Down Here With The Rest Of Us, fiction by Stanton McCaffery
W hen I first got laid off, I made a promise to my wife and to myself that I wouldn’t revert back to the man I’d been twenty years ago, angry all the time and ready to fight at the slightest provocation. With a rough childhood I’d somehow pulled myself out of, I walked around with the weight of old pain hanging on my shoulders like a barbell - I would punch walls, start fights, and threaten to kill people in traffic. It took us a long time - both of us - to be better versions of ourselves and it all seemed to be suddenly yanked away because someone who didn’t even know me made the decision my company would be leaner and meaner without me and some other hapless assholes. My wife knew the lay off would fill me with rage - and it did - which is why the possibility of my regression had come up in the first place. I promised her I would find a healthy way to deal with my emotions. What was the method, you ask? Well, it was driving around to parking lots and stealing people’s cat...