One of the many excellent aspects of redundancy is the chance to dig out my favourite quotation. Popularised by JFK, its origin is unclear. Google research has everyone falling over themselves to attribute Better to light a candle than curse the darkness to that sagacious Chinese guy who seemed to do little but generate minimalistic wisdom in memorable one-liners. One site even reproduces it in Chinese characters, as if this makes the attribution unarguable. (I’m not sure about that comma though.)
I drove up to Nottingham early last Tuesday morning, expecting to be discussing FY11 objectives with my line manager. Could I persuade her to give me something more challenging to do?
It was supposed to be a one-to-one, but there was another woman there, introduced as so-and-so from HR. Let me give this warning to younger, greener, corporate captives: if you ever attend a meeting where you find an unexpected so-and-so from HR, expect the worst.
As soon as her identity was revealed, I twigged. Damn, I’m being made redundant. It took a few faltering sentences from my boss for this to be confirmed.
It was hard to warm to the HR lady, and I didn’t try too hard. She had that irritating habit that must be taught early on in HR school: the switch-on, switch-off rictus smile. Most off-putting. I kept staring at her performing mouth while I should have been weeping quietly into my Starbucks serviette.
My manager made a quite different impression. She was clearly not relishing this duty, and may have been worrying about it for some time. Bless ‘er. She’s been excellent, and I’ll miss her. I’ve often thought that managers tend to be… well, to put it in simple terms, either nice or effective. Hard for a personable boss to be effective, or vice versa. She was a rare exception, getting some good work out of me, particularly on the techie side, but somehow managing to remain endearing. And never more so than during this final melancholy meeting, when she seemed upset to the point of tears. I felt I should be comforting her in some way.
We took it in turns to mumble bits of inconsequential crap. Words piled up, then vanished. Sentences started quickly then slowed down, trailing off into unfinished questions and staccato pleasantries. Whenever it seemed possible that one of us might actually issue some sort of strangled sob, the lady from HR flicked the switch of her grin, and spread out some more documents in front of me to demonstrate that it’s not so bad really.
Perhaps that’s unfair. It’s a difficult job, and not one I would fancy. More important, it’s probably a good thing that while the rest of us are busy being wounded, or playing the reluctant executioner, someone is there to be businesslike and practical.
The grubby deed took no more than fifteen minutes. Then they got up and left me to seek some comfort in this small, brightly lit cube. Just me, a table and a telephone, and four walls. That phone. We gazed at each other, but it kept out-staring me. I’d look away for a few seconds, before dragging my eyes back to it. Eventually, I reached out, but my wife wasn’t answering her mobile. In retrospect, I’m glad.
The invitation to stay as long as I wanted in that room was intended kindly, but wasn’t the most appealing offer I’d ever had. I decided to leave and drive back home, barely half an hour after arriving. Walking back through the canteen, I spied a group of colleagues in the corner, queuing up for coffee. We were all a bit embarrassed I think. One of them mumbled some commiseratory cliché. The others just stared at me with looks of wild fascination.
Just before I got to the door, it swung open, and the bigger boss strode in. As she swept past me, she called out: Hey, how ya doin’?, and raised her arm in Alan Shearer fashion. She could have been hailing a cab on North Michigan Avenue. I called back: I’m fine, and grinned. And that was that. You hired me; you fired me. I’m fine.
And I really am.
Half an hour into my journey home, I grew weary of feeling fed up. There was a big match that evening. The possibility of Chelsea beating Inter Milan to get to the Champions League quarter finals was much more worrying than my petty concerns.
After arriving home, I made a couple of calls to people in my wider workiverse. One of them said they had some contract work coming up if I was interested. I said I’d get back to him. I don’t particularly fancy the work, but it reminded me that there are plenty of things I can do.
The initial response to these things a sense of hurt. Like being unexpectedly dumped by a girlfriend. You feel rejected and humiliated and annoyed. For a short while. In my case, the emotional froth died down quickly, and I started to rationalise it, realising that it was a perfectly sensible business decision. The quicker you can get to that point, the better. One moment you are drowning, the next you are back on dry land, feeling thoroughly relieved. I’d been casually looking round at other opportunities since Christmas. This tells me all I need to know.
It’s been a funny old job. To extend the metaphor about it being like a girlfriend, this was no profound love affair, but the most perfunctory of relationships. A marriage of convenience that wasn’t even very convenient. The payday sex was excellent, but love? Forget it. We were just going through the motions. An absence of trust meant this relationship wouldn’t be going anywhere. A bit like my marathons, it began with great excitement but quickly developed a sort of sag in the middle, before a long painful weariness set in.
The writing bits were enjoyable, and the technical projects. I was good at them, and had an appreciative community of users. On the negative side was a surfeit of tediously robotic content management tasks: a dispiriting and unsatisfying experience that I am delighted to leave behind. Building and refining a content taxonomy can be a pretty creative challenge (believe me), but if you’re just cleaning up after someone else’s party, you soon start feeling your own spirit draining away.
So here I am, bathed in gloriously romantic candlelight, having fumbled around in the darkness for a short while. All I need now is a new partner to share it with.
Exciting times ahead.
11 comments On Sweet and sour meet
Hi Guys
Thank you for the positive comments, everyone. I’m still in the relieved-and-excited phase, and fully expect to stay here for the next 38 years or so. Is this unrealistic?
I’m more worried about my running than anything right now. What a disastrous winter and spring it’s been on that front. Still, I’ve been lucky with injuries over most of the last 8 or 9 years, so can’t complain too much.
Very cheering comments about writing, as always, but easier said than done to bring to fruition. However, I’ve got an idea or two that I’ll be pursuing.
Andy
I can imagine you’re going through a myriad of emotions EG; with looking at the positive being one of them. Having been there, I can relate. Let yourself enjoy a little bit of time off before jumping into the next thing. And I concur with others that it would be great if you could find something where your writing skill could be used. You’ve been gifted with a wonderful talent; how great if you could be paid for it!
I know you’ll find something; let it be something you really like.
Suzie
I once had a boss who was himself sacked for daring to argue against the number of redundancies he was being asked to make. He had a genuine concern for his staff and has thankfully since then gone on to bigger and better things in an organisation who appreciate his concern for fellow workers.
I think, EG, you are being too kind to the HR person and the bigger boss. They are bastards who don’t really give a damn and in harsher times would be hate-driven Nazis or laughing Pol Pot henchmen. Damn them and their “oh so sorry we really hate to do this but…” ways.
You’ve been there before of course, and will survive this again. Best of luck with it!
Good luck for the future Andy and I am sure you will find something that satisfies you to do next (poor syntax but I hope you know what I mean!!!).
As for the writing idea purported by Sweder and others, I definitely think theres something there.
Good luck
Peter
I second Mr Sweder regarding your potential as a pensmith. It would be great to think that you could spring into exploratory freelance writing, whilst knocking out a lucrative software contract every six months or so to keep the wolf from the door. Bivocationalism could be the answer to Sweder’s Condundrum.
But pipe dreams aside… good luck with whatever endeavour(s) you pursue.
Gutted for you ElG. Mr SW having been there so recently, it still feels raw. Get the trainers on.
All the best with the job hunting EG. You’ll find something better and life will be richer as a result I’m sure. You’re a bright lad.
It´s really fantastic the positive view that you take at this situation. I´m sure you will find another job that suits you better. Meanwhile, you should take it as a sort of holidays.
Best of luck, A.
Antonio
Thanks for this post. I’m going through the extended version of this right now. I work in HR, too, so know that the false smiles and all that go with it are a part of the act. I’m just trying to look forward, and keep focussed on what this will lead to down the road. And yes, more running for sure. I think a lot of jobs in this economy are like a broken marriage when the love is gone, and the best thing in these cases is to recognise this fact and be ready to move on, cut loose. The freedom and space to think for ourselves normally creates some new ideas and perspectives, and I’m going to give it every chance. I wish you all the very best.
‘Plenty more fish in the sea’ – Confucius apparently.
Spoke to a friend of a friend about later-life dating recently. It’s an ugly scene and one that seems a good deal more attractive from the cozy warmth of a well-worn yet supremely comfortable relationship.
Another cliche: ‘As one door closes another slams shut in your face’.
Just trying to cheer you up you understand. But seriously, I agree: exciting times ahead. I’ve had cause to review my own employment mortality in recent times – haven’t we all to some extent? And I concluded that I have no idea what I’d do. The crossroads at such a juncture resemble Brum’s infamous spaghetti junction, with no clue as to which path leads to glory, or wealth, or happiness, or indeed disaster. A part of me can’t help but think ‘well, this is an opportunity, a chance to cast off the shackles of humdrum, to explore new worlds, to seek out (cue Star Trek music).
My BIG problem, as it is with so many of us, is one of remuneration.
I could happily fill my days with a myriad of fulfilling distractions, acts of kindness, delicious, self-indulgent dips in the warm waters of creativity. But whence the filthy lucre? Solve that issue and the world truly is your lobster. If there’s one man I know laden with latent talent (ooh, that’s a, that’s a … oh I dunno … two words with the same letters in a different order. Damn my lack of eddycayshun). What I mean is if some of the fools out there can make moolah out of churning out dross there must be room for a man of your worth as a wordsmith in this word-hungry world to make a living with a pen. Or a keyboard. I know, I know … but I’m not alone in thinking it, I’m just crass enough to say it out loud.
By the way my plan of sending the Mrs out dolled up to the nines in the evenings to earn a bigger crust resulted in an ice-age chill at Chez Sweder that made the January freeze seem like a cool summer night.
Your girlfriend/employer comparison has never occurred to me before, being a bit dense, though I must say that, for me, even the least satisfactory relationship with a pretty and intelligent person of the opposite gender is, for me, a thousand times better than the best possible job. And since many of my employers have been, as organisations, dysfunctional hags, I suppose being dumped by them didn’t hurt so much. Employers have told me that ‘it’s not you, it’s me,’ three times in my working career, and I’ve still got some way to go to retirement, so I can’t say it won’t happen to me again. I admire your fortitude and hope I can emulate it if I need to.
More time for running, dare I suggest?