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Jia held the belief that pretty much everything could be solved with a kind smile and a great pair of shoes. So, with a deep
breath, she grabbed the handle of the door, pulled it open with all the confidence she could muster, and stood slowly scanning
the contents of her carefully and thoughtfully curated closet.
This was Jia’s happy place. Bright colors, bold patterns, and every piece with a story of how it was obtained. For most of
her adult life, once she’d been able to finally be out on her own, she had barely made enough money to get by. But she was
an expert bargain hunter and practiced patience as a virtue, knowing exactly what pieces she was eyeing, and waiting for just
the right opportunity to grab it at a steal.
Her mother bristled at Jia’s loud wardrobe. And surprisingly, she found herself standing out with her often flashier clothes,
even from those walking the streets of New York, despite its reputation for being a style mecca.
For as long as she could remember, the one thing Jia insisted on in life was that her clothes would match her personality. So much of society wanted to silence and tamp down someone like her. Her clothes were her own way of fighting back, refusing to be put in a box.
Jia felt her best in pizzazz.
And she needed it today.
Some of yesterday’s confidence and claiming had worn off along with the buzz of smooth alcohol and great sex, replaced this
morning with a bit of nerves and uncertainty. What if it wasn’t good news after all? She shook her head as if the physical
manifestation of no could will away any bad juju.
She needed to knock it out of the park today. Jia scanned the options and knew as soon as her eyes landed on her red platform
sandals with yellow polka dots. These were happy shoes. Good news shoes. Reason-to-celebrate-no-matter-what shoes.
She paired the sandals with a simple white sundress so as not to distract the conversation and a yellow bauble statement necklace
for just a pop of color. Jia had long gotten over the fact that she was often the only one wearing bright colors and patterns
in this world. They were her armor, her confidence booster, her connection to herself. She looked at herself in the mirror
and smiled. “You’ve got this,” she said softly. “Nothing to worry about.”
She would not invite the anxiety. Whatever was in store for her, whatever news she was going to receive, good news (likely!)
or bad (possibly?), she’d take it in stride.
She didn’t think about the mere two hundred and forty-six dollars in her bank account, nor the rent that was due the following
week, nor the inevitable look of disappointment on her parents’ faces punctuated with the deep sigh and Not again, Jia.
She willed herself to believe that today was going to be a great day. She tried to muster some of the confidence she had last night and grabbed her stuff as she left for the train. Smile on, shoes buckled, ready to take over the world.
“I’m sorry, Jia, but we’re going to have to let you go.”
Jia stared into the eyes of Genevieve Gordon, human resources manager, as she processed the words. She liked Genevieve. She
had great style—understated and classy. She told her so just this morning as she arrived at the HR office at two minutes past
ten, two mugs of steaming hot coffee in hand. It was why she was late. Jia had unloaded the dishwasher in the employee kitchen
so that there would be mugs available for everyone as they came to work that day. Then she’d prepared Gen’s coffee as she’d
often noticed she liked it, black with one Splenda. Jia had hers nice and sweet, two creams, three sugars.
She’d walked in, commented on Gen’s black shift dress with the dropped waist, how the fit was impeccable and, paired with
the small gold hoops, timeless. And when Gen struggled to smile in return, Jia knew it was not going to be good news. Genuine
compliments usually made people smile bigger.
She’d barely taken a seat before Gen dropped the bomb.
The words took her by surprise.
“Oh” was all she could think to say in response. Jia brought her coffee mug to her lips and took a sip. What an odd time to
drink your coffee, she thought to herself, as she brought the mug back down. What was the right reaction to news like this?
Jia should know. She’d been fired before. But she never did it the right way. She always went home and thought of ten things
she could have said or asked or done in the moment. But, like all the other times, her mind was currently blank.
Her thoughts went back to two hundred and forty-six dollars in the bank, rent due, and a Not again, Jia waiting for her back home.
She realized that the silence had lasted longer than appropriate. “Sorry, I was just . . . thinking,” she said.
“Look, Jia, um, there have been some issues with your performance,” Genevieve’s voice sounded almost apologetic. Jia felt
bad that Gen had to be the one to tell her.
Gen wouldn’t lift her eyes. She just stared down at the papers in front of her and continued. “Ultimately, you weren’t meeting
the standards of the job. So we’ll be terminating your employment immediately. You’ll find a box on your desk to borrow. Return
it by Friday at five o’clock or twelve dollars will be subtracted from your final paycheck. Please leave your laptop and key
card on your desk. All access to the systems has been revoked. Do you have any questions?”
Whoa. That was a lot.
Did Jia have any questions?
Had she done something wrong? Where was her performance lacking? Those boxes cost twelve dollars? She had to leave right away?
All good questions to ask at that moment. But she couldn’t get herself to say anything. She didn’t want to make Genevieve
uncomfortable.
“Nope, not a one!” The answer was too loud. Too forced. Too upbeat. Not at all appropriate for this moment.
But such was Jia.
“Fine. Then, here are some papers we need you to sign before you go.”
Jia looked down at the stack of papers before her and briefly wondered if there/their/they’re were misused as they always were in the documents she corrected on the regular.
There were three signature lines at the bottom of the document, each with a name and title typed below it, one with a red
flag sticker next to it. She signed where she was directed, next to the blank spots listed and waiting for the signatures
of Genevieve Gordon, Human Resources Manager and Henry J. Shin, Esq., Senior Counsel.
“You’ll receive a copy of the countersigned document along with an exit survey we’d like you to fill out, couriered by the
end of the day,” she was told. Jia had never received anything by courier in her life. She wondered if the courier rode a
bicycle or simply took the train. These were the random thoughts Jia would later recall from the morning she got fired.
The rest was a blur.
“Have a nice day, Genevieve. I’ll miss working with you,” she said on her way out. And she meant it.
Jia was—at least she had been until ten o’clock that morning—the assistant to the chief of staff at Bakerson’s Group, a financial
company of some sort, though she never really knew what they did. The office was on the twelfth floor of a building just off
Bryant Park, and the company was in the top fifty on one of those lists with letters and numbers on it that everyone in New
York seemed impressed with. It was—at least it had been until ten o’clock this morning—the most serious job she’d ever had
in her life. One she was, at the time of hiring, completely underqualified for. But if they were going to give her the job,
she was going to do the best she could. Apparently her best wasn’t good enough. Again.
She didn’t know what she was now.
Jia wasn’t even thirty, yet she already had a string of professional failures in her wake.
Let’s just say her résumé was not going to knock anyone’s socks off.
She had, at times, suspected this job wasn’t for her, everyone in their black or gray or navy attire, quietly working, speaking in hushed tones, smiles rare.
But she was willing to stick it out at least a little longer.
At least until she could find a job that was for her.
Because for the past three months, two weeks, and four days, she wasn’t the screwup everyone made her out to be her entire
life up until this point. True, at the end of the day, bartending brought in more cash and being a Pilates instructor was
a lot more fun. But this fancy corporate job, as her mom put it, had garnered the respect of her parents and offered a brief reprieve from their incessant nagging.
Now this former fancy corporate job was further proof Jia couldn’t cut it in adulting.
The office manager came around and handed Jia the unmarked twelve-dollar box. “Thank you for always having the supply closet
stocked. It helped a lot,” Jia said. For some reason, it was important she knew that someone noticed. Jia should have told
her sooner.
As she placed her pictures of the girls’ trip to Cancún last summer, three tubes of e.l.f. lip gloss, and the six Post-it
pads she had collected in her top drawer, Jia realized she didn’t have much here at her office desk. Unlike her tiny apartment
that was cluttered with knickknacks and mementos and screamed Jia, she’d kept this six-by-six cubicle void of any real personality. Guess past Jia had done current Jia a favor: less to pack
up upon termination. She knew the drill.
“Did you hear the new girl got fired?” Jia heard the voice of someone from down the hall where a group of young women gathered
standing around a copy machine.
The assistants were all women. And the executives were all men. And of course Jia felt a certain way about that. But she realized early on there was nothing she in this position in the company, or in her position in life frankly, could do about it.
She quickly crouched below the cubicle wall so she would not be seen.
“Already?”
“Usually they last at least a year.”
“Not in that department they don’t.”
“Which new girl?”
“Jia, the one with all the bright clothes.”
“The one who talks too loud all the time?”
“Yeah, that’s the one.”
“Too bad. I really liked her. She was nice and always made sure there were clean coffee mugs.”
That was nice of her to say.
“Nice doesn’t get the job done. She was never gonna make it here. Too soft.”
Guess that was considered a bad thing, being soft.
Jia needed to get out of there before she was caught eavesdropping and they’d send someone over to embarrassingly escort her
out of the building. She hoped the ladies would all be okay now that they were one person down and would likely have to pick
up some of the slack until they’d hired a replacement.
She placed the lid on the comically oversized box for the limited contents and took one more look around her cubicle as she
contemplated her next move.
First, walk out of the office with her dignity intact. Second, figure out her financial situation and how long she could survive
without this paycheck. And third, finish off the pint of mint chip Talenti she had in the freezer. Ice cream at 10:12 a.m.
felt totally valid in times like these.
Twelve minutes past ten.
It had taken all of twelve minutes for her life to be turned upside down . . . again. And after having to break the news to
her parents, she’d be reminded, again, how disappointing her life had become. She’d be pressured, again, to move back home.
They meant well. They were just too protective. Too quick to sweep in and control Jia’s choices. She was their miracle child,
after all. Problem was she was now twenty-seven and needed them to let her live her own life.
All problems she would deal with once she left.
She let out a deep breath to compose herself.
Well, here went nothing. She stood tall, raised her chin, and straightened her back. Well-practiced posture from years of
walking with books on top of her head around the house as a kid as her grandmother beamed and excitedly declared her the future
Miss Korea.
The route to the elevators was clear and in sight.
And as she awkwardly carried the overpriced bankers box toward the exit, past the conference room currently filled with high-powered
men wearing bespoke suits who likely had no idea who she was and how they had just ruined her life, she had only one thing
on her mind . . .
Jia might be soft, but she would not let them see her cry.