The New York dream for anyone not pursuing a “career path” (which rarely exists in the tableau of an officina) is to experience the beautiful rarity of managing to procure the funds bequeathed to one via unemployment. The only way to get unemployment? Work “diligently” for two-ish years until getting laid off or fired.
Usually, you have to work at the latter to achieve your goal, as layoffs are the holy grail of “secure” unemployment, in which a generous “fuck off” package is usually included. But when you work harder at getting fired than actually working, it’s quite discouraging when all of your efforts are ignored. From breaking the K-cup machine to sending personal emails in a reply all fashion, there is nothing more artful in office life than the ways you express your desire to be asked to leave. Until finally, when you can no longer take how callously they’ve ignored your poetic means of trying to unshackle, the day will come when you decide to outright quit, thereby soiling all previous plans for blissful jobless living in NYC. And that’s when you try to file for unemployment anyway.