Tuesday, January 13, 2009
The True Joy Of Unemployment
The reminder of this story shall be told in two parts. Part one will be Angela's reaction and subsequent actions when I told her about my resignation. Part two will discuss what happened when I visited my office the next day.
After hanging up the phone, I stood up, stretched, and headed toward the kitchen to make myself a nice cop of keemun tea. I heard the phone ring in my office, but I ignored it, letting it roll over to my voicemail. Curiously, I did not feel angry, upset, or worried. I felt calm, relaxed, relieved. No more would I have to play corporate games with corporate idiots. We have some money saved for just such an emergency, and I am not averse to working at menial labor whilst I am seeking something more towards my field of expertise.
As I was preparing my beverage, Angela came wandering into the kitchen. “Taking a break?” she asked.
“Sort of,” I replied. Then I told her what had transpired over the phone, and my decision to resign.
Angela smiled. “It's about time you quit working for those idiots,” she said. “You've hated that job for years.”
This was true. One of my best and most esteemed readers, the lovely Kallisto, summed up my feelings quite eloquently. She wrote to me that it's “hard to respect someone who hasn't earned your respect. There are some things due to a boss, simply because he is the boss, but I don't think respect is necessarily one of them.” Further, I felt like Richard Head did not respect me, because, despite my experience with this client, he did not seem to trust me. I was feeling like a break from working might be a good solution to allow me to handle some other aspects of my life.
Angela and I talked for a few minutes, and then I saw a twinkle in her eye. “We have a problem here. You didn't talk to me before you quit, young man,” she said. “I think that something needs to be done about that.” I could tell by the sly smile on Angela's lips and the tone of her voice that she only meant one thing.
“Shall we retire to the guest house?” I asked.
“I have a better idea,” Angela replied. Just then I heard Colette at the back door, returning from school. Since his hospitalization, Luke had not yet returned to school due to his convalescence. He spent much of his time his bedroom, and we encouraged him to, when he felt up to it, to do some reading. It did not matter what he read … comic books, graphic novels, joke books, anything to keep the synapses in his brain clicking in an organized fashion. Luke took to this idea, so we made sure that he was supplied with plenty of reading material.
Angela intercepted Colette just inside the door. “Do you have homework to do tonight?” Angela asked. Colette responded with a frustrated sigh, which usually meant that she had plenty. “Why don't you and Luke go to the library where it's quiet. You can work on your homework and Luke can get some more books.” Colette thought this was an excellent idea, and ran up the stairs to see if Luke was amenable, which he was. And, since Colette had recently secured her drivers license, Angela allowed her to take the car. Angela's car. I like my car too much to let anyone else drive it.
We watched Colette and Luke drive off. When they were out of sight, I followed Angela back into the house. She told me to wait for her in the living room, and she wandered off to make her preparations. Five minutes later she returned, dressed in her most sharp and professional business suit and carrying a briefcase. “Sit down, Mr. Spakowiak,” she said. She tried to look stern, but broke into a smirk almost immediately. I sat down on the sofa, and Angela took a chair across from me.
She set the briefcase dow
n on the coffee table that was between us. “Mr. Spakowiak,” she said, “You have been a bad employee. Now, do you know what we do with bad employees?”
“Um, you spank them?”
“That's exactly right. And do you know how we spank them?”
“Um, by hitting them on the butt?”
Angela snorted, which she does very prettily, then resumed her stern act. “That's not funny,” she said. “We spank them on their bare bottoms.” At that point she flipped open the briefcase and took out a short leather strap, a hairbrush, and a wooden paddle.
“Now stand up and take off your pants. You won't be needing them for a while. Now give me that hairbrush, get over here and get over my knees!”
Bare-assed, I handed her the brush and draped myself over her lap. Angela patted my butt with the smooth side of the brush, which sent a shiver through me.
She asked, “Now, how many years have you worked here?”
“Twenty,” I responded. She rapped my right cheek smartly ten times, and then ten times on the left, counting out each swat. My buns started to burn.
“How many good reviews have you gotten?”
“Twenty.” Ten more whacks landed sharply on each side of my bottom.
“And how many annual raises have you gotten?”
“Um, three?” The next twenty swats were harder than the previous, making me squirm seriously.
“No, you've had raises almost every year.”
It was my turn to snort. “Yeah. Almost.”
Angela assaulted my rear with the brush again. “Don't be a smart-aleck,” she said when she finished. “Now get off my lap and get me that strap!”
Angela had me lay across the ottoman with my ass pointing up. The strap is not long, but it is thick and sturdy and packs a nice wallop. She kept with her twenty theme, giving me twenty strokes that were methodical and exquisitely painful.
“On your feet!” she ordered. I jumped to her command. “Now, I am going to use the paddle. These swats are going to be hard. They are going to leave nice, big bruises on your butt. And they will be very, very painful!”
And indeed they were. Quite wonderfully so, in fact. When she was finished, my butt did indeed feel as if it would have some nice bruises that I would enjoy for a few days. “Have you learned your lesson?” Angela asked.
“Yes, indeed, my dear,” I responded. “Now shall we retire to the bedroom?” Angela didn't need any more convincing.
We were still in the bedroom when the children returned home. Angela finished dressing and came out first. I followed soon behind her, smiling and feeling calm and pleasant. I walked over and kissed Angela, then planted a big smooch on Colette's chin.
“Did you enjoy your trip to the library?” I asked.
“It was okay,” replied Colette.
I kissed Angela again. “Don't they make a cute couple?” I asked her.
“Yes, they do,” replied my wife. “Why don't you guys get cleaned up for dinner.”
As the kids were walking away, I heard Luke ask Colette, “Are you parents acting weird?”
“They always act weird whenever they both take a nap in the afternoon,” responded my daughter.
The next day I went in to the office for what I assumed would be the final time. However, that will have to be a story for another day. For this day, while it may not have been my best, at least part of it was fantastic.
After hanging up the phone, I stood up, stretched, and headed toward the kitchen to make myself a nice cop of keemun tea. I heard the phone ring in my office, but I ignored it, letting it roll over to my voicemail. Curiously, I did not feel angry, upset, or worried. I felt calm, relaxed, relieved. No more would I have to play corporate games with corporate idiots. We have some money saved for just such an emergency, and I am not averse to working at menial labor whilst I am seeking something more towards my field of expertise.
As I was preparing my beverage, Angela came wandering into the kitchen. “Taking a break?” she asked.
“Sort of,” I replied. Then I told her what had transpired over the phone, and my decision to resign.
Angela smiled. “It's about time you quit working for those idiots,” she said. “You've hated that job for years.”
This was true. One of my best and most esteemed readers, the lovely Kallisto, summed up my feelings quite eloquently. She wrote to me that it's “hard to respect someone who hasn't earned your respect. There are some things due to a boss, simply because he is the boss, but I don't think respect is necessarily one of them.” Further, I felt like Richard Head did not respect me, because, despite my experience with this client, he did not seem to trust me. I was feeling like a break from working might be a good solution to allow me to handle some other aspects of my life.
Angela and I talked for a few minutes, and then I saw a twinkle in her eye. “We have a problem here. You didn't talk to me before you quit, young man,” she said. “I think that something needs to be done about that.” I could tell by the sly smile on Angela's lips and the tone of her voice that she only meant one thing.
“Shall we retire to the guest house?” I asked.
“I have a better idea,” Angela replied. Just then I heard Colette at the back door, returning from school. Since his hospitalization, Luke had not yet returned to school due to his convalescence. He spent much of his time his bedroom, and we encouraged him to, when he felt up to it, to do some reading. It did not matter what he read … comic books, graphic novels, joke books, anything to keep the synapses in his brain clicking in an organized fashion. Luke took to this idea, so we made sure that he was supplied with plenty of reading material.
Angela intercepted Colette just inside the door. “Do you have homework to do tonight?” Angela asked. Colette responded with a frustrated sigh, which usually meant that she had plenty. “Why don't you and Luke go to the library where it's quiet. You can work on your homework and Luke can get some more books.” Colette thought this was an excellent idea, and ran up the stairs to see if Luke was amenable, which he was. And, since Colette had recently secured her drivers license, Angela allowed her to take the car. Angela's car. I like my car too much to let anyone else drive it.
We watched Colette and Luke drive off. When they were out of sight, I followed Angela back into the house. She told me to wait for her in the living room, and she wandered off to make her preparations. Five minutes later she returned, dressed in her most sharp and professional business suit and carrying a briefcase. “Sit down, Mr. Spakowiak,” she said. She tried to look stern, but broke into a smirk almost immediately. I sat down on the sofa, and Angela took a chair across from me.
She set the briefcase dow
n on the coffee table that was between us. “Mr. Spakowiak,” she said, “You have been a bad employee. Now, do you know what we do with bad employees?”“Um, you spank them?”
“That's exactly right. And do you know how we spank them?”
“Um, by hitting them on the butt?”
Angela snorted, which she does very prettily, then resumed her stern act. “That's not funny,” she said. “We spank them on their bare bottoms.” At that point she flipped open the briefcase and took out a short leather strap, a hairbrush, and a wooden paddle.
“Now stand up and take off your pants. You won't be needing them for a while. Now give me that hairbrush, get over here and get over my knees!”
Bare-assed, I handed her the brush and draped myself over her lap. Angela patted my butt with the smooth side of the brush, which sent a shiver through me.
She asked, “Now, how many years have you worked here?”
“Twenty,” I responded. She rapped my right cheek smartly ten times, and then ten times on the left, counting out each swat. My buns started to burn.
“How many good reviews have you gotten?”
“Twenty.” Ten more whacks landed sharply on each side of my bottom.
“And how many annual raises have you gotten?”
“Um, three?” The next twenty swats were harder than the previous, making me squirm seriously.
“No, you've had raises almost every year.”
It was my turn to snort. “Yeah. Almost.”
Angela assaulted my rear with the brush again. “Don't be a smart-aleck,” she said when she finished. “Now get off my lap and get me that strap!”
Angela had me lay across the ottoman with my ass pointing up. The strap is not long, but it is thick and sturdy and packs a nice wallop. She kept with her twenty theme, giving me twenty strokes that were methodical and exquisitely painful.
“On your feet!” she ordered. I jumped to her command. “Now, I am going to use the paddle. These swats are going to be hard. They are going to leave nice, big bruises on your butt. And they will be very, very painful!”
And indeed they were. Quite wonderfully so, in fact. When she was finished, my butt did indeed feel as if it would have some nice bruises that I would enjoy for a few days. “Have you learned your lesson?” Angela asked.
“Yes, indeed, my dear,” I responded. “Now shall we retire to the bedroom?” Angela didn't need any more convincing.
We were still in the bedroom when the children returned home. Angela finished dressing and came out first. I followed soon behind her, smiling and feeling calm and pleasant. I walked over and kissed Angela, then planted a big smooch on Colette's chin.
“Did you enjoy your trip to the library?” I asked.
“It was okay,” replied Colette.
I kissed Angela again. “Don't they make a cute couple?” I asked her.
“Yes, they do,” replied my wife. “Why don't you guys get cleaned up for dinner.”
As the kids were walking away, I heard Luke ask Colette, “Are you parents acting weird?”
“They always act weird whenever they both take a nap in the afternoon,” responded my daughter.
The next day I went in to the office for what I assumed would be the final time. However, that will have to be a story for another day. For this day, while it may not have been my best, at least part of it was fantastic.
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Whew, glad Angela wasn't upset. Sounds like you got a great spanking out of the situation!
Hugs,
Kallisto
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Hugs,
Kallisto
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