Yes, sad as it is to say, today is my last day working for Playboy. Our entire department was laid off so today we have to come in, clean out our desks, sign the "We promise not to sue" paperwork and then head out for a liquid lunch at noon, never to return to 680 N Lake Shore Drive.
How am I? Dealing, I suppose. I'm not really sad about losing my job--helping grown men masturbate is nobody's idea of a dream--but I am terrified about losing my insurance. Cholesterol problems don't just take care of themselves, after all.
So, until I get another job, I'll likely be a bit nervous and unkempt. Fortunately for my dedicatedly sexy readership of nine, I've constructed a handy-dandy "Mike Jacklich Mental State" test. This way, when you see me, you can instantly deduce my mood without even asking. It's rather simple:
If, when you see me, I am wearing my lace-up boots:
I took the time to lace up my big boots! Clearly, I tried today! I'm optimistic about the future! Woot! I'm going to Taco Bell!
If, however, I'm wearing my slip-on Nikes:
Buy me a drink! I'm sad! I'll never work again! My wife can do better and is sure to leave me as soon as she comes to her senses! I guess I'll go to Taco Bell.
***************
Honestly, I'm going to look back at this day--sometime far in the future--as a great day. I really was treading water here at the Rabbit and delaying my inevitable trip to super-adulthood. Now I can finally get on with my life. Plus, I kind of hated this job. I'll miss my friend Lisa and, um, the tits but that's about it. I won't miss the fat bitch from my office that actually had the gall to say "Looks like Mike has a case of the Mondays!" in an obnoxious voice the day after my Godfather died. And I won't miss the impotent dicks who called in every day demanding to know why their internet isn't functioning or why their penises didn't work (Yes, this happened to me once).
So, in a fitting metaphor for my last day at Playboy, as I type this the maintenence guys are taking down the copper rabbit head in the lobby, in anticipation for the company's eventual move to L.A.
Oh, dear god. I just realized something horrible: I'm going to have to pay for my porn in the future.
Why!? Why, god, why!?!?
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