In honor of Veteran's Day

And in honor of safe returns, and of love between people and their animal friends:

The Layoff Chronicles

Yesterday we got to the stage of mourning called "Anger." I knew it would happen, I just wasn't sure when.

I awoke with a snap at 3 a.m., mad.

Mad that we had been laid off without Some People having a shred of understanding of what we do and why we are needed to keep doing it.

Mad that some people I thought were less capable had been spared when good people had been lost. Mad that we got let go at the worst time of the year to find a job.

Then when I went into the office, I found that it wasn't just me. Everyone had been hit by the Big Angry Bus at the same time.

There were a lot of IMs and "WTF?" and arm-waving. There were "I just don't understand why...." conversations. Fortunately none of it was directed at each other. We have Higher Forces to blame, generally.

Finally about 10 a.m., I realized what was going on and said "Oh, I see we are in the anger phase!" That somehow made me feel better. This, too, would pass.

The day ended with my church board buying me butternut squash ravioli and a big glass of syrah for dinner, and sitting around a big table talking and laughing, and if that won't take the edge off your anger, I don't know what will.

And now for your Moment of Inspiration. Even without the song, watching Astaire "fall" so beautifully would cheer me up.

Ha!

I was having so much fun on Friday, my first day of being laid off, that I forgot to post.

It wasn't a real day of being laid off, since we got a 30-day notice. They just gave me the day off to mourn and regroup.

I slept in til 8, had waffles for breakfast, goofed around on the internet, talked to friends, walked the dog on the beach and, oh? Forgot to mourn and/or regroup.

But I got my laundry done.

Felt better than I have in months. And got an offer to do writing work for a friend's company as a consultant.

Then on Saturday I made money interviewing the brilliant and fascinating Daniel Ellsberg, who was at the center of one of the most important news stories of the 20th century. I could have talked to him all day and all night and would have paid for the privilege. But no. I got paid to do it.

Poor, poor pitiful me.

My mom can out passive-aggressive your mom

My mom never accepts presents gracefully.

Her usual modus operandi is to wait about a week after she has gotten something and then return it to the giver, saying "Oh, I would never use this." Or "You need it more than I do."

Or, in the rare instance, "Do you mind if I give this to Hazel? I don't need it and she might like it."

Damned if I know why she does this. She has returned gifts from clothing to household items to even real maple syrup ("Oh, we'll never use this. We'll just stick to the Log Cabin like we like.")

Finally, one day, about six weeks ago, I snapped. I told her that it wasn't very nice to always give presents back, that it made the givers feel like crap and that she needed to just say thank you and never mention what she did with the gifts ever again.

She made little wounded noises and "Well, I was just trying to be nice" statements and was generally kind of miffy.

Since then, there have been a couple "Oh, I was going to try to give this back to you but I'm not allowed," statements, but she has been better, admittedly.

But I should have known she had a card in her pocket.

A couple weeks ago, she finally cancelled the WebTV service that my sibs and I had bought for Mom and Dad in, oh, 1997. She was mostly getting spam email and wasn't enjoying it and it wasn't worth the $24.95 a month she was paying MSNBC for it.

"I don't know what to do with that keyboard thing," she said.

"Throw it away, donate it to Goodwill, whatever," I said.

"Well," she replied. "I know I'm not allowed to get rid of anything you give me."

Twelve years, people. She has had it for at least twelve years.

HA! Touché, Mom! YOU WIN AT PASSIVE-AGGRESSIVENESS.

And I wonder where I get it from.

The promised details

I was ready to get laid off when I dressed for work this morning. I just felt it would be today. My office's dress code is very casual, but something inside me said "I am not going to look like a schlub in front of these human resources people." So I put on my best slacks and a colorful top and makeup and accessorized appropriately, just in case.

And I was right - by 9:30, I had gotten the speech ("the economy, necessary streamlining of operations blah blah blah") and the big green folder of paperwork and had to make the Walk of Shame across CubicleLand.

I almost wanted to write "UNION" on my notepad and hold it above my head just for fun, a la Norma Rae.


When this journey toward layoffs started, I was scared to bring anyone along with me, but now that I have officially gotten notice, I am so glad I was honest here on my blog.

The support and warmth of people on the internet is incredible. It makes me feel like I am part of some magical community.

Of course, I don't know how magical it will feel when, sometime in the spring, I show up on y'alls front porch, asking for lunch and then have you tell me to get lost or else you are calling the police, but still...for now, it feels great.

And then there's my family and local friends. Also lump-in-the-throat great. Nothing like adversity to make those bonds clear.

And to tell you the truth (slap me if I begin another paragraph with "and") it wasn't all that adverse.

As I said in the post previous, my team was decimated. Out of five in California, two are left.

But we took it with grace and humor and a good bit of joy.

We made the human resources layoff lady cry. Twice. And this is a woman who lays people off ALL DAY LONG. She cried because we were so great and because we comforted our boss instead of asking to be comforted. Because we laughed and joked and looked each other in the eyes.

We were released for the day but we didn't want to leave. We had a potluck planned for lunch, so we hung out and bitched and laughed and then ate a long, slow, delicious lunch topped off my honest-to-God Snickers Salad.

I will indeed miss the people I worked with. They were truly the finest kind and we made an awesome, work-doing machine.


Only 3 remain

That our efforts were not good enough for the company we worked for speaks more to the impatience and cruelty of modern corporate life than to anything we did or didn't do.

All things come to an end, and it was time for an ending. Time for me to bust out and to move on. I have no idea what I will be doing, but I have no doubt that my life will be more creative, more zany, and more fun-filled than it was before. With quite possibly a good dose of struggle and angst thrown in for good measure.

Of one thing you can be sure: I will keep you posted. My rollercoaster is yours.

Thanks again for your kind words, hopes and prayers. You're the best.

Unemployed

30 days notice, decent severance package, our team decimated.

More deets later. I'm ok.

No one appreciates what I do

Matt, Rachel and I were walking to lunch.

"Holy sh*t!! What is that...."

"SMELL????"

"Oh my gah. Are there DEAD PEOPLE in there or something?"

We began staggering around, clutching our noses in a dramatic fashion.

We had walked by a parked tractor-trailer truck that a horrible rotten fish smell was blowing up from in giant green clouds. Well, not literally, but still.


"Something is seriously wrong with that," I said. "Who leaves a trailer full of rotten fish?"

When we came back from lunch, the reeking thing was still there, and though we cut across the parking lot and walked far away, it the stinky stank still smashed into us.

"I'm gonna call the police and tell them," I said.

So a couple hours later, I made the call.

"I'm over on Reese Road and there is this truck that is full of rotting fish," I said.

"Is it parked illegally?" the dispatcher asked.

"Um, no," I said.

"Do you think for some reason that it is stolen?" she said.

"Ah, no, but it seems weird," I said. "It really stinks."

"So you are reporting what, exactly?" she asked.

This is when I saw the flaw in my theory and saw this call through the dispatcher's eyes. I'm sure her flashing "NUTSO" sign was blinking like mad.

"Uh, um, I guess I know that parking a stinky truck isn't exactly illegal," I said, "But I think maybe it is abandoned or something. Can you just send someone to check it out?"

"Right. Ok," she said patiently, with the tone of someone who is going to turn around to her co-worker right after this call is over and relay this dumbass conversation word for word. "If someone is in the area, I will have them stop and take a look."

Then she took my name and phone number. No one came to get me and take me away, so I guess that's something.

Question du Jour

There's that old notion that men who drive huuuuuge monster trucks must be compensating for a lack *ahem* somewhere else in their lives, right?

The guys at work want to know - does that make women a little more interested in guys who drive Mini Coopers or SmartCars?

Inquiring minds want to know.