So, you show up to work on a Friday morning, just like you have every morning for 32 years.  You don’t suspect anything out the ordinary and are still thinking about the plans that you and your made for your retirement, just two and a half years away.

A young kid that’s been working in your area for about a year now nods to you and you say “good morning” like you have for over three decades.

“Don’t go near the time-clock, man.”  The kid says trying to shuffle away from you.

“What do you mean, kid?  How else do I clock in?”  You laugh lightly and realize that several people around you are all moving away, trying to quietly disappear.

You stand in front of the time-clock and look back at them again before reaching for your card in the third of seven columns of grey time-card slots that have been there since the seventies.

You look left and right, up and down, and you can’t find your card.  You quickly look back at the others who have all vanished, thinking it’s some sort of a prank and then you see your card on cork the push-pin board to the left of the clock.

There is a plain white envelope paper-clipped to its back and a red plastic push-pin stabbing through both into the old dried out cork.

You’re not sure why, but you feel kind of sick to your stomach for several seconds, then reach for the card and attachment.  You realize you hear your own breathing and it’s a bit irregular.  You open the unsealed envelope that has your initials written on the front in pencil and read the letter slowly.

“Your services are no longer required…….”

You read it one more time and then just the closing line, “…enclosed please find your final check and severance of two weeks’ pay.  Thank you again for your service.

32 years – two weeks of severance pay – a letter in an unsealed envelope paper-clipped to your time-card.

You’ve been fired by the time-clock.

You’re just dried out cork.