Like a good deal of people, I was laid off this summer. Likewise, I also got the shit end of the stick with my lady friend. I decided to keep a running journal of my exploits, with the goal of writing the great American slacker-cum-success-story. This book would be self-published and, after a small indie following, would become a cult classic. I would take the money from this great underdog laugh riot and fulfill my ultimate goal: early retirement and self-satisfaction.

I made it about five entries and gave up.

For the first time ever seen my human eyes, I bring you these entries. I’ll post one a week. That should keep things running smoothly.

This is not a feel good movie. This is not something you walk away with having learned something. It’s not a coming of age tale and it’s certainly not a tale of redemption.

You know that film “The Mighty Ducks?” Where Emilio Estevez is a cutthroat uptight lawyer who has to do community service with a bunch of rag tag misfits on a hockey team? And he learns that in the end, money and success are not the keys to happiness, but getting down and dirty in the muck and making a difference are where human integrity and perseverance are where mankind truly shines?

Yeah, that doesn’t happen here. None of it.

Here’s my story: Not long ago, I had everything. A perfect job that I loved, a beautiful girl I loved even more than my perfect job, an awesome apartment in a great city and a paycheck (courtesy of my wonderful job) that afforded me all of these wonderful things.

I was a copywriter for a marketing agency. For those not in the know, the job of a copywriter is literally that-to write copy. Depending on who’s footing the bill, you’ll wind up writing for websites, newsletters, direct mail pieces, banner ads and all other sorts of shit. The person footing the bill in my case was a major tobacco company. God bless em’, they had money to throw around.
For a while at least.

One day, my gravy train came to a screeching Casey Jones halt. Bada bing bada boom. I got laid off. Three years: trips all over this wonderful country, dinner on the expense account, free smokes. All gone. In its place were two weeks way and a swift boot in the ass out the door.

But hey, love conquers all. And by god, I was in love. I’m sure you can see where this is going.

Yup, the day before my wonderful girlfriend was supposed to fly into my amazing city (on a ticket I bought her), I got a phone call. The one where she wants to be friends. The one where she thinks I love her more than she loves me, but she still loves me. The one where I plead and whine and grasp at straws like a lovesick bitch, only to be left alone in my wonderful apartment alone. Sitting in my boxers at 11:00 in the morning, cheeks burning and earlobe numb from the cell phone against my face.

So now I’m a country song. Lost my job, lost my girl. In a matter of one week, it all went to shit.

In three weeks, it went worse.

My name is Kevin DeLury, and I’m a janitor. This is my story.