I have a history of being fired from jobs.
Right out of high school, I enrolled in Vanderbilt University in Nashville, Tennessee. At the beginning of the second semester, I dropped out.
Sometimes I fired myself.
She was in New York. And I was stationed in California. That presented a problem.
I invented a cockamamie tale about myself, and managed to get myself fired from the Air Force. Who knew you could do that?
They were kind enough to give me an honorable discharge, however.
Yes, I was fired with honor.
I was 20 years old at that point.
By age 22, I was married and a father. I got a job with the phone company as a lineman. After about a month, the phone company fired me too.
I then worked, in this order, as an insurance underwriter, an insurance salesman and as a repo man at a loan company.
All three fired me.
Sensibly, I decided I needed a college degree. The kinds of jobs I was eligible for, obviously, were not a good fit for my quirky personality.
I worked weekends as a taxi driver for extra income while going to the University of New Orleans. I was not fired by the cab company because I was essentially a free agent. I rented the old Plymouths and roamed the streets.
After graduating, I landed my first newspaper job, and I did that work for most of 30 years. I never got fired from a newspaper because being a weirdo was expected of newsroom employees. I fit right in.
Somewhere about the middle of my newspaper career, I got a hair up my backside and quit, which is a form of self-firing. While free of newspaper work, I got two bartending jobs in the French Quarter of New Orleans.
I was fired from them both. Jeez!
Not being a total idiot, I returned to newspapering, and stayed till I was 55.
Now I am retired, and nobody can fire me anymore.
Oh, yeah, my second wife fired me in 1995. That counts.
It was the best firing of them all.