This morning, before I even had my coat off, my boss was beckoning me into his office. I was half an hour late, in textbook "Avoid the Shitstorm" fashion. The gloom around here has been palpable for days.
My knees were a bit weak as I sat down and he closed the door. He never closes the door. "Today's the day," he said with finality. "You're not getting laid-off, I don't think I even need to tell you that... do I need to tell you that? Were you worried?" He looked at my ashen face. "I've had a few sleepless nights," I told him. Part of the insomnia was from last week's cortisone injection, but the rest was the lingering shard of doubt that I'd still have a job today.
Last night my co-worker called to see if I'd been laid-off; she'd received her walking papers at the end of the day. In the exit interview, they gave her a list of the ages of everyone who was being let go, which we both found strange and fascinating. No names, just ages. It's apparently an EOE legal disclosure. We tried to guess who was who. As the only person in Development who is 33, it appeared my job was safe. But you never know. They're getting rid of 32% of the company - 160 people - and I can think of a few other folks who probably have earned more right to stay than I. The panic and dread has engulfed me for two weeks. I thought I'd feel better knowing my fate, but it hasn't quelled the anxiety in my stomach.
My boss said I didn't have to stay today, if I didn't want to. "I recommend you hide," he advised. HR has reserved the conference room in my department for exit interviews, which means a steady stream of angry and dejected co-workers will be passing by my desk all day. I can think of a few other places I'd rather be.
Now I know who's getting the axe, and some of them don't know yet. They're talking to me, giving me tasks, and I'm tossing them in the "Friday" to-do pile because by then it will be irrelevant.
I didn't realize how sad I'd be. I've never handled change well.
Though honestly, I could think of worse times to be laid-off than at the beginning of summer in the Pacific Northwest.
Just saying.
I think I'll head home and grieve remotely.
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