A while back I read a book titled “Canned: How I Lost Ten Jobs in Ten Years and Learned to Love Unemployment.”
The title and the reviews, “easy to read,” “acerbic and tragicomic,” “overall emotional impact is profound,” sparked my interest; the familiar experiences shared kept me reading.
“That Franklin Schneider (the author) is on to something,” I thought to myself.
Now that I’ve been canned and have the privilege of spending my afternoons getting pickled I have an ever greater appreciation of Schneider’s writing and wisdom.
I also have a greater appreciation and understanding for the word canned.
The definitions for the word vary and I found that all applied to my situation.
Canned: preserved in a sealed can. I definitely feel as though I’ve been preserving my freedom and thoroughly enjoy the daily opportunities to exert it.
Canned: Prepared or recorded earlier; ready to be released. I was definitely ready and have been preparing for ‘retirement’ for some time.
Canned: dismissed from employment. This miss was dissed and, trust me, the dissing will not be missed.
Like Schneider, I plan to make the most of being canned. So far, so good. Between coffee, lunch, hiking, and leisurely living I barely have time to focus on the fact that, just last week, I spent my days, and many nights, working. Now I’m canned and pickled tink or was it tickled pink? Regardless, I’m canned…and pickled.
