I used to work for Treadstone.....

  Naturally, I was mad when I heard through the grapevine that my old company had banished me from the property I used to work at.  I kind of wanted to come back and chew the fat with the fellas I used to work with.  I liked the crew I used to work with.  I learned alot from the crew I used to work with.  I learned about things like patience and professionalism.   I kind of wanted to see the old crew again and let em know that I was OK after my divorce from the company who used to write my paychecks.  The very company that saw me as the Simple Jack of their employment family.  All and all, I wish I hadn't loaded the pistol that was eventually used to whack me but sometimes I just do dumb things that defy any and all sense of belief.
 
  At first I thought I was absolutely going to go on a flame fest on my former employer on Facebook.  Then I remembered that it was my writing that had gotten me thrown out of the employment fraternity I was once a member of.  So rather than pissing in someone else's pool yet again I'm going to have a chuckle about the absurdity of what my former bosses are doing to not only me but to other people who left, without drama, to seek greener employment pastures.  I'm not sure, but I think one of former Co workers was labeled a security risk in regards to company files.   This makes me wonder if my former bosses have been reading one to many John LeCarre novels.  I guess my former bosses envision me coming back to my old place of work and in sighting the employees who are still there to bust the union ala Jimmy Hoffa.  I don't have Hoffa like prowess and I'm not a leader of the working man.  I was told my interpersonal skills weren't good enough to keep me in my last position but how in the world did Co mingling art and work on the company server get me labeled  a rabble rouser?  Oh well, I guess the best thing is to tip my cap and accept the fact my former company is something akin to the Treadstone project.  I wonder if they have an action shot of me blown to full life size length in the entrances of both buildings.   I just hope, in a purely vain way, that they have a photo of me that captures my good side.  I hope that my mug shot doesn't cast me, photogenically, as an awkward looking dufus.  So rewrite history, oh former company.  Throw mud if you must.  Plaster wanted posters of me all over River North; drop them from the sky like some sort of blitzkrieg.  I have moved on and I hope you will too.  This is the new me.  No more pissing in the pool, no more needless fires.  I'm taking the high road ladies and germs.