You were looking for a "real job." Your references were glowing, but I couldn't shake that feeling in the pit of my stomach that something just wasn't quite right. You knew how to play the game and said everything any boss would want to hear: I take pride in my work, I love to be challenged, I will do whatever I can to help out. You made me think you were someone who actually gave a fuck.
You had a new crisis every time we talked: Your boyfriend left you, your mom was in the hospital, your cat died, you couldn't have kids, you were pregnant, your car was stolen, your grandma died, your sister cut you out of her life. Too bad none of it was true and you were only making up stories so you could keep your cushy job while you stayed home smoking meth with your loser boyfriend and reveled in the sympathy of the coworkers you drew into your web of lies. We believed your bullshit and offered you our unconditional support.
You had to know it couldn't last, that we would catch on to you one day. When that day came, you blamed everyone else for your downfall. You even tried to tell the folks at Unemployment that I harassed you, when all I ever did was try to get you to go to treatment.
That sister—you know, the one you made up? The one who never wanted to see you again? Turns out she was the only one that could see the truth. Good riddance, you fucking cunt.