Illustration by Bob AulWhen you were fired, we all breathed a sigh of relief. You're such a whiner—everyone else is to blame for what's going wrong in your life. You claimed to be working so hard but produced nothing but sob stories. So as soon as they walked you out the door, they followed company procedure and turned your e-mail account over to your supervisor so that she could follow up on your assignments. Minutes later, she heard the unmistakable ping of an arriving e-mail. She opened it. It was your roommate responding to your e-mail from just a few minutes before—the e-mail you wrote when you were supposed to be hard at work. You never got the e-mail, so here's the substance: it was a drunkalogue. Your roommate had been vomiting on herself and her boyfriend the night before and, so, no, to answer the question you had e-mailed her just minutes before you were fired, she hadn't been having sex with him. The text of your message was still there, below hers. Turns out you were drinking too that night—at precisely the moment you were supposed to be working! Maybe that—and not your boss or the company or the economy or the weather or the price of gas—is why you didn't do shit here. Your life, it turns out, is horrible: your old boss is “an a-hole,” your boyfriend is interested only in “booty calls,” and the only thing that kept you from joining your roommate and her boyfriend in the sex you thought they were having was your “hairy bush, which is no longer there now!!! And then some jerk-off almost killed me on the freeway today.” A-hole bosses, selfish boyfriends, overgrown pubic hair, dangerous drivers. Everything around you is so awful! We just didn't know how lucky we were to have you among us, Saint Bush!
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