Usually, I love payday. It makes going to work a wonderful and tolerable experience because I know I’m getting a little richer for just being here. This payday, however, wasn’t the case.

“I’m afraid I have some bad news,” said my manager. “We just had a meeting about the budget for the new fiscal year…yadda yadda yadda…I regret to inform any part time or temporary workers that your pay has been reduced by one dollar.”

And that folks, is when the shit officially hit the fan.

You see, I’m the only part-time/temporary worker there. Everyone else is full time. With benefits. Except me.

So now I’m dumbfounded…stunned…I want to scream but my throat is closed up tighter than Kobe Bryant’s rape case (zing!). So I went back to work. All the while I have this stinging feeling in the back of my throat like I just swallowed a needle or something. And I guess I have – I just took a serious fucking pay cut. And this is pre-taxes. Ouch.

Meanwhile, no one says anything else to me because they know I’m the only person this affects. Everyone goes about their normal routines. A box pops up on the system tray – a new interoffice message. Is it a memo to follow up what she already said? No…worse.

We would like to welcome the newest addition to Hell, Ms. HeffaThatStoleMyJob. She is the new Website Coordinator, and I would like to welcome her here.

Sincerely,

BastardAssMarketingCoordinator

Game. Set. Match. About an hour later, I go back to my manager’s office and ask her if I can leave early. She says yes. Thank God.

It’s 2:30pm, and I’m walking down Spring Street to head to my barber. I feel like I’m about to throw up. A pay cut means even less money that I’m making now. And the hopes of another job are nowhere in sight. Hell, I can’t even afford the haircut I’m about to get. I walk in, and the barber shop is completely different from when I was last there (which ironically, was just a few weeks ago). Plush leather chairs, a whole new–and fairly cute–barber staff…it was nice. I was able to walk right in and get a haircut.

The barber, Mister Nice Cuts, starts cutting and starts talking. Now just to go off on a side note here, I hate when barbers rattle on with shit-chat while cutting my hair. Just get in there, do the job, and let me go on about my day. But this barber was different. Besides being a major hottie, he was actually talking about something that wasn’t the mindless “so you go to school around here” type nonsense.

He was talking about entreprenuership.

Apparently, he took over the reins of this barber shop just last week and made all these changes. Then he asked me about my job situation, which at this time I was more than happy to proliferate on.

“Well that sounds fucked up,” he said. No shit, Sherlock.

“You ever thought about going into business for yourself?”

“I have, but I don’t have the money to quit my job and strike out on my own.” It’s not really the money, it’s the falling-flat-on-my-ass feeling that I’ve gotten twice before with my other two businesses, VirtualStudent.net and my freelance web design startup.

“Well if you hate your job and the money’s bad, why do you keep going?” Jesus, this guy sounds like my mother.

“I go so I won’t be homeless.”

“So if you had your own business, what services could you provide? What would you do?”

I told him web design, graphic design, copyediting, and copywriting. While cutting my hair, his financial advisor walked through the door. They dapped each other up, then sat down as he continued cutting my hair. Turns out this financial consultant guy has been doing this now for seven years, has an MBA from CAU, and his own consulting firm on Buford Highway. He slipped me his card, told me to e-mail him some samples of my work, and he could see what he could do for me financially. The whole thing seemed a bit fishy, but I took the card, smiled, paid the barber, and left.

For the remainder of the day (and night) I couldn’t stop thinking about my money woes. Is entreprenuership really the answer? I really do hate working for someone else and I enjoy the freedom of knowing where my money goes, interacting with people, and doing something I love, not just doing it for a check.

Death-Phoenix called. I asked her if I could loan/borrow/have some money to tide me over until my next paycheck came so I could pay the bills and rent. She said no. The reason? Because I’m gay.

“So you would rather I starve to death and live out on the street than help me out this one time? I’ve never asked you for monetary help before…ever!”

“I’m not supporting no faggot! I put you through school…”

“Wrong. You didn’t put me through school, the government did because I was smart enough to make the grade. And I worked so I had an apartment. I’ve never asked you for one red cent.”

She hung up the phone. Ugh. Another story for another time.

That night, I couldn’t sleep. I awoke around 2:00am with a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach and a splitting headache. Was I coming down with something? I cranked up the A/C and laid on the couch. Still no better. The chatter in my head kept getting louder and louder. I went back to my bed. Still not better. I tried sleeping on the floor. No help. Around 3:15am, I went to the bathroom and threw up. Then I had a good cry and felt much better. I went to sleep in the bathtub.

Since Taurean bailed on the kidnapping scheme, I was to just do some cleaning. My cooking shows didn’t come on again…damn public television pledge drives. While vacuuming under my bed, I found Mister Nice Cuts‘ financial advisor’s card.

Should I call him? I ended up doing so. He said he was very interested in the possibilities of helping me start my own business as a copyeditor/web designer. He said he knew of some clients and small business who could use my services like yesterday. We scheduled an appointment for next Saturday.

This is scary but exciting. I told myself that there would never be as exciting a day as when I quit this godforsaken place and went on to bigger and better things. Working 45+ hours a week without benefits, dealing with cranky patrons, being looked over and stepped on by everyone else in the company because you’re on a rung lower than cleaning and maintenance…I fucking hate it with a passion. And I know I have much more to offer than these saps are willing to acknowledge or pay me for.

One day…for now, I just have to take that first step.