Starting Monday, I’ll have a boss for the first time in eight years. The good news is, he lives in another city and won’t be able to see when I’m goofing off. The bad news is, I’ll have one.
No more lengthy trips to the gym. No more luxurious naps.
Unemployment never looked so good.
I wish I could tell you what I’m going to be doing, but I’m afraid I have to keep the project under wraps for now. Suffice to say, I’ll be working for a billionaire who hates Donald Trump. And I’ll be getting paid a decent salary to write.
Things could be worse.
Jolene Vancel, a Seattle-based recruiter for State Farm, is likely to be disappointed. She sent me another email yesterday, delineating the myriad reasons why I might want to consider a future in the insurance industry.
Another recruiter reached out to see if I’d consider a job in the franchising business. Perhaps I’d like to open my very own Popeye’s — maybe even a McDonald’s or a Dunkin’ Donuts!
I took the writing gig, even if they’ve only offered a provisional 3-month contract. After that, we’ll decide whether we can put up with one another — and whether this secret project is actually viable.