Your Unemployed Daughter

I was reminded by a former coworker that yesterday was the one-year anniversary of our dear old departed mag folding.

I remember that day fairly vividly: the confusion when my direct deposit paycheck didn’t go into my account (once in the office we were handed “live checks” by the suits who came to deliver the bad news); my anger that once again the bigwigs were trying to skinflint us (we’d been plagued with financial problems in that last month or three and my job had became, essentially, arguing with AP to get our freelancers paid); my heated conversation with the editor-in-chief over what he was doing to protect us…

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