(This, dear reader, is Jack, a man become bitter, cynical, broken by disappointment, hurts, and disillusionment, about to be disposed of by life. A man in need of repair. Can a toy workshop on a street of repair shops repair even broken hearts, broken dreams, broken people?)
*
Jack sat in his pickup truck in the factory parking lot staring vacantly out the windshield, not really seeing anything. He alternated between replaying the events in his mind and wondering numbly what to do next. The layoff wasn't really such a big surprise, but he hadn't expected it so suddenly or so soon. It was December 1
st
. He figured the job would last at least through the end of the year.
The boss had called him into his office just before noon time and broken the news to him. It wasn't a mass layoff. They'd decided that Jack's position (and Jack) were no longer needed. In some ways, Jack figured he deserved it. He was a good designer. The engineering was what he was good at. What he wasn't good at was all the crap that went with it: the budgets, the paperwork, the politics, the salesmanship. He guessed that good engineering didn't make the profits; it was cutting corners to get things out the door, right or wrong, that made money.
Jack had been asked to clean out his desk during lunch and turn in his badge and such in the afternoon. There was some paperwork to fill out in Human Resources. Then he'd gone by Payroll where they had his check waiting. It could have been worse. He got his check for November and they'd also paid him for December as severance. Jack figured they'd decided to lay him off before the holidays because not much got done during the holidays anyway so the severance didn't cost them much.
The boss was apologetic. (Times are tough. Fuel bills are eating their profits. Sales are down. Nothing personal about the layoff. Jack could have a letter of reference if he wanted it.) He took the letter, though he had no idea what kind of job to look for next. Somehow Jack figured ten years with the company would have resulted in something more than a month's severance and a letter but exactly what that might be he wasn't too sure.
He did go round and say goodbye to some of his coworkers. Ernie, who sat in the next cubicle said the story going around the office was that the boss had called the young female engineer into his office the previous day and told her they were going to have to let someone go. The rumor was that the boss told her: "I either have to lay you or Jack off." Yeah, funny. Real funny. "Well, Ernie, at least I got my Christmas goose," Jack replied sardonically, jerking as if poked in the rear.
The contents of his desk were in one carton in the back of the truck, inside the camper shell. There wasn't much. He'd tossed almost everything. The Ten Year Service award, the Employee of the Month certificate from five years ago and such didn't really hold any attachment for him.
He kept the picture he'd cut out of a calendar years before, of a medieval street of craftsmen in Europe with three lines by Longfellow under the photo:
"In the elder days of art,
Builders wrought with greatest care,
Each minute and unseen part."
He almost trashed it. For years, it had been a sort of inspiration to him in working on the behind-the-scenes utilitarian mechanical stuff that the consumer never sees. Seemed like nowadays, though, everything's disposable, people included. But then he stuck it in the box of stuff to keep.
The boss offered a goodbye handshake. Jack was about to refuse but then he wasn't the type to make a scene and besides, you never want to burn any bridges. Then the boss said: "Jack, I know this seems cynical or hypocritical but I hope things work out better for you somewhere. Merry Christmas, Jack." Jack looked at him blankly, then laughed mirthlessly: "Yeah boss, Merry Fucking Christmas to you too."
As he went out through the front door for the last time the perky young receptionist had the official company greeting down pat too. As he walked by her desk she looked up at him brightly, smiled cutely, and said: "Merry Christmas, sir." He wanted to give her a one finger salute but resisted. He couldn't quite stop himself though from saying what he'd said to the boss. He snorted, turned, gave her a quarter of a smile and said: "Yeah, sure, Merry Fucking Christmas."
Sitting in the truck trying to figure out what to do next he replayed Ernie's joke. Yep, that was appropriate. He'd been reduced to jacking off anyway. His ex-wife, Heather, had left him in December of the previous year. December was not a good month for Jack. She'd had wild sex with him practically all night the night before she left. The sex was fabulous. She was always highly sexual, but that night had exceeded the normal. She'd bounced up and down on his hard prick like a wild animal, screaming while he pinched her nipples and she fingered her clit. She'd cum like crazy. She'd gotten on all fours faced away from him, put her face down on the bed with her ass sticking up in the air and her swollen wet pussy aimed at him and begged him to take her like a dog. He was happy to oblige. He filled her cunt with his cock, took hold of her tits and pumped her until they both came.