First I was fired from my underpaid, demeaning personal assistant
job, which required me to fetch coffee, tanning spray, and prescription
drugs for a desperate, frozen-faced cougar
who wanted a paid best friend.
However, I did see it coming. That morning, a young, bubbly college
grad walked into the office and interviewed for my position. Nobody
bothered to alert me via Outlook. I went to the bathroom and texted
"I'm so fired."
In the end, the cougar told me, "You're just not driven."
If anybody wants her contact info to post on his or her MySpace
blog, or for the Casual Encounters section of Craigslist, please
let me know.
The first round of firing was devastating, as I'd never been
fired before. However, I'd been thinking about quitting for a
couple weeks, and the cougar just beat me to it.
Round Two: You're (kind of) fired!
By Monday evening, I felt much better. I was watching some bad
reality TV when I received the following email on my CrackBerry:
Hi, Elaine --
We wanted to touch base with you regarding all the work you've
done for SFist. Everyone's enjoyed the work you've submitted here;
it's brought great attention to the site and promoted some good
discussion. However, with your new column and prominent role at
Fog City Journal, we're thinking it may be best that we scale
down your contributions to SFist. It's getting a little hard to
reconcile the "group feel" of SFist with your more prominent
role at the FCJ and the successful "cult of personality"
you're establishing there. Ultimately, we think it's in the readership's
best interests to minimize confusion about SFist's affiliation
with your FCJ stuff.
We'd definitely like to maintain a friendly relationship with
you and Fog City Journal, with cross-links and heads ups and tips
and the like if you're up for it, and we certainly wish you the
best of luck; we're sure you'll keep knocking 'em dead wherever
Jeremy, Matt, Rita
Again, none of this came as a surprise. I'd threatened to leave
earlier because of the negative personal attacks from anonymous
commenters, but stuck around because I believed I contributed
value to the public discourse.
I didn't go into journalism to make friends. But I have made
many friends over the years, and maintain good relationships with
all the publications I've written for. I don't expect anything
different from SFist. It's been an honor and a privilege to write
Shurkin and Rita
Hao, and I thank them for the opportunity they extended.
Almost a year ago, I returned to San Francisco with no money,
no contacts, and very little knowledge of San Francisco politics.
I began my relationship with SFist as a source. I went from party-crasher,
to coat-check girl, to VIP and finally the rowdy drunk who gets
ejected by no-neck security guards, all in less than eight months.