Mr. Baxter told me I was fired. Unavoidable. Nothing personal. Cutbacks. Clear out your desk I have no family. All I had in my desk was Chloe, my rubber squeaky frog. Whenever I felt stress, I pulled out my frog and squeezed it.
Other loan officers objected at first. But, one by one, they each got their own toy. Bill got a panda, Georgette, a monkey, Karen a snake, Albert a parrot, and Antonio, a shark.
Some days all you heard was squeaking.
Chloe looked lonely in her little box. As I left for the final time, the others stood and saluted me by squeezing their toys. Vicious rumors I had cooties prevented them from hugging me. Marge, the receptionist, pressed her rhino, and Hal, the parking lot attendant, tearfully squeaked his rubber giraffe.
As I put the car in gear, I looked up and saw Mr. Baxter, gazing down, holding Ernesto, his lizard hand puppet. He worked its mouth as if to say good luck.I held up Chloe and squeaked my own message in return. Two words, but not good luck.
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