I’m Sorry to Announce Layoffs at Ye Olde Colonial Village

Men dressed up like colonial soldiers.
Photograph from Getty

Hear ye, hear ye! I come bearing ill tidings. Gather round, fair townspeople and reënactors! Yes, that means you, drama students vaping behind the blacksmith’s forge.

Allow me to begin by proclaiming that I, Absalom, the town crier/weekend general manager of Colonialand, am tremendously proud of what we good people have built here. Through honest labor and the providence of our Lord, we were able to start a new life as the fourth most visited historical attraction in the greater metro area. Alas, hard times have befallen us.

It may seem that even the Almighty has forsaken us at this, our darkest hour. Aye, we survived the Great Freeze of 1649, when the winter’s frost snuffed out many a frail soul, and also the Great Violation of 2018, when a teen pooped in our wishing well. But now we face an ordeal that threatens to crumble the very foundations of our community. As such, the village elders have decided that some restructuring is in order.

I realize that many of ye are volunteers who work for free, which makes this conversation only that much harder.

Our coffers have dried up this past fiscal year. We are left with no other options, especially since all of our allies have abandoned us. Native tribes no longer seek to purchase our trinkets or beads. French fur trappers have moved their trade routes far away. My brother-in-law refuses to lend me any more money, even though he owns a car dealership. Now, I may not know much about those steam-powered contraptions, but even a simple pilgrim such as myself understands the importance of family.

Anyway, after ample reflection and prayer, I have made the painful decision to downsize our blessed hamlet. Lord be praised, not all is lost. The petting zoo will continue to prosper, and the gift shop will actually be receiving an expansion. However, we will be purging many of the village’s less popular features. ’Tis with a heavy heart that I announce we will be parting ways with Hezekiah, the shit shoveller. May the good Lord watch o’er thine spade and keep ye close as—

Come now, Hezekiah, there’s no sense making a fuss. Be a kind Christian and cease your flinging of the feces. The village elders simply couldn’t justify the cost of having someone move manure from one pile to another all day long. The laundry bills alone! Say, did you know that, in our time, soap was made from boiling animal fat?

There, I was certain that fact would cheer you up. Fare thee well, Hezekiah.

Where was I? Ah, yes. The town’s leaders have also ordained that the workshops of the cooper, cobbler, basket-maker, weaver, miller, baker, haberdasher, fletcher, cartwright, apothecary, bricklayer, printer, barber, tailor, magistrate, joiner, butter-maker, butter taster, buttermonger, and silversmith be shuttered at once. As such, thy services are no longer required. I understand that this is a heavy cross to bear, mine friends. But, as a gesture of good will, ye all are welcome to take a souvenir photo in a cell at the county gaol and apply a thirty-per-cent discount before ye take your leave. All major cards are accepted, except for American Express. After all, America won’t even be a country for another eighty years! Really makes you think, doesn’t it?

Do mine own eyes deceive me? It seems many of ye are taking videos of your humble town crier with your infernal telephonic cameras, which I might remind you are forbidden as long as ye remain on company property. Well, I care not! Go forth and spread your viral recordings far and wide. Give in to the Devil’s work. How easily you forget all the sacrifices that the shepherds of upper management have made for their flock. We gave ye the indoor employee bathrooms. The nondenominational holiday party. The option to wear modern undergarments beneath your historical attire. And still I am branded a villain! After so many of you complained, I even took down the special exhibit, “Indentured Servitude: A Pretty Sweet Deal,” which I worked very hard on! And this is how you thank me.

Forsooth, I say that our most reverent community is better off without all ye layabouts and ne’er-do-wells. With the sinners cast from our midst, perhaps Colonialand can finally become the utopia that its founders envisioned so many moons ago. Be gone, ye snakes. Because thou art lukewarm, and, neither cold nor hot, I will spew thee out of my mouth. Take thy negative Glassdoor reviews and look not back.

We eleven remaining employees have entered a new golden age. The eternal reward is at hand. Our city upon a hill will e’er thrive and bear witness to the benevolence of our Creator—from 8 A.M. to 4:30 P.M. each day except Mondays and Tuesdays. Amen. ♦