Death by 5000 cuts

I found out recently that, along with 5000 others, I have “been selected to participate in a resource action because I am a surplus employee”. I have been called many things in my lifetime but “surplus” is a new one. Now, I know that many of you, if receiving the same news, would be offended by being described as surplus, but I see it as much nicer than, say, being called a worthless scumbag. It is all in how one views life. Linshaolin ever the optimist.

Well, having been delivered the news, there  are certain emotional steps that every worthless . . .  er, I mean redundant employee goes through. I am in the cleaning up my home office step. I have kept every note, presentation, handout, gift mug, and embossed certificate from thirteen years of employment at Big Corporation. This priceless collection, worthly of archiving in the corporate Knowledge Bank, now resides in five giant Hefty bags on my home office floor. Big Corporation just lost out on gaining the benefits of years of observation and analysis not to mention the fact that I was going to will it my entire estate (now worth -$1).

The next step will be to trace the news on the grapevine. It works remarkably fast. For having told only two friends about my coming departure, I was amazed to have my instant message box light up like candles on a Christmas tree. Why it is Rajnuner from the Bangelor office telling me that the entire technical support team is in tears at the news. Never had they had such a rewarding long-term relationship. My departure means such a drastic reduction in their workload that surely they too would be outsourced to China.

Next I heard from Employee Expense Accounting reminding me that I owe $1.31 for home office calls, payable before I can actually be surplus. Swiftly on their heels came Procurement telling me that the mahogany office desk and ergonomic executive chair order that I placed has been rejected. They are sending me the standard issue corrugated chipboard lap desk. I cancelled the order.

My friends are in the awkward “what do I say” phase of responding. Those who have actually acknowledged the news have expressed sorrow in a variety of ways, starting with “F#%k”, hovering around “OMG I am so sorry!” to the zenith of empathy “Oh crap I bet I am next…” Several lunch dates and a girls’ night out party have been arranged. The next few weeks, until my departure date, will be marked by a few more expressions of sympathy, a dwindling interest in my plans, and a massive upswing in the use of Microsoft Word’s resume wizard, as the layoff’s chilling effect sinks in.

My house cleaning stage will be followed by elation which in turn will be followed by depression as the reality sinks  in — the odds of a sixty-year-old woman with Parkinson’s finding a high-paying  job are — hey wait, I did not have a high-paying job before . . . so this is OK . . . finishing up my career at Trader Joe’s will be just fine! Actually, I did immediately dive right in to the job hunt, activating my network and sending out a slew of job applications. Two weeks later I have heard boo . . . I am sure all the hiring managers were off on extended Easter holidays and I will hear from them today.

My spouse (who is marginally employed as a part-time teacher) has a game plan: while we are figuring out how we are going to live on raman and altoids we will continue to go to Starbucks every day for expensive coffees. I have always admired his “face life dead on” attitude. So far his game plan alternatives are  1) moving to Spain and 2) finding a sugar daddy/mommy. I have explained to him that by definition a “sugar person” is someone older and wealthy. Since we are in our sixties that means any eligible candidates will be dead. And as far as moving to Spain is concerned, I am all for it except I have an aversion to glazed tile.

My last day at work is April 27th. In anticipation, I am taking this week off to rest up so that I have sufficient energy to fully participate in the resource action. Linshaolin will take another crack at her novel now that she has some free time. Sometimes being surplus is destiny’s way of saying “listen you worthless scumbag, Write!”