From On Being Fired Again

I've known the pleasures of being fired at least eleven times— most notably by Larry who found my snood unsuitable, another time by Jack, whom I was sleeping with. Poor attitude, tardiness, a contagious lack of team spirit; I have been unmotivated squirting perfume onto little cards, while stocking salad bars, when stripping covers from romance novels, their heroines slaving on the chain gang of obsessive love— and always the same hard candy of shame dissolving in my throat; handing in my apron, returning the cash- register key. And yet, how fine it feels, the perversity of freedom which never signs a rent check or explains anything to one's family...