When life throws me a curveball, I have a rule: wait twenty-four hours before responding. In theory, that’s enough time for cooler heads and reason to show up. Well, they never RSVP’d. Instead, outrage kicked down the door, poured a drink, and made herself comfortable. Maybe it’s my age, maybe it’s the fact that I’ve officially hit my limit with ignorance and classless pieces of trash masquerading as professionals, but those twenty-four hours didn’t calm me down. The time just gave my fury time to stretch, do some yoga, and sharpen its knives.

So here we are. Buckle up, my friends. This is the story of how I got fired, because apparently, the new American dream is convincing people to work for free while calling it an “opportunity.” Writers turned into unpaid editors, office managers, and ad sales representatives, all rolled into one shiny package of exploitation.

Yes, friends, I was recently “offered” (and I use that word loosely, as one might use “free samples” when the samples are just wet napkins) the prestigious-sounding title of Editor-in-Chief, minus the prestige, the paycheck, or literally anything that makes a job worth taking. You read that right. I wouldn’t be paid. Oh no. Instead, I’d be compensated with any advertising dollars I could beg, plead, or conjure out of thin air. That’s right, my salary would be based on how effectively I sold ad space for someone else’s website. Forget writing, editing, or producing content (which I would still be responsible for since she was going to fire all of her staff). This wasn’t an editor’s job at all. This was essentially a horrible sales pitch, dressed up in cheap rhinestones and labeled as an ‘opportunity.’ My new title may as well have been Magician-in-Chief or Village Idiot.

But wait, there’s more! What was dangled in front of me as justification for this circus? Exposure and the kind of hollow promises that sound like they belong on a motivational poster in a failing startup’s breakroom. According to the owner, I should’ve been grateful to sacrifice my time, talent, and dignity for the chance to maybe earn a commission if I could somehow hawk enough ad space to keep the lights on. In other words, I wasn’t being offered a job; I was being offered the privilege of unpaid servitude wrapped up in buzzwords.

Buzzwords I’d be expected to parrot as part of my pitch while recruiting the next batch of wide-eyed fools willing to work for crumbs. But here’s the thing: I wasn’t raised in a barn. My parents taught me values, manners, and the difference between being a decent human being and an ethically bankrupt opportunist. Clearly, this woman didn’t get the same upbringing. Frankly, I doubt she got much love at all. Class? Compassion? A sense of basic decency? I doubt she’s ever met them, and it shows.

So, to pick up where we left off:  I wouldn’t be paid. The real kick in the teeth was that I was to somehow find other people willing to work for less than nothing. Not only would I be responsible for running the entire ship, but I was expected to recruit interns to work for free and hire writers who’d be paid a laughable pittance, less than minimum wage.

When I politely pointed out that this was ludicrous, the company owner acted as if I were speaking Martian. She even feigned surprise that I called her offer of ‘an opportunity of a lifetime’ absurd. Two days later, she called me directly to deliver the ultimatum: take it or leave it. Imagine the confidence it takes to say, “We’re going to fire all the writers, make you do five jobs, pay you nothing, but hey, don’t forget to smile while you’re groveling for ad space!” When I said no, she hung up on me. Just click. Classy.

Now, I know what you’re thinking: “Surely the rest of the staff rallied around you, sent flowers, maybe a heartfelt email?” Oh, sweet summer child. Not a single soul said a word. Not even a “boo.” For people who supposedly rub elbows with Chicago’s elite and brag about the number of celebrities they meet and the haute couture fashion shows they attend, they sure missed the memo on basic human decency. You can dress a pig in designer clothes, but at the end of the day, it’s still a pig. And in this case, it’s a pig who hung up on me and others who spent the past year blowing smoke up my ass.

To add insult to injury, the company’s Glassdoor reviews read like horror stories written by interns chained to laptops. Red flags everywhere. Honestly, I should’ve run the moment I saw them. But no, I believed in professionalism, in teamwork, in – ha! Who am I kidding? I should’ve known better.

And let’s talk about that missing human decency for a second, shall we? I’d love to blame it entirely on the millennial generation, because, honestly, they make it too easy. These are the same people who think “adulting” is a personality trait, who require applause for buying their own groceries, and who believe “exposure” is a valid paycheck. They’ve managed to weaponize ignorance and disguise it as innovation, all while draining common sense straight out of the human race.

Here’s the kicker: the staff wasn’t exclusively made up of avocado-toast aficionados. Some of them were older than me, full-grown adults who should’ve known better, which makes the silence even more pathetic. When people with decades of life experience can’t muster up an ounce of decency, you realize the rot runs deeper than a single generation. The truth? Human decency isn’t just endangered, it’s roadkill, flattened under the wheels of entitlement and ego.

The irony in all of this is that I’ve been blessed enough to spend 25 years as a stay-at-home mom, never having to worry about bringing home an income. Whatever I do now is not for financial survival; it’s for my own personal accomplishments. After decades of doing everything for my family (and still doing it happily with all my heart), I wanted something I could point to and say, “Hey, I did that.” Writing was never about money; it was about pride, creativity, and personal growth. That’s what makes this whole circus even more laughable: they thought they could dangle ‘opportunity’ and “exposure” in front of me as if I needed it. I don’t.

So here I am, unemployed but with my dignity intact. Because you know what you can’t pay bills with? Exposure. Or “opportunities.” Or ad dollars that never existed in the first place.

Here’s to better gigs, kinder people, and maybe one day, a world where the pigs don’t hang up the phone when you refuse to work for free.