When hundreds of my coworkers and I were given our severance notice in February, we still had a few months on the job to get our affairs in order and prepare for what the big wigs delicately called our TRANSITION. I still can't use this term without making "air quotes" because most of us transitioned from busy little worker bees to aimlessly whirling drones within moments of the announcement. No matter how optimistic a corporation might feel about the months leading up to an office closing, what happens when the staff learns they are on their way out of a job is definitely not business.
The company provided on site job search training, conducted financial planning seminars and offered a few lucky strivers a chance to apply for a new post in a new city. While everyone put on a good game face, the months leading up to the last day were filled with more than a few sloppy happy hours, a rash of office supply misappropriations, and a renewed dedication to looking really busy while frantically searching the internet for a new gig. The break room, the bathroom and any office with a closable door were prime meeting spots to dissect the latest rumors. Talking endlessly about TRANSITION was a full time job for everyone in the organization.
What we were not prepared to handle was that awkward silence in social situations when someone casually asks, "What do you do?"
In the cozy embrace of the Misery-Loves-Company crowd at work, everyone talked openly about the lay offs. But one afternoon as I walked from work to a favorite lunch spot, I ran into a friend on the street who smiled and asked, "Hey! How are you doing?" Without thinking, I replied that I'd recently learned the office was closing so I was on my way to the bank to figure out how to transfer my pension funds. I did not volunteer this information with any agenda beyond my concern that I didn't know how to fill out the forms.
Without realizing it, I actually made time stand still.
I magically sent the scene into Bullet Time; that stop action frame-by-frame sequence from the Matrix movies where you get to see e v e r y single motion in vivid 3D. It seemed my friend just froze. He got this panicked look on his face because he was torn between the desire to give me a reassuring bear hug and the overwhelming urge to just get the hell away from me. I know that we stood there a moment longer and said a friendly thing or two before we quickly parted.
That was the day I learned the first of many important Recessionary Lessons -
#1 People Get Really Weird Around the Fired.
Three months after TRANSITION, I attended a posh penthouse 4th of July party where friends and friends-of-friends crowded onto wrap-around terraces to see all the fireworks in the city. A tipsy woman I just met gathered up some office mates she brought to the bash and said, "I want you to meet the only cool people at my job. Hey, by the way, where do you work?" Smiling, I recalled that dreadful day on the street and casually told them that I worked in marketing at a local company. I decided to refer to my job in the present tense to avoid an awkward moment with these strangers, but the woman immediately replied, "Really? But I heard that place closed down months ago..."
STOP! Bullet Time.
I'm left to ponder the proper etiquette for talking to the non-TRANSITIONED about joblessness.
I heard a reassuring story on NPR this weekend and I thought I'd share it with you.
http://marketplace.publicradio.org/display/web/2009/08/07/am-unemployed_etiquette/
Perhaps this will clear things up or simply help you laugh at your own Recessionary Tales. Either way, let me know what you say to people who ask what you do when you're not exactly doing it any more...
