I was laid off so a friend of my boss could take my place.
But I was first handed six folders, which were needed by Friday. On that day, when asked about the folders, I replied that I hadn’t gone through them and hadn’t even opened them.
Then they turned to me and looked like I’d thrown a grenade on the conference table.
It all started on a Tuesday morning in late April. I was working at a mid-size logistics company in Chicago, handling client accounts and shipping contracts. I’d been there six years—long enough to know which printer was cursed and when the coffee machine would go rogue. My job wasn’t glamorous, but I liked the routine and I was damn good at it.
