The Happiness Merchant

The first time it happened, I was on the St. Charles streetcar, riding home from being fired.

Caroline, my supervisor at Vieux Carré Strategy, had pulled my Sazerac follow-up deck into her morning meeting and pitched it as her own. Then, in the same meeting, she'd told the room that I was "missing the relational layer." That clients wanted a feeling when they left the room. That I wasn't giving them that.

She'd handed me a termination letter in a creamy envelope, the kind you send a wedding RSVP in.

I stood near the rear doors with the envelope folded in my hand. The streetcar rocked. The conductor called out *Napoleon Avenue, Napoleon Avenue, doors opening on your left.*

My phone buzzed.