ended contracts.”

  Signing an open-ended contract meant the future was unknown, but for the first time in my life, the uncertainly of where the job could possibly go was more appealing than unemployment. So when David told me he renegotiated my contract to indefinite status, I felt like I needed to do something more than just say thank you.

  David,

  It means a lot to me that you went out of your way to keep me around. I’m so happy to be a part of this team. I used to believe it was impossible for me to love my job. I hated working for Amazon so much that I once wrote an open letter to Jeff Bezos. I’ve included a link in case you want to read it. I want you to know I do not have these same feelings about this job. It’s actually the opposite. Hopefully, you’ll find this funny and not think I’m an ungrateful employee.

  David responded, saying that he knew I was a grateful employee because my motivation to succeed was reflected in my work. He hadn’t gone out of his way to keep me just because he was a nice guy, but because he recognized that it was important for me to do more than just coast.

  I used to look forward to the time between contracts because it was a break from uninspiring work and allowed me to focus on the writing that made me happy. I may have complained about the lack of security that came with temping and how it was an unfair system, but it worked for me. Every contract was a lesson in what I didn’t want to do and every termination day was a blessing.

  My dad found the job he wanted right out of college and spent the next thirty years finding fulfillment in his work. That wouldn’t have been my experience had I spent three decades at any of my past jobs, but I’d found fulfillment during the time between contracts. I had my dad’s work ethic. I just applied it to unemployment. Writer was the job I wanted straight out of college, and I’d been doing it the whole time. If I hadn’t spent a week of unemployment writing an essay about working in an Amazon call center, David might have never brought me in for an interview.

  The failed novel, bad poetry, and short stories I generated between jobs may not have been on my resume, but that was twelve years of experiences in my field of expertise. I wasn’t a warehouse worker, office gofer, account manager, UPS driver’s assistant, stock boy, hotel room description generator, product reviewer, or an Amazon cog. I was a Canadian creative writer. And because of that, the fear that should have come with committing to a job with an uncertain future dissolved. I’d already committed a long time ago.

  Acknowledgments

  The majority of this book was written in solitude, but at no time did I ever feel alone. I’m extremely grateful to all the people who have supported and encouraged me throughout the process of writing this book.

  Special thanks to:

  My family, for always believing in me and making it possible for me to keep going after every failure.

  Richard Hugo House, for teaching me what it means to be a writer and that there’s always more to learn.

  Laura Scott and the 2014–2015 Made at Hugo fellows, for their thoughtful feedback. It’s an honor to be included with such a talented group of writers … and sorry for getting so drunk at Mineral.

  Every teacher who has affected my writing, especially Peter Mountford, Wilson Diehl, and Erin Gilbert, who taught classes where parts of this book were generated.

  Christopher Rhodes, for taking a chance on me and getting this book off the ground. I couldn’t have done it without you.

  Lori Wilson, for swooping in with superhuman editing skills in the final hours. Your insight was a huge help in the final stages of completing this book.

  Brian McGuigan, for sharing this journey with me. Ever since we met in a poetry workshop fifteen years ago, your feedback has made me a better writer. I’m forever grateful that you convinced me to move to Seattle in 2005 and welcomed me into your home. You became family in a city where I have none and I’m lucky to have you as my platonic life partner.

  Elissa Washuta, for the advice and encouragement in the early stages of this book. You taught me what it means to dig deeper.

  Maxim Brown, Jesse Aylen, Corina Zappia, Ruben Casas, and Jean Burnet, for the thoughtful feedback that directly influenced sections of this book.

  Steve Mauer and Jeanine Walker, for always reminding me that creating art is supposed to be fun. Your constant creative output is an inspiration.

  Jane Hodges and everyone at Mineral School, for providing me with a comfortable space to work without distractions.

  Cortana Editorial, for making me a better writer. You guys are the Sally Ride of coworkers.

  Katy Wilder, for your patience. You allowed me to trust at a time when I needed it most.

  Chris Vena, Steve Stapleton, Betsy Back, Andy Andronaco, Justin Battaglia, and Jaime Page, for being great friends and supporters.

  All the people who have volunteered, been an audience member, or taken the stage at CW&P and CB&P, for showing me that writing brings people together.

  All the journals and websites that published my work and the curators who invited me to read at their events. Knowing someone feels my words are important enough to appear in print or be shared onstage keeps me going.