I fell into a deep slumber on Oscar night, I blame my exhaustion on a steady weekend stream of margaritas and vomit. The margaritas were drunk my me to deal with the constant regurgitation from my son’s mouth and onto most of my home. Sop up the body fluids, then revive with a margarita. Repeat. I was just so darned tired come Sunday night that I couldn’t even keep myself awake to make fun of celebrities.
And, what a scene I missed.
The whole show leading up to the envelope-switching fiasco was a study in poor time management. Between Nicole Kidman’s strange hand-clapping practices, which are certainly a byproduct of her years toiling in the Church of Scientology, to the human herding of tacky common folk sprung from a Hollywood sightseeing tour and thrust into the auditorium like circus freaks, the show was dying a slow and painful death.
I think I passed out right after Rhode Island’s own Viola Davis gave the most practiced, self-righteous acceptance speech in the history of well, a plethora of them. Listen, just like any good Lil’ Rhody, I am incredibly fond of Viola Davis, but her speech almost made me think that I’d caught my son’s stomach bug. I quote directly from her here, “I became an artist and thank God I did because we are the only profession that celebrates what it means to live a life.” Margaritas, vomit, repeat.
Oh Viola, tell that to the doctors, writers, nurses, psychologists, social workers, firefighters, police officers, bartenders or any other person that is holding down a job in this thing we call “life.” You’ve got to be kidding me.
Then, thankfully, so that we actually have something to talk about at the water cooler of existence, came the moment we will all remember instead of the excellent films, the reading of the wrong winner for Best Picture. The horror! The outrage! Let the mobs get whoever is to blame for such an injustice to these millionaires.
Can we just call the mishap a work casualty? A danger in a work environment where employees may earn up to $ 20 million per role and get lauded with accolades for months during awards season for doing their jobs. My gosh, some commoner from an accounting firm had the audacity to make a mistake and the whole country is treating him like he’s a Trump supporter or something.
Come on, people, they’re stars…just like us. Just like me. And, all this fuss over a mistake reminded me of an error that ended up working out for me.
The year was 2000 and the scene was the booming dot com industry. I was flourishing in this environment and suckling from the teat of a soon-to-be-derailed company’s irresponsible spending. I reveled in the long, liquid lunches and constantly drank fresh lattes from the brand new espresso maker in the run-down company lounge. This crew of slackers turned professionals took smoke breaks every hour and spent morning, noon and night drinking and sleeping with one another. I was 22 and this was my 1st job. I was a copywriter, which just so happens to be tragically close to my current occupation, but my lack of ambition is a different story.
This story is even better, it’s about the time that I was mistakenly fired. Yes, fired in error.
in the chaos of a massive cleaning of corporate house, I was let go. I was fired by the big boss that had only spoken to me once before while screaming at me for ordering him the wrong sized car during a business trip. See, this guy didn’t really know me and he confusingly thought I was on the chopping block. So, without many words, he kindly told me to complete the week and not to come back.
Well, what’s a young woman with no responsibilities do in such a time? Go out with all her coworkers for one last pub crawl and proceed to spend an evening telling people what she really thinks of them. There’s nothing that I am better at than mixing an evening of alcohol, honesty and awkwardness.It was awesome and awful, filled with tears and truth: two things that should never mesh with work.
I crawled into work the next day with my eyes barely open and was informed that my firing was an error and that I didn’t actually even make enough money to be let go. I was, in fact, a valued employee. So, after a night of trash talking and inappropriate behavior in a land of inappropriate behavior, I kept my job and lost a little of my pride and liver.
Till next time, la la land!