Howdy!So. Friday, January 11th, 2oo8 around 6:00pm I was sitting at my desk, minding my own business (that is: searching for ex-classmates from high school on Facebook whose photos prove that they got fatter than me) when an e-mail popped into my Inbox--
"Will the following people please join me in the conference room for a very important meeting."
Deep down, I knew it was coming.
The rumors had been swirling for the past 48 hours in the office. Clandestine, closed door meetings abound. Furtive, concerned glances and furrowed brows by upper-management folk thrown to us Phone Monkeys, sitting idly in our desks awaiting doom on our wireless headsets. By Friday morning most everyone in the office knew that the company had fairly large-scale plans to ax a certain portion of the underlings and miscellaneous whatnot that they deemed too costly. It was a growing trend in my Industry. Everywhere was feeling the financial pinch and doing what was necessary to stay afloat.
I probably sealed my own fucking doom by repeatedly telling everyone: "Hey, it's probably me! I cost too much! I've been here seven years. I'd fire me!" You moron.
But yet, a distant part of my brain I rarely ever listen to (usually because it's far too optimistic for my liking) said: "Wha?! Really? Me?" Because, yes. It's shocking to lose your job. Unless you've had your head so far up your ass at your desk you think the light coming in from your nostrils are beacons shining on your exemplary being. Or, alternately, you find your boss incessantly warns that you should do actual work rather than the concerted effort you've been applying to scoring holes-in-one at online mini-golf. Then yeah. Being told that you're no longer needed as a valuable cog at the corporate wheel really, really, really is a giant ball of suck. (Despite whatever misapprehensions "The Hudsucker Proxy" may have given you about being a cog.)
A few of the kids who joined me on that faithful day in the aforementioned room took it in as much stride as humanly as possible. Though, looking at their faces when they were told by management about being "Laid Off" and the approximate meaning of that term tells me colleges need to do a whole lot more in preparing the future Unemployment Forces of America on how to handle this situation. Maybe a class on how to look less crest-fallen and try and immediately remind one's self of the positives that can come from looming unemployment. (I suspect the easiest way to teach such a thing would be to have each student take turns bending over a desk and being fucked in the ass by a cactus. If you'll excuse the hyperbole.)
But hey. Who am I to talk of handling the dismay at being shown the door? I'm sitting there with a single train of thought on my mind: "Seven fucking years, here! And in that time I've seen a whole hell of a lot and dealt with it. And yeah, in the past couple of months the work has slowed down to where my daily browser hits on movie trailer, arcane news and The Onion websites probably went up by a measurable degree. BUT SO DID EVERYONE ELSE! Seven motherfucking years, assholes! You've had me work for three people at once at that place during 'lean times'. Seven years. A portion of my life never to be returned to me that you logged into your books and wrote off on your ledger and don't even have the grace and dignity to give me more than two weeks severance for. WHAT THE FUCK?!"
Nonetheless. Here I am and here I've been, since. Sitting in my house and marveling at how the minutes quickly turn into hours and days and an amount of time that had I dedicated to it properly I could have taught myself some nifty card tricks or monster Guitar Hero III moves.
Seriously, though. It took me two months to figure out that maybe the proper outlet for what I was feeling was no longer talking to my wife or the dog about this. Or constantly calling and e-mailing former colleagues to revel in any shared negative news about my former employer (of which there is much; of which still makes me smile broadly when I think of it). Maybe it was better if I throw this out on the proverbially virtual stoop and see if any proverbially virtual cats lick it up. Because I've joined a mere percentage of Californians here-- 5.9% to be exact. That's 1,079,000 people in this state who are presently unemployed. (Though, as my wife points out, there's much to be argued in those numbers and my head isn't necessary built for such weighty discussions as to the accuracy of such, so I'll leave that be.) I've become a minuscule calculation in a growing trend in the United States.
One of the unemployed.
Fuck me, it's frightening and difficult to say that. Hell, for the first month we told people I was doing anything but being unemployed. The very word seems to carry such dirty connotations and a certain amount of stigmata in the Los Angeles community. Ask a typical L.A.-ian what they think of when you say "Unemployed" and you get a myriad of the same responses: Bums sleeping under the 101 overpasses and raiding recycling bins for bottles. Failed actors serving tap water and shilling over-priced prix-fix menus at Pastis. You know: REAL bad shit. So, yeah. We had to figure out how to handle this with our friends and family in a way that is both resolute and clear.
Solution: We pretend like it's not happening.
Which is O.K. for the first couple of weeks. Then a month passes and people wonder why they see you wearing the same jeans and slightly rumpled t-shirt from a few days prior and hanging out at the Starbucks at 11:00am in the morning with a fore lorn look on your face. (Apparently employed persons don't do this.) Thus we did what any respectable couple would do next: we liedliedlied.
I was "working from home". Or: "taking a sabbatical". (I had to quickly Dictionary-dot-com "sabbatical" to know if I was correctly using it as an excuse. Example of Proper Use: "Presently I'm on sabbatical to further study and enhance my work attitude. The company fully supports me in this endeavor!" Improper Use: "Yeah, my sabbatical is going great! I've never been better at Wii Golf!")
Of course, this subterfuge can only last so long. I knew I had to move on to tackling the issue solo. Which I handled with much aplomb by taking aside in a conspiratorial-like manner nearly any person who asked and trying to explain in hushed tones what had happened and how I'd been royally fucked and how it was O.K. for a variety of reasons and there shouldn't be feelings of pity or worry. I was a capable guy and I had been "laid off" and the company assured me that I'd be hired back when this "little crisis" was resolved. "It's all good!" I'd say, smiling, "After all, I haven't taken a vacation since 2004, so in reality this is like a well-earned break!"
Fuck me if I didn't believe that, too.
The final stage-- the one that's set in now-- is that of absolute, unwavering DOUBT. Total and complete. Really, truly, solid doubt. Like, "What happens now?" Like, "Fuck me, it's Tuesday at 2:00am and I have no real reason to go to bed yet because tomorrow I STILL HAVE NO FUCKING JOB." This is the scary stage. This is the reason I'm even finally putting something on this blog that's been blank since the creation of it's (now more so than then) ironic title.
To recap:
Stage 1 of Unemployment: Pretend it didn't happen/doesn't exist.
Stage 1 1/2: Lie you dumb motherfucker, LIE.
Stage 2.4: Tell the truth and blame it on THE MAN. (That/those assholes!)
Stage 3, 4, 5, 6 - 12: Doubt, fear, loathing, bewilderment, playing Super Mario Galaxies in an endless quest to collect 120 unnecessary stars so you can play the whole thing again as Luigi but hey, WHAT THE HELL ELSE DO I HAVE TO DO?
I figured, why not chronicle this little misadventure? I mean, who really reads this shit anyways? I'm happy to devote the quickly decaying minutes of my life towards explaining the complex inner-workings of my pessimistic attitude about this situation in which I've gotten myself involved. Am I thinking there's some kind of catharsis I'll reach by hammering out all these little missives? Um, no. I'm a realist, dear reader. This is just a place to put up a whole lotta words about things going on in my life and how they make me chortle or miserable or pissie or generally want to gag at the very thought of thinking.
In the coming hours... days... weeks... and (fuck me) months (?) of this tedium, I'll try and spell out the things that happened and how they happened. Maybe as a cautionary tale. Maybe as an amusing anecdote you can steal and use at the next seminar on Creating United Municipalities of Douchebaggery for the Public At Large. Maybe just as another in the long line of FAQs people will search to find out how to get those last 15 Power Stars in Mario Galaxy. (Find the purple coins.)
It's what I'm here for!I think.
(Fucking doubt.)
