Friday, May 23, 2008

Return To The Wandering Crazed

I did have plans for a different kind of follow-up on my blog last night, particularly in the type of killing that Dann did, even though she was never a mass murderer, it wasn't for lack of trying that day. The gun jammed in the hallway. She hit two other kids. I was going to talk about, well, I still intend to talk about the subject, rather a specific instance which only yesterday was making the news. But I was laid off from work yesterday, as well. The newer color digital printer was cheaper to run than the old color thingamajig, so that makes two out of two machines I had learned as my own shipped out the door, and I'm low man on the totem pole in regards to the other three machines). Got up early and hit the streets; oddly, the unemployment (or the Department of Public Works, if I for some reason ever needed to visit there), is one of the few places I have to walk to in a zigzag fashion, over railroad tracks on the very outskirts of "old" Burbank on a pretty much dead-end street. I wanted to get it over with before the holiday weekend; coincidentally, it was two years ago today that I was hired. I believe the night shift was let go yesterday (or today) as well, but I do know that I made it through 14 firings since the beginning of the year (I was laid off simply because I was a temp through a staffing company, and so it was like not getting my contract renewed). A few people were teary or, in the case of the pressmen, wide-eyed in the sad not surprised look. Yes, that is my description of a Seasoned Yet Sad Pressman. I don't know that I'll actually work with any group of people that were so agreeable and just plain fun to be with. Now its time to pull my old monkey suits and graveyard ties out of the closet and start hunting, but not just yet. I have a few weeks coming and the unemployment guy guaranteed I'll get my first check in two weeks. What does this mean now? More walking down rainy streets. More writing with my quill pen dipped in the blood of...well, OK, Hunt's catsup. (Might as well be watered down blood). And, of course, getting into rooftop fights in my guise as Jonny Algiers, Private Eye. Your chattel, Wayne