Tuesday, June 1, 2010


After G lost his job he began visiting the bathhouse with renewed vigor. For two months his story to anyone who cared to know was that he’d just quit his job – he deserved something better, you see; even his ex-manager (not the one who fired him, but the one before) told him that: “G, you deserve something better.” For two months he ignored messages and phone calls from friends and ex-colleagues, intensely resisting the inevitable transmogrification from mana to a mere source of coffee-break gossip. Because G’s job (sales and marketing) required frequent air travel (to Europe and the States, of all places) and shoulder-rubbing with celebrities and the industry’s big shots, G’s fall from grace was not an easy fact to deal with, or to accept: G was, after all, an Executive; a titled position, distinguished from the mass of powerless, subordinate ignominy; G had a team, was leading it.

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