I Used to do That for a Living; Landing and Leaving 108 Jobs Introduction, Chapter 1, Chapter 2 | Page 22

Roger Scott Jackson

out of work, not once have I been given any advance notice. Some of my employers just up and
went out of business, leaving me flat. Twice some
fucker has absconded, with my wages, never to
be seen again. Other bosses have simply refused
to pay me, inasmuch as defying me to do anything about it, secure in the knowledge that there
wasn’t shit I could do. I’ve known bosses to baldly lie about my conduct and performance, as a
pretext, and apparently to time my firing so as
to maximize the disruption to my life. Still others have slandered me to my former co-workers
when I was no longer around to stick up for myself. I admit that most of the times I was fired it
was because I fucked up, usually on a protracted
basis, but sometimes just once and spectacularly. And though I am certainly no paragon, at least
I have never hired or fired anybody. Never conducted a job interview. I am not, nor have I ever
been anybody’s boss. Approaching sixty, I feel
safe in asserting that I never will be anybody’s
boss. Approaching twenty, I felt the same way.
Of the wretchedest wretches I have ever known,
a disproportionate percentage have been bosses.
Did I mention that some of my best friends are
bosses? Hell, some of ‘em have been my boss.
Jack. My father picked his own name. He
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