They're Gonna Have To Introduce Conscription

It's been statistics only for me til Tuesday: 80% of restaurants shutter within the first five years. My wee bakery job lurches forth into statistical obscurity with the rest of the poor fuckers. Closed! 86'd! Turfed! In a first for me, absolutely none of the outcome was because of my piss poor behavior. The place went out with a tone deaf whimper, ownership toasting, spineless Irish wake style, with pilfered bubbly while myself, the other manager and the three remaining baristas scurried to tidy the place in normal shutdown procedure. The GM's face screwed up like a cat's asshole when we informed them we still had ten more minutes of work to complete, prosecco off gassing in the styrofoam cup in their claws. Getting between these people and their drinks of choice had always been a garbage prospect.

The trivialities that make up the entire ugly tapestry of them fucking dog to the point of closure was detailed in a press release to the public. It was how they broke the news to us, on photocopied sheets at the all-hand's meeting before posting it to Facebook. 14 days later, we were done. Two weeks went by quick as a kitten queef, with no time to take a breath and do any boots-on-the-ground job searching because of how ludicrously busy the goddamn joint got. Thousands of dollars of business a day at a tiny, understaffed bakery shoved so far into the woods that GPS loses signal three quarters of the way getting there was exhausting to the marrow. I don't know how the younger ones did it, but they kept pace and held their own through increased traffic with a barrage of disturbing questions and behavior in tow. No one had gigs lined up afterward, and for this idiot head of household, it was, and still is, terrifying.

Goose doesn't understand why we can't get the hell out of here entirely and try something new in somewhere completely new that isn't the US.
"Could we move to Japan with Uncle Eric? I don't understand why we can't just leave."
There's laws in every single country regarding immigration, and visas, and work permits. You're thinking instant, illegal immigration. It's more paperwork than that, I promise you.

I have no clue what I'm going to resurface as, what gig I'm going to take or what is even offered at this point. My fucked up strings of employment make me look like a schizophrenic nerd burn out (librarian! writer! tattoo parlor! dispensaries!), and in a tourism driven environment, customer service may be my lot in life no matter my many colored parachute. It's all coming up roses and unemployment payments, for the time being, here, cuz Momma's on the dole again!