Wow, that's the first time I've ever been fired.

Actually, I was "let go", part of the "restructuring" of the Spanish Centre, according to Javier, the director of the centre, who so obligingly explained the situation to me.

Unfortunately for me, I've only been working here for two months, and so am not even eligible to be given notice. Nope. Instead, a little after arriving and— immediately—being sent upstairs to collate textbooks in the closet for the second day in a row, my manager Victoria gave a soft little knock on the door and informed me that today was my last day. "uh, you know. As you can see we're not very busy. uh, you're going to Spain, and uh, so we'll no longer be needing you."

Right. And, uh, what the fuck am I supposed to do for the next five weeks? I am aware that employers are not obliged to give notice to employees who have been working for less than 3 months, however, two weeks notice would have been the least of common courtesy, and the very same I would have given them had I been given the chance. In fact, it was for precisely this reason that I hadn't officially notified them about my imminent departure to Spain: because I suspected I may be premeturely let go.

Still waiting to see if they'll pay me for Family Day, or if I'm the latest casualty of Dalton McGuinty's ill-fated statutory holiday.