Worst. Day. Ever.

November 17, 2010. A day that SEEMED to be the worst day ever. [Insert male movie trailer voice.]

It started with a trip to Smart & Final. "I will feed the masses Hot Dogs today and they will love me for it!" Feeling good about providing a zero nutrition, nitrate filled "hot lunch" to the staff today. (Flashback to 3rd grade: Pomorado Elementary School Cafeteria. Lunch ladies with hairnets and plastic gloves serving up my favorite: fish sticks. Oh how I loved those "hot lunches!" My mom always packed my lunch so it was a special day when I got to actually buy a "hot lunch." So strange because my son has never had a "hot lunch" in his entire life. He's always been a picky eater. Ironic when you think about the things that he WILL put into his body: heroin is ok, fish sticks are not.)

So feeing good: no turkey sandwiches today gang! They're gonna love me. (Food=love, right?) Setting up, the word is spreading.... "hot dogs today, yippee!")Excitement abounds. (It takes so very little to make this staff happy. Well, for the most part. There's always that ONE GUY that has to whine and moan and complain about everything. But I digress, as usual.)

My junk food bliss was interrupted by: [insert serious (usually bitchy) female Australian voice] "ALL STAFF TO THE THEATRE NOW." Uh oh. That can't be good. In four years that only happened ........... uh, never. The upbeat hot dog vibe now replaced with a guilty verdict/life in prison sentence for a crime you didn't commit vibe.

We all gather, glumly. "We filed for bankruptcy today. The company is closing. You will not be paid on Friday. Pack up but don't steal too much." WTF? I can't quite process this. (Maybe it's why it has taken me all these weeks to write about it.) There is a general sense of sadness, disbelief, time stands still, what do we do now, huh? Some people bolt, laptop in hand, others frozen like a pillar of salt.

Should I finish making the hotdogs? It's sort of a blur. Where is my staff? Does the parking guy understand what just happened? He's gone already? Ok, I guess he got it. Right, we are not getting paid for our time so we're off the clock. But the hot dogs will go to waste! No, people can make their own lunch if they want. I have things to pack. Shit, so many personal things in this crazy disfunctional building/company where to begin?

To my office, that's where. Personal photos, artwork Max drew when he was in rehab, my party supplies I brought in for our last wrap party, my footstool I brougt in from home... so much stuff. My files! I must protect and save my files and thank you cards and awards from famous clients. Someone needs to guard this stuff right? I'm sure we'll open again sometime in the future and we'll need this stuff. If I leave it all the bank will just toss away all this history so I will be the protector of the memory!)

Call my son. Tell him the bad news. He's sympathetic but strong and supportive. Ok, we can get through this.

3 hours later, still packing, lingering, hiding from the rest of the remaining staff afraid I might burst into tears. I am scared. But, my son was strong so I will be too.

My cell phone rings. It's him. Max. Can't understand him. He's out of breath... is he runnning? Odd, he never exercises since he became a drug addict.

"MOM! HELP!"

"What?"

"I'M IN AN ALLEY AND THEY ARE CHASING ME WITH A KNIFE!"

"What? Huh?" [heart beating, grabbing purse, heading toward car]

"SAVE ME! THEY HAVE A KNIFE! THEY ARE GOING TO KILL ME!"

Ok, this day just keeps getting worse. But there is more. So much more.