“What on earth were you thinking!?” Mr. Banks, his boss, shouted at the top of his lungs.

“I don’t know,” James, for once at a loss for words, mumbled.

“Do you realize how many people you’ve offended!? Do you realize the PR nightmare you’ve dropped in my lap!? The press will have a field day with this! Pack up your things and get out!”

“Please, sir. I…”

“Spare me your sniveling excuses. I’ve heard them all. Your kind are a dime a dozen! I’ll go get someone from the concession stand to do your job. He’ll probably bring more to the table. I mean what do you do anyway? Make an occasional announcement, play a few songs. I’ll hire a DJ. Get the hell out! And don’t let the door hit your fat ass on the way out!”

James was reeling. He was under water, struggling to find the surface, water filling his lungs. He couldn’t breathe. He fought for air. For dignity. For composure.

All he could think to say was, “It was an honest mistake. But for how you’ve treated me, you will pay!“