"Calling the Karma Police"
There's not much else to tell about what happened to June Chipmunk after she--and possibly Robbie Baretta--conspired to ruin my career.
I can tell you that when I took over his old store, Baretta had originally been entrusted with two retail locations. After a few months, a different manager was put in charge of the busier one. Carmichael left him with a small store that's as devoid of customers as a Circuit City across the street from a Best Buy. The type of place where the associates look startled when a customer walks in. This confirms Baretta was a lazy fat fuck and a piss-poor manager.
I can't prove he was an active participant in my firing. At the same time, however, I can't dismiss the notion that it was he who actually sent the letter that sealed my fate. Regardless, June Chipmunk started it all when she pointed him toward my blog.
Just before Carmichael promoted her, by the way, he had a mutual friend call me. He wanted me to know that he was forced to terminate my employment. The anonymous letter made it to one of the Powers That Be, and it was beyond his control. He had to do it. Carmichael wanted me to call him back.
Fuck him, I thought. I'm unemployed with nothing but time on my hands--but I don't have time to waste on motherfuckers without the balls to pick up the phone themselves. I left him waiting.
Which brings me to June Chipmunk and her Karmic payback.
I have no closure.
I said it in Part 1: this story is the impetus behind me creating this blog. It's a tale I needed to get off my chest. I thought I was saving it for when I'd have something deliciously ironic to report on June Chipmunk's fate...but I got nothin'.
June Chipmunk couldn't stand that I was promoted before her, she made my job crazy difficult, she was a negative pain in the ass in a corporate culture that was idyllic and positive, she plotted and lied to have me fired...
...and she was promoted to an $80,000-a-year job.
That's the end of the story? Where's her comeuppance? When do I get to pump my fists? When do I get to shout like a Viking on a crimson-stained battlefield?
All I have is a MySpace message from an old coworker still with that company: "I can't tell ya [June] has been fired yet, but there have been some rumors of people not happy over there."
But that's not enough for me. Not by a long shot.
So I'm putting this out there to the Karma Police: in one week I'm at the one-year mark of losing the best job I ever had. The person responsible was rewarded for it instead of being punished. I'm 99% sure I wasn't fired as retribution of anything I'd done wrong, so she couldn't have been acting as the bespectacled hand of Karma (ooh! band name!).
I don't assume I can influence the course of mighty rivers by wishing really hard. I'm not a bullied child wishing his enemies dead. I just want some assurance that June Chipmunk gets what's coming to her.
I think of myself as Edward Norton in The Incredible Hulk when asked if he thinks he can control the uncontrollable.
"No, but maybe I can aim it."
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