He never did like his boss. But then, like his father always told him, "I'm not here to be liked or to be your friend. I'm here to tell you what to do." He figured that it wasn't supposed to be all that different with bosses.

It wasn't that his boss was all that bad of a guy. He was sure that he was actually considered to be really swell and an upstanding member of society. He knew for a fact that his boss's wife was on the PTA and that his twelve year-old daughter was an honors student. Maybe all his neighbors liked him because he'd lend his pristine lawn mower to whoever else's was clogged with grass. Whatever anyone else thought, he knew his boss was an asshole. For the last five years, though much of it a blur of homogeny anyway, the only really strong thought that crossed his mind more than once (if you weren't to count the jackhammer outside his studio apartment's window) was that his boss, were there a certification program, wouble be, without a doubt, a certified asshole.

"Jack, man. Come in. Sit," he was greeted. Jack sat. The faux-leather high backed desk chair was a solid six inches shorter than his boss', and put him in the position to be leered at from across the desk. In such a position, he knew a talk down was inevitable. A grope under the chair reveled that, if there ever was a handle to raise the position of the seat, there certainly wasn't one now. So much for the fun in this, Jack thought. The big man had the foresight to figure out that Jack probably knew what he was being called in for and took away the chance at indignation by putting him in a clearly subordinate position.

"What's up boss," Jack queried.

"Well Jack. I needed to talk to you." Jack's boss moved is gym earned body around the desk with the accuracy of a ballerina. There was a glide. Almost a slide. Physicists would have been interested at the no friction movement the man was capable of perpetrating. "I'm sure you've heard about the upcoming merger we're having to think about."

"Yeah."

A quick flip of the bigman's with a deft movement in his wrist ended Jack's employment. "Well, cuts have to be made. The shareholders are demanding it, and well... ahhhhh... you know the shareholders."

"Uh. Not really."

"They're like a mob," came the exclamation as though Jack really cared to know them. "One of them gets a damn crazy thought in their mind and suddenly heads must roll. Far be it from anyone to try to pacify them. That just makes it worse."

"Heads must roll?"

"Yeah Jack. Sorry about that. Steven here," a nonchalant point in the vague direction of Jack's escort, "he'll get you a couple of boxes to clean out your desk."

Then Jack's boss turned to look out his window at the midtown building across the street. Disorientation set in, and suddenly Jack couldn't tell whether his boss's back had been to him the entire time or if it was a recent development. And with the disorientation came an over whelming desire to strangle the man with his own shoelaces. What the hell, while he was at it, he could throw the fat piece of shit in the corner out the window and scream (a nice scream would have felt good right then, he thought), scream as he watched the man fall. All. The. Way. Down.

But instead, with his mouth agape, he stood up and slowly walked towards his boss's open office door. The door hadn't been shut when he was fired. Christ! He was never even told that he was fired! The passive aggressive mother fucker. Half way to the door, his boss's voice rang out in the air-conditioned silence of the office. "Hey, and Jack? Buddy? Don't steal any pens or your letter opener. It's just petty. You know?"