Disclaimer: All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Justin: A no-longer-young writer and musician who has been working days as a receptionist to pay his exorbitant Brooklyn rent.
The Boss: A tall but otherwise generic-looking upper-middle class white guy, friendly-demeanored in a typical salesman sort of way.
Scene: It’s Tuesday, 5 p.m. Justin is at his desk, packing his bag, preparing to leave his office for the day. Two weeks earlier, the Boss had called him into his office to tell him that he had been performing unsatisfactorily at the job–a job which consisted of answering phone calls from surly contractors and greeting insufferable rich people in a showroom, and which made Justin increasingly miserable with each passing day in a way that helped him understand, like nothing before, the concept of compound interest. The Boss informed Justin that he had two weeks to improve his performance, or he would be dismissed before the rapidly approaching end of his ninety-day probationary period. The follow-up performance review had been scheduled for Tuesday. As Justin finishes packing his bag and stands to leave, the Boss walks up.
Boss: Hey, Justin, sorry I lost track of the day. Let’s do your review tomorrow.
Justin: Yeah, I was gonna tell you, you forgot to fire me today.
Boss: [Pauses] … Well, let’s have a meeting tomorrow.
Justin: Really? What’s the point? We both know how that meeting’s gonna go.
Boss: [Looking bemused, trying to figure out what to say] Well … Do you want to come in tomorrow?
Justin: Honestly? … I mean, if you want to pay me for an extra day just so I come in and fill out some official paperwork for you or whatever, I’m fine with that.
Boss: Okay, well, come in tomorrow, we’ll meet in the morning, and we’ll do it right.
Justin: [Barely able to keep from bursting into hysterical laughter] Okay. Fine.