I got laid off today.
I am not one to write about work on the Internet. I don't think it's fair, and I don't want to be punished later in life because I have opinions about work. Apparently that sort of talk is for the water cooler and not on the Internet.
The situation is this, at my nameless workplace. I got laid off. My position no longer exists.
I know this because a big boss at work as well as some fake-nice HR lady told me so.
Today.
In a conference room with a box of tissues and some bottled water. As she brightly talked about how this was going to be BETTER. She was trying to sell me on my three weeks of severance pay as something to be overjoyed about. Like it was severance Christmas and I had been a good girl.
They kept talking about how the new structure of our unit will better serve our partners, and all I could think was, what about us?
In my department of 36, all but about 8 got laid off, including Shiftless Badger. There are positions in the new structure for us to compete for, but you would be doing so with your tail between your legs ready to beg, borrow, or steal to be continued to be paid.
Many of those 8 who retained their jobs spent the day either being dicks about retaining their jobs and how this change could be good for us. The rest of them are mad at us for belonging to the newest, hippest club out there. The laid-off club.
Not that anyone has said laid off.
"Re-aligned". "Right-sized".
It's hard to rationalize this.
That I put in AWESOME, hard work there. I did some killer stuff. Big, important people know I do good work.
And for what?
It's like work dumped me. I feel slapped in the face and punched in the gut.
And now I'm in an abusive relationship, because it hit me, and I have to crawl back for more. I have to go back to work for WEEKS before the "end date". Or I have to go beg work to take me back and interview for other jobs. Which, if I am lucky enough to get, I'll no doubt resent.
I tried drinking beer, but I couldn't get drunk.
I tried pigging out, but my stomach hurts too much.
I have been smoking cigarettes and saying words that hurt the ears of baby Jesus.
I have been calling my co-workers in the department who still have their jobs awful names out of spite.
I cried on my parent's answering machine. I accidentally said the F-word while I was crying about my job on my parent's answering machine.
I cried on my boyfriend's shoulder. On my friend's shoulder. On the couch.
Luckily, I have tickets to the Cat Empire show in Baltimore tomorrow.
It's nice to have something to look forward to.
F, man.
F.
