If Albert Camus lost his job…
Today I am made unemployed. Or perhaps last month, I don’t know. I received an email from headquarters: “Made redundant. Last day tomorrow. Best wishes.” It doesn’t matter. Maybe it was last month.
My head office is in Marengo, about 80km from Algiers. To do the exit interview, I had to take the bus for two hours, arriving in the afternoon. That way I could get everything done and get back the next evening. I asked for two extra days’ pay from my boss and he didn’t have a decent excuse to refuse me. But he wasn’t happy. I even said to him, “this isn’t my fault”. He didn’t reply. You wouldn’t think that I had to tell him that. Anyway, it wasn’t up to me to apologise. He should have been feeling bad for me. But he probably will tomorrow when he sees me on the street begging for work. Right now, it’s almost like I didn’t get laid off. After the exit interview, though, it will all seem a lot more official.
I took the bus for two hours. It was very hot. I ate at Starbucks, as usual. They were all very sorry for me there, and the cashier said: “You only get one good job”.