Dutifully, you trudge into your bosses office.  You’re relieved to note that the severe countenance you were expecting is absent, but then the solemn one that is present in its place disconcerts you more.  He invites you to take a seat, which proves to be ground zero for a great big load of shit about, “The unfortunate emergence of regrettable financial conditions that have proven exigent in nature and necessitate the elimination of redundancies in domestic human resources,” which is nothing more than a fancy way of insulting what intelligence your stultifying job has left you while informing you that it is being taken away for outsourcing to Liberia.  You exit the office meekly with a big stack of papers in your hand, and think of a bunch of stuff you should have said about two minutes later.  You return to your cubicle, where people come by sporadically for awhile to offer perfunctory, half-ass condolences as you assess the wreckage that is your life.  It doesn’t look pretty. According to the paper on top of your stack, there is a per diem crisis management counselor down the hall in the emptied office of some other recently fired slob, waiting for your call.  Do you visit the counselor, or do you go outside and kill yourself?