How Can You Pivot When Your Fulcrum is Shattered?
“Fired?”
“Effective immediately, yes.”
Everything seemed to come into sharp focus, despite her glasses still dangling from their chain around her neck. The faint pulsing of the fluorescent lights. The slightly too-tight squeeze of her apron's ties. The scritching of her boss's quill as he continued to fill out parchmentwork, not even giving her the dignity of his full attention as he pulled the rug out from under her life.
“But... why? I've been a model employee. I've had no write-ups, no complaints. Stars, I don't think I've been late in years.”
“It's nothing you’ve done or haven't done, Mrs. Knife—”
“Baguette,” she reflexively corrected.
“...it's just standard restructuring. Cutting costs, minimizing expenses. It’s just business. You understand.”
She really didn't. There had been no warning signs. Business at the Biscuit Crate was, as far as she could tell, good. She made a point to learn the names and faces of her regulars (and their usual orders), and nopony had stopped dropping by recently. “But aren’t we doing well?"
“Well enough to survive tightening our belts a little.”
He wore diamond cufflinks. She’d never noticed before, but now the gems seemed to capture her focus. Jewelry wasn’t even allowed anymore per the new employee handbook he’d penned when he’d become the new manager.
“What am I supposed to do now?"
He shrugged. “Find a new job, I suppose. Or retire. You're about that age, aren’t you?”
Baguette held back the urge to snap at him. Retire? She was only fifty-three! She couldn’t afford to retire yet! She had some savings, true, but those needed to last thirty years, maybe more. She’d spent decades living frugally so she and Bread could enjoy their golden years.
Her stomach twisted in a knot at the reminder of her husband. He was turning sixty next week. How was she supposed to tell him he had to be the primary breadwinner again?
A fiery part of her demanded she rage at the injustice. Channel the spirits of the most vitriolic customers she’d dealt with in her years of customer service and finally tell him exactly what she thought of him.
But…
The fire ebbed away, leaving only cold, sooty resignation.
…But what good would it do? It wouldn’t change anything.
“So that's it? This is how it ends?”
“Corrrect. You have fifteen minutes to gather your things from the employee area and return any company property. Afterwards, if you are still in a non-public area you will be escorted off the premises. Ah. Here. A twenty bit voucher for when you decide to return as a customer."
Her hooves carried her home through the slushy, late-winter snow without conscious thought or effort.
It didn’t feel real. She felt detached. Like she was in a dream.
Eleven years. Over a decade of her life she'd spent pouring her heart and soul into making that faux-southern chain feel warm and welcoming, and this was all it amounted to. A pink slip and a coupon.
His parting words of ‘advice’ still echoed tauntingly.
“Your special talent is baking, right? Just open a bakery or something.”
As if it were that easy. Start a business? From scratch? At her age? He made it sound like it was as trivial as picking up a hobby.
She’d tried trotting that path already, when she and her sister were both young and full of spit and vinegar. That dream had ended with heavy debts and Challah moving back in with their parents. All the skill in the world at baking delicious cheesy bread didn’t matter a lick of salt when it came to business savvy and logistics.
“Baggy? Baguette? What’s wrong?”
She blinked. She hadn’t even noticed she’d walked all the way home and right into the den. Bread was in his usual spot, cider in hoof, work boots still on. Eyes full of honest concern.
“It’s nothing. I…”
The words stuck in her throat.
“What’s happened? Are you okay?!” He was out of his recliner, cider forgotten, wings flaring as if ready to whisk her away from danger.
Her knight in shining denim, as always.
The dam burst and let the tears finally flow. “…I was fired.”
Shock. Disbelief. “What? Why? But you're perfect! No one else there does half the work you do.”
That wasn’t fair. Lotta was a fine hostess and Earnest… tried her best. They were good girls. With long careers ahead of them.
Bread’s brow furrowed like a thundercloud as disbelief curdled to anger. “It was Cutter, wasn’t it. Corporate snake. I knew he was no good the day he came to town.”
She sank bonelessly into his embrace. “I don’t… I think… we might have to reconsider your birthday trip to Rainbow Falls.” Even after all their scrimping. All the extra hours, the overtime. Pointless, now.
“Oh, Baggy.” He held her—his grip like iron, a lifeline in her sea of turmoil. “Don’t worry 'bout me. We’re going to fight this.”
“No, this… this isn’t the time to kick up a fuss.”
He leaned in and kissed a tear off her cheek. “Baggy, my sweet, this is exactly the time. I won’t let them get away with it. No one treats my gal like this.”
Frustration rolled off him like heat haze from an oven as he stomped over to his writing desk. “Fetch me my rolodex. I’m going to make sure everypony knows what they’ve done. The boys at the Rotary Club. The old gang from the Audubon Society. Tartarus, I’ll write a public denouncement for the town bulletin board! We’ve got friends and someone will know someone who can put the squeeze on that low-life.”
Baguette smiled. She knew nothing would come from a few letters—she wasn’t important, she didn’t have influence—but she appreciated his devotion. Still, even as her old boy vented through his quill, she quietly left the room to find their budget binder. What’s done was done, and she needed to plan for the worst, even as she prayed for anything else.
