Nothing Happens Until It Happens to You: A Novel Without Pay, Perks, or Privileges

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en Limba Engleză Paperback – April 2011

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Jeffrey Reiner is a middle manager’s dream.

Predictable, almost invisible, and lacking ambition, he’s held the same tedious job for eighteen years, typing up the calendar listings for a South Florida weekly. As the economy and the newspaper industry crashed around him, Jeffrey kept his head comfortably in the sand until he was terminated in the middle of his lunch hour. Suddenly Jeffrey is staring at a deadline of twenty-one weeks before his severance pay and unemployment benefits dry up and he has to figure out what to do next.

Plunged into the bizarre world of unemployment, Jeffrey’s attempts at networking lead him to his slacker neighbors, an unorthodox state facilitator, and a 1-800 mental health counselor. What’s even worse is now that he has no job to fill the daytime hours, he can’t ignore the fact that his family life is unraveling: his wife communicates almost solely through detailed daily honey-do lists; his mother seems determined to get herself kicked out of her assisted-living facility; his teenage daughter has no use for him and seems wiser to the ways of the world than he’ll ever be; and his son has taken up a disturbing form of pest control to help make ends meet. Even his dog finds a way to let him down.

With his job search going nowhere amid the wreckage of the American economy, Jeffrey has no choice but to push beyond his comfort zone. He takes on a string of ridiculous odd jobs for a guy known as “enterprising dude” that include dressing up as the Statue of Liberty and breeding fish in a tub of mud. But as Jeffrey stumbles from one comic catastrophe to another, he realizes that in opening up to the world, he no longer wants to go back to his safe, sheltered corner. Full of whimsy, wry humor, and surprising insight,

Nothing Happens Until It Happens to You is a weird, wonderful journey of self-discovery that proves there’s life after the pink slip after all.

From the Hardcover edition.
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ISBN-13: 9780307589866
ISBN-10: 0307589862
Pagini: 304
Dimensiuni: 133 x 203 x 18 mm
Greutate: 0.35 kg


"There’s nothing amusing about getting laid off—except when it’s a story told by the brilliant Terry Shine, one of the funniest writers I know."
—Dave Barry

“Unpredictable and with deprecating humor, journalist T.M. Shine’s debut will appeal to anyone affected by the current economic crises.”
"Florida journalist Shine turns on his profession with this acidly funny...first novel about a newspaper refugee who takes unemployment harder than most."
Kirkus Reviews

“T.M. Shine has more fun with a day than most any other writer can imagine in a year. He turns clock-watching into a bright, comic thrill-ride.”
—Bill Zehme, contributing editor, Esquire magazine and author Lost In the Funhouse

“Humor and profundity are not mutually exclusive, and life can be, and mostly is, serious and funny simultaneously. It’s not always easy to capture that in words, but when T.M. Shine manages to do so, it’s a sign of a master at work.” 
—Tom Shroder, former editor of Washington Post Magazine

From the Hardcover edition.

Notă biografică

T.M. SHINE is an award-winning journalist and author based in South Florida who has written on topics ranging from spending a week in fourth grade at the age of thirty-two to hunting down an elusive Lizard Man in the backwoods of South Carolina. A regular contributor to The Washington Post Magazine, his work has also appeared in numerous publications and been featured on National Public Radio’s This American Life.

From the Hardcover edition.


From where I’m currently sitting, in a tightly strapped sun-cracked lounge chair, I have both a view of Federal Highway and the “Clean Rooms and Affordable Rates” sign, but not much else. 

In my lap I’m cradling a small bag of sundries I bought at the CVS pharmacy beside the motel, a dirty polo shirt with a Cheesecake Factory “Hi, I’m Alexandra” name badge haphazardly attached, a postcard my buddy Artie sent me from the equator, an “extremely cool” dolphin snow globe and a crumpled slip of paper that begins with the statement: “As you have been informed by your manager, your employment with the company will be ending effective today.”

That was a lot of todays ago - 112 to be exact - so I don’t mean to imply that I was terminated yesterday afternoon, got drunk and ended up at this dump. I wish. No, this has been a slow process. My wife Anna was supportive and then she wasn’t. There are a couple of things I understand her being upset about. One involved the police and those cheap, garbage tie handcuffs. I’m telling you right now, if you ever get arrested insist on real handcuffs. The police act like the shiny silver ones are only for special occasions or something now but they’re much more comfortable ߝ less pinching ߝ and if you ask nicely they’ll use them. Anyway, there were a few other incidents including the “Batteries and Tires for Life” policy at our Toyota dealer, an urban corn field and a community college mishap but it’s mostly just domestic/suburban nonsense and my 17-year-old daughter, Kristin, is on her way to pick me up so I don’t have time to get into all that. Just know, none if it was my fault.

Specifically, what led me here was more of the same but I’ll run through it real quick. We were visiting my brother-in-law (My brother-in-law is one of those people that everybody likes but you don’t know why) at their new house on the Intracoastal Waterway. It has four floors. I know, I know, so I’m kidding him about it, right?  I checked if it was about a view, because I’ve got no problem how high someone goes for a view, but the water was completely visible from the third floor. "Three is somewhat unique. But what the heck do you need four floors for?" I asked. Granted, I asked more than once, but you know how you get something in your head that’s silly and you just can’t stop going on about it?

Oh, and you definitely need to know that during the whole four floors ordeal this “revolutionary” motion-sensor trash can near their wet bar was flapping like a clam every time I squirmed to get comfortable in the most uncomfortable six-legged chair (why would a chair need six legs?) I’ve ever encountered.   

Apparently, my comments made my brother and sister-in-law a bit uneasy, and Anna half-heartedly defended me by saying, "Jeffrey only has opinions about small things."

"And tall things," I added, in a way that made our hosts want to freshen our drinks, which we hadn't even touched.

It was an awkward moment with that special kind of silence that could make even a monk cringe but those are sort of in style now, aren’t they? What with those wince inducing comedy shows and whatnot, awkward is the new suave as far as I can tell. So I didn’t think much of them nervously skittering off to search for honey roasted peanuts in the kitchen two flights down.  

From the Hardcover edition.