Not all hoboes were slovenly, stinky homeless drifters. One was a fastidious, stinky homeless drifter. Let's face it - there was not a lot a hobo could do about the stink. His name was Marlon Fitz-fancy, and he wore a purple suit made of velvet. Most hoboes made no attempt to keep themselves groomed, or clean, for that matter. They generally didn't have the soap, mirrors, running water combs, razors or vanity for such endeavors. This was one of the main reasons they were so unpleasant for members of the non-hobo population to be around for any length of time. Well, that, plus the fact that so many hoboes were dangerous criminals, and frighteningly insane.
Marlon wasn't insane, so far as he knew, and he prided himself on being the kind of criminal who only stole what he needed. Sometimes what he needed was whiskey, and one of those times was today, for today, the dog catcher had broken his heart. This morning, Nikki Fitz-fancy The Astounding, Marlon's best friend of nearly ten years, had sprinted off in chase of some old lady's poodle on the platform of Alexandria Union Station - a chase that had not ended well. The poodle was young and fast, and Nikki - more coyote than dog, but getting on in years - was quickly cornered and captured by a couple of porters, and handed over to the dog catcher. If Marlon couldn't produce three dollars - two for the fine and one for a license - by five o'clock, the dog would be destroyed. It was already three-thirty. Or thereabouts. Marlon had to take the average of three different bank clocks, because no one on the street would give him the time.
He was used to people not giving him the time. As hard as he tried to keep himself clean and groomed, it was a constant struggle. His missing eye didn't help, either. He had lost it as a bystander in a gangster drive-by when he was nineteen, and had never managed to find it again - or a suitable replacement. For a few years, he had a smooth, nearly-spherical river stone, but it had long since been lost. He had tried marbles and of course eye-patches with varying degrees of success, but today, unfortunately, was an olive day. It doesn't matter how clean you are, and you can smell like lilac and fresh-baked cookies; if you have a rotting olive for an eye, not many people are going to give you the time of day.
Marlon Fitz-fancy tied a couple of old handkerchiefs together and banded them around his head, covering his eye, and set about begging on King Street. By four-thirty, he was in a panic. He had collected only $1.55, leaving him well short of the fine itself, and he knew they wouldn't release Nikki to him without a license. He would have to steal the money. His two previous attempts at picking pockets had failed so spectacularly that he didn't even consider it, this time. He was fast enough, but the actual theft had to be easy, or he'd surely fumble it.
The corner drugstore over on Duke Street was his best bet. It had a soda fountain and a very elderly woman behind the counter. He didn't have time to case the joint, so he just sauntered up behind a man who was getting up to leave, waited for him to turn his back on the two dollar bills he had placed on the counter atop his check, grabbed the cash and ran. Had Marlon had the time to case the store, he would surely have noted the young man stocking shelves near the exit. He was tackled less than a block away. The lad was about to start pounding Marlon's face into a crimson stain when the pharmacist from the store arrived on the scene, breathing heavily.
"You get back to the store, son. I'll take care of this bum."
Marlon held his hands in front of his face and cried, "I'm sorry. I only took two bucks. It's for my only friend. You don't understand!"
"What are you yappin' about, bub? This ain't no Hooverville. We got laws around here. And decent folk. Where's the two bucks?"
"Please. I'll work it off. I'll clean up, or stock your shelves or something. I gotta get Nikki outta the pound before they kill her!"
"I don't think so. Just give back the-- Say, did you say your dog's name is Nikki?"
Marlon lowered his hands. "Yes sir. She ran off at the train station, and they got her. Please help a fella out."
"Is your name Marlon?"
"Huh?"
"Marlon Fitz-fancy? And Nikki Fitz-fancy The Astounding? Let me get a look at you."
"Do I know you, brother?" Marlon stammered.
The pharmacist reached for Marlon's makeshift eye-patch, causing an instinctive flinch. "It's okay. Just let me get a look at that eye... I knew it! I thought I recognized that ridiculous goatee and your voice, but the eye cinches it. I'm Bill Barker. Don't you remember me?"
"Oh sweet Jesus." Marlon sighed. "Billy! You saved me and Nikki from that gangster who wanted to be our business manager. I can't believe it! It's been, what, eight years?"
"Something like that. I see you're still wearing what's left of that purple nightmare of a jacket. Shoulda recognized that, too. And what did you call that bit of fuzz on your chin, anyway?"
"It's a charcoal demon, but the fellas always called it a rusty demon, on account of my red hair and secondhand razor. Look, I really will make it up to you. Can you help me get Nikki back?"
"I can't believe that mangy thing is still alive! Of course I'll help. Come on - I got a car. It's behind the store. You two still doing your act?"
"It's been a while, but yeah. Sometimes."
The conversation on the ride to the pound, many blocks away on Duke Street consisted mainly of Billy explaining the circumstances of his escaping hobodom, getting a college degree and finding his way into pharmacy. There was also a lengthy reminiscence of the act that Marlon and Nikki still occasionally performed. She was truly an astonishing dog, with great physical skill, a keen sense of comedic timing and no fear whatsoever. Her tricks had made Marlon somewhat of a hobo celebrity for a number of years. He credited her with saving his life on countless occasions, either by earning a buck with the act so they could eat, or by fending off cops or robbers or other baddies. As Bill's Model A puttered past a bank clock that read at least 5:01, Marlon began to hyperventilate.
"They killed her at five sharp, I just know they did!" he sobbed.
"They might not have. You don't know for sure. It's Friday. They might leave today's for Monday. Here it is - right here. Let's go." Bill left his car in the middle of Duke Street, and the two men ran for the door to the pound. It was locked.
"Dammit! I know she's dead. That dog catcher had it in for me. I could tell." Marlon cried.
"Well, I hear a lot of barking in there, for a place that supposedly just put down all its dogs. I bet they left 'em all for Monday. Let's see if there's a back door."
There was a back door, and there was the dog catcher. There was also very nearly a round of fisticuffs, as Bill and Marlon convinced the man that it would be in his best interest to take the three bucks and let Nikki go free.
Nikki had to think about it for a moment, as she had already found a boyfriend, but she said her goodbyes and ran to Marlon, knocking him to the ground and licking his face until the handkerchiefs and olive had come free.
She ate the olive.
Showing posts with label Get a Dog. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Get a Dog. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Excerption To The Rule About Not Posting NaNoWriMo Excerpts
The easiest blog posts are the ones already written. Sure, this bit (haha - BIT!) from my 2010 NaNoWriMo project about undead people eaters needs a little more spit and polish, but whatever. I like it. And yes, Doug is a dog...
He held the cricket bat with his right hand and one of the 9mms in his left, told Doug to stay, then crouched down and crept, cat-burglar-style, across the asphalt to what was left of the body he'd just passed. Please have the keys, please have the keys, please have the keys, he thought. There they were - about five feet beyond the space in which she had fallen and died and been mostly devoured by monsters that until recently had been regular people. Bill tiptoed past her and wrapped his fingers around the keys, scanned his surroundings again and turned back toward the Jeep. As he passed her remains again, he couldn't help but take a closer look at her. That was when he saw it. Beneath her broken, bloody, half-eaten torso - clutched with a mangled skeletal dead hand between her mostly-intact and bloody-sweater-clad breasts - was a baby. Bill glanced around him again, then bent down low and looked more closely. It was wearing a little pink dress and appeared to be in one piece, and it was dead, staring vacantly into the parking lot with dry eyes devoid of life. "Look at that and tell me there's a god," Bill whispered, his voice shaking with a mixture of heartbreak and rage.
After learning that the Jeep had only a quarter-tank of gasoline - since it had become one of his central challenges over the past couple of weeks, Bill had taken to repeatedly saying "gasoline" with an Australian accent, like Mad Max - Bill had siphoned ten gallons from the car directly behind the Jeep. He had brought the small, battery-operated pump from the boat, but still it only had a six-foot tube, so he transferred the gay-zoh-line to the Jeep five gallons at a time, using the big empty paint bucket that had been in the back, behind the baby seat. Actually, it had been full when he found it - just not of paint. It had been full of baby toys.
While the second bucketful of gas was being pumped into the Jeep, Bill took as many of the toys as he could carry over to the bodies of mother and child. He knelt next to them and scattered the toys around. When he reached in to put a ring of oversized plastic, pastel-colored keys under the mother's half-body, close to the baby, it screamed and hissed and wriggled and bit at the keys with ghastly, toothless bites. "Shit! Zombie baby!!" Bill squealed as he jumped back, covering his mouth to prevent any other loud noises from flying out of it. The undead infant was still gurgling and growling as Bill backed away. "Okay, look at that and tell me there's a god!" He ran back to the Jeep, where the pump was sputtering, having already sucked the last of the gasoline from the bucket into the tank. He shut off the motor, tossed the pump and its hose into the bucket and threw put them in the back. The handful of zombies who had been aimlessly stumbling around in front of the convention center was now a fistful of zombies who had heard the baby and/or Bill's screams and now staggered rather less aimlessly in the direction of the Jeep.Sunday, January 9, 2011
Wrapping Up Double-barrel Unemployment. In 1 Hour. Because I'm Missing My Cartoons.
Hi! Tonight, we're going from Day 432 to Day 700 in the next hour of distracted, half-TV-watching 38 words-per-minute typing. Unless I'm not done after an hour. If I'm not done at the end of an hour, I'll just stop wherever I am and wrap up the rest of the story in one succinct and awe-inspiring sentence. K?
Here we go...
Day 432 - [Maris]'s first full day home from her adventure in Intensive Care, tubes, wires and machines that beep all the time and keep the sick people from sleeping. Also, it snowed approximately seven hundred thousand inches. Ha ha ha! No it didn't, but 2 1/2 FEET of that crap did fall on us that day. More than another foot fell some four days later. We had 54 inches of it within 12 days. In suburban Maryland. Not funny. Moving on...
Day 445 - Headcount reduction. I'm unemployed AGAIN after only 3 months on the promising contract job that was supposed to last at least a year. I wouldn't shed any tears over the loss of the hellish commute, but SWEET ZOMBIE JESUS! [Maris] and I were not going to last long with neither of us earning more than unemployment insurance. And needing to drink more than ever at a time when you can't really afford to? That's just cruel.
Day 470 - [Maris] has a new hobby! It's a big Excel spreadsheet, on which she dissects deliberately and unnecessarily complex, misleading and often duplicate medical bills and attempts to reconcile them with deliberately and unnecessarily complex, misleading and often duplicate explanation-of-benefits forms. It's like a shell game, but with math. The numbers are staggering. Our health insurance provider had covered like, not very much. Managing, minimizing and stretching out this new pile of debt during our time as a couple with dual lacks of income became a major project, and a priority equal to that of finding new jobs. Awesome.
Day 480 - I had an interview! I tried really hard, too. I learned all about the company, I prepared questions, I wore a suit! I didn't say anything Tourettesy or insult anyone or fall down or tell them about my loathing of hard work, of what they do, of the name of their HR guy. I kept my clothes on and didn't even ask if I was getting paid for today. I still didn't get the job. Weird.
Day 500 - I cut the grass!
Day 521 - After two visits to a really cool nearby employer, interviewing (very well, I might add) with five different people, I get the "it came down to you and another candidate and it was really hard, blah blah blah, but we're not hiring you" call.
Day 522 - For the first time in this whole ridiculous story, I moped. Ha ha ha! It looks like I just typed moped, as in the little scooter/motorbike thingies that were all the rage in the late 70s and early 80s. Remember those things? Ha ha ha! They were tiny and weak. If you hit a squirrel with a moped, the squirrel would totally win.
Day 547 - [Maris] is working again! It's terrible and clearly not a long-term solution, but it's a good-paying job in a putrid employment market, so she gladly takes it and quietly keeps searching for a better gig. The stories she brings home are awesome, but sharing them is out of the question. Sorry kids - I ain't gettin' sued. Let's just say she boarded a sinking ship of bigger fools than either of our previous Vortexes (Vortices?) of Doom. Yes, I realize that the only truly "double-barrel" unemployment we experienced was from Day 445 to day 547. So what. Shut up. It's my story and I can call it "monkey calculus and zen garden hoe design sparkle pancake bunnies" if I want to.
Day 588 - [Maris] is working again! At a job/company so good, she took a pay cut to go there from the ship of fools. I knew she could do it. Strangely, as much pressure as her re-employment took off my search, in some ways, I felt even more pressed to find something. From May until October, I could hardly get so much as a phone interview. Some funny stuff probably happened, too, but I only have seven minutes left, so I'll save any of that for later posts.
Day 680 - I had interviews at TWO DIFFERENT companies. I know! It was like an episode of "Three's Company" when Jack has two dates on the same night, like at the same restaurant and everything! I scampered back and forth between the two buildings, making up excuses about emergency phone calls and car alarms and things that they'd have to believe, like loose stools. Ha ha ha! It was fun! I kept talking about the wrong company and calling the interviewers the wrong names and stuff. I was pretty sure they knew what was up, but they played along.
UNTIL...
Day 697 - One of them got wise and broke it off, and the other one HIRED ME!
I'm out of time, but we're pretty much done, aren't we? WOOHOO!! After 700 days, Double-barrel unemployment is over. It didn't kill us! It tried, but it failed. Epic failed. We live to work and earn another day. And another and another and another and another and untold thousands of additional others forever, just as it should be.
We know how lucky we are.
Here we go...
Day 432 - [Maris]'s first full day home from her adventure in Intensive Care, tubes, wires and machines that beep all the time and keep the sick people from sleeping. Also, it snowed approximately seven hundred thousand inches. Ha ha ha! No it didn't, but 2 1/2 FEET of that crap did fall on us that day. More than another foot fell some four days later. We had 54 inches of it within 12 days. In suburban Maryland. Not funny. Moving on...
Day 445 - Headcount reduction. I'm unemployed AGAIN after only 3 months on the promising contract job that was supposed to last at least a year. I wouldn't shed any tears over the loss of the hellish commute, but SWEET ZOMBIE JESUS! [Maris] and I were not going to last long with neither of us earning more than unemployment insurance. And needing to drink more than ever at a time when you can't really afford to? That's just cruel.
Day 470 - [Maris] has a new hobby! It's a big Excel spreadsheet, on which she dissects deliberately and unnecessarily complex, misleading and often duplicate medical bills and attempts to reconcile them with deliberately and unnecessarily complex, misleading and often duplicate explanation-of-benefits forms. It's like a shell game, but with math. The numbers are staggering. Our health insurance provider had covered like, not very much. Managing, minimizing and stretching out this new pile of debt during our time as a couple with dual lacks of income became a major project, and a priority equal to that of finding new jobs. Awesome.
Day 480 - I had an interview! I tried really hard, too. I learned all about the company, I prepared questions, I wore a suit! I didn't say anything Tourettesy or insult anyone or fall down or tell them about my loathing of hard work, of what they do, of the name of their HR guy. I kept my clothes on and didn't even ask if I was getting paid for today. I still didn't get the job. Weird.
Day 500 - I cut the grass!
Day 521 - After two visits to a really cool nearby employer, interviewing (very well, I might add) with five different people, I get the "it came down to you and another candidate and it was really hard, blah blah blah, but we're not hiring you" call.
Day 522 - For the first time in this whole ridiculous story, I moped. Ha ha ha! It looks like I just typed moped, as in the little scooter/motorbike thingies that were all the rage in the late 70s and early 80s. Remember those things? Ha ha ha! They were tiny and weak. If you hit a squirrel with a moped, the squirrel would totally win.
Day 547 - [Maris] is working again! It's terrible and clearly not a long-term solution, but it's a good-paying job in a putrid employment market, so she gladly takes it and quietly keeps searching for a better gig. The stories she brings home are awesome, but sharing them is out of the question. Sorry kids - I ain't gettin' sued. Let's just say she boarded a sinking ship of bigger fools than either of our previous Vortexes (Vortices?) of Doom. Yes, I realize that the only truly "double-barrel" unemployment we experienced was from Day 445 to day 547. So what. Shut up. It's my story and I can call it "monkey calculus and zen garden hoe design sparkle pancake bunnies" if I want to.
Day 588 - [Maris] is working again! At a job/company so good, she took a pay cut to go there from the ship of fools. I knew she could do it. Strangely, as much pressure as her re-employment took off my search, in some ways, I felt even more pressed to find something. From May until October, I could hardly get so much as a phone interview. Some funny stuff probably happened, too, but I only have seven minutes left, so I'll save any of that for later posts.
Day 680 - I had interviews at TWO DIFFERENT companies. I know! It was like an episode of "Three's Company" when Jack has two dates on the same night, like at the same restaurant and everything! I scampered back and forth between the two buildings, making up excuses about emergency phone calls and car alarms and things that they'd have to believe, like loose stools. Ha ha ha! It was fun! I kept talking about the wrong company and calling the interviewers the wrong names and stuff. I was pretty sure they knew what was up, but they played along.
UNTIL...
Day 697 - One of them got wise and broke it off, and the other one HIRED ME!
I'm out of time, but we're pretty much done, aren't we? WOOHOO!! After 700 days, Double-barrel unemployment is over. It didn't kill us! It tried, but it failed. Epic failed. We live to work and earn another day. And another and another and another and another and untold thousands of additional others forever, just as it should be.
We know how lucky we are.
Monday, December 20, 2010
It's All Fun And Games Until Someone Gets His Neck Bitten Open By An Undead Neighbor
Hello, my wonderful and loyal reader or readers! Today, I am feeling an overwhelming need to post some drivel here. Unfortunately, I'm also feeling just oh so lazy. Well, not as much lazy as just too busy. So, remember that little NaNoWriMo novel I wrote in November? "Worcestershire In The Embalming Fluid!" Here's another tiny taste, lovingly extracted from an early chapter, long before the main character (or the author, for that matter) has any clue as to what is happening back home...
* * *
Two days later, as they left Magens Bay in St. Thomas, Bill amused himself for an hour by playing with his old AM/FM Walkman. Thanks to a phenomenon called "atmospheric skip," he was able to tune in the all-news WTOP from Washington, DC. He chuckled as Lisa Baden reported on the horrid traffic on the American Legion Bridge, Doug Hill warned of the coming of the first frost of the season and both of them did their best to tolerate the utter inanity of Mike Moss and Bruce Alan. Today, like most days, they were howling with exaggerated laughter at the slightest provocation - intentional or otherwise - by their supporting cast of imbeciles. Kristi King was excitedly, amateurishly "reporting" on the unspeakably alarming outbreak of "some kind of rabies-like disease" among the squirrel population of the Annapolis-Baltimore-Washington region. Speaking to her listeners as if reading a storybook to a roomful of four-year olds, she attempted to explain that similar outbreaks were being reported in Pennsylvania, West Virginia and Ohio, and that the Centers for Disease Control was investigating. No - not funny, per se, but Mike and Bruce thought it the most side-splittingly hilarious thing they had ever heard in their lives, ever. "Squirrels biting each other - HOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO..." Just as Bill's Walkman was letting go of the signal, he heard Ms. King mention, almost as an afterthought, that at least two people had been bitten in our region, and that one had died.
Bill put the Walkman into his backpack of electronics. (Well?) woofed Doug, returning to the deck from his doggie bed below.
"I got WTOP from home, buddy! I know, right! It's weird to hear their voices down here, looking at St. Thomas. Sounds like there's something wrong with the squirrels, back home." he explained.
"Bark! (Squirrels!) Doug's tail waved enthusiastically.
"Man - I'll bet you miss the squirrels. I hadn't even thought of that, dude. Well, maybe we can hit a couple of nice beaches along the leeward islands, and you can chase some birds or children or something." Bill said, patting Doug's head.
Doug woofed appreciatively.
"Would you like that, Dougie? You wanna go to the beach? You wanna go herd some children and chase sandpipers and run around and bark and jump in the water and (sniff, sniff) ugh - maybe have a real bath someplace, so you look good for the girl beach dogs. And so you don't smell quite so much like a sewer. Sound good? What do you think, buddy!"
Doug barked his approval.
Bill put the Walkman into his backpack of electronics. (Well?) woofed Doug, returning to the deck from his doggie bed below.
"I got WTOP from home, buddy! I know, right! It's weird to hear their voices down here, looking at St. Thomas. Sounds like there's something wrong with the squirrels, back home." he explained.
"Bark! (Squirrels!) Doug's tail waved enthusiastically.
"Man - I'll bet you miss the squirrels. I hadn't even thought of that, dude. Well, maybe we can hit a couple of nice beaches along the leeward islands, and you can chase some birds or children or something." Bill said, patting Doug's head.
Doug woofed appreciatively.
"Would you like that, Dougie? You wanna go to the beach? You wanna go herd some children and chase sandpipers and run around and bark and jump in the water and (sniff, sniff) ugh - maybe have a real bath someplace, so you look good for the girl beach dogs. And so you don't smell quite so much like a sewer. Sound good? What do you think, buddy!"
Doug barked his approval.
* * *
There. Now I feel like I wrote something tonight. Everybody wins! And no, you may NOT have those six minutes back. Sorry. That's life. I do have a couple of things cooking, but at least one of them is not fun or the slightest bit funny, and that stuff is always hard for me to get up for. But I'll try.
Back soon, but possibly not before Christmas. So, Merry Christmas, reader! Or readers! Peace...
Back soon, but possibly not before Christmas. So, Merry Christmas, reader! Or readers! Peace...
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Day Two of Double-barrel Unemployment - Get Up, Bambi!
Tuesday December 2, 2008
Thanks to my day of unconsciousness on Monday, my internal clock was all screwed up and I spent a lot of that night awake and repeatedly thinking "now what?" So, when I forced my sore eyes open Tuesday morning, I was profoundly tired. But I had done this before. I knew all too well that sleep is the enemy of the unemployed. You sleep until 9:00. Then 10:00. Okay, 10:30. Before you know it, you're barely functional before Noon, and still padding about in your PJs and Rocky The Flying Squirrel slippers until just before your wife gets home from work. I adore sleep, and I almost rationalized my way into another hour of it, but the voices kicked in.
It starts with my own voice. "Get up. Get up, you loser. Get up!"
(snooze snooze snooze)
The next voice is the wretched camp counselor from Camp Campingston Falls Summer Camp For The Performing Arts, from the "Camp" (one more "camp" won't kill us, will it?) episode of "Home Movies." It sneers "Get it together, Rabbit Troop," and then there's a kid's voice taunting "Rabbit Troop sucks!" What? Yes. Yes, I do watch a lot of cartoons. Have you seen television lately?
(snooze)
Time to bring out the Big Guns. Bambi's father. Yep. I try to cover my head with my pillow, but it's no use, as the big guy is in my head. "Get up, Bambi. Bambi, get up. GET UP. GET UP, Bambi. GET UP!!!" I don't know about you, but I don't care too much for being called Bambi. Plus, that buck sounded scary as hell.
So I got up. Normally, on Day Two -- How sad is it that I get laid off frequently enough that there's a routine for Day Two? A lot sad, would be my estimate. Anyway, normally this is the day for calling and emailing everyone to find out what the hell happened, for updating my accounts and search agents on Monster, CareerBuilder etc. and for scouring the boards for jobs and firing off a bunch of résumés. I usually also call my friends at the temp agency.
This Day Two was different, as this entire journey through joblessness has been (and is to this day). Having had a very early heads-up from Boss Lady, I had spent many months saving all the cash I could, and between that and the better-than-expected severance package she and our nice Controller got me, I wasn't going to be in financial trouble for at least a couple of months. That took a lot of the usual panic away. Also, having seen this one coming for so many months, including 75 days of official notice, there was no reeling to put a stop to. This trip down unemployment lane was also my first with professional recruiters, but those initial meetings had already taken place in October and November.
Bottom line: There was less to do than usual. I checked in with my fellow expendables and recruiters, sent out a résumé or two, stepped on the scale for the first time in too long (yikes!), packed away my workplace stuff after trashing half of it (how many company mugs does a non-coffee-drinker need, anyway?) and I organized some closets. It was very therapeutic.
I was planning on more or less taking December off, and this was the perfect start. It was sunny and 40 degrees, but winter was coming. I could feel it.
Thanks to my day of unconsciousness on Monday, my internal clock was all screwed up and I spent a lot of that night awake and repeatedly thinking "now what?" So, when I forced my sore eyes open Tuesday morning, I was profoundly tired. But I had done this before. I knew all too well that sleep is the enemy of the unemployed. You sleep until 9:00. Then 10:00. Okay, 10:30. Before you know it, you're barely functional before Noon, and still padding about in your PJs and Rocky The Flying Squirrel slippers until just before your wife gets home from work. I adore sleep, and I almost rationalized my way into another hour of it, but the voices kicked in.
It starts with my own voice. "Get up. Get up, you loser. Get up!"
(snooze snooze snooze)
The next voice is the wretched camp counselor from Camp Campingston Falls Summer Camp For The Performing Arts, from the "Camp" (one more "camp" won't kill us, will it?) episode of "Home Movies." It sneers "Get it together, Rabbit Troop," and then there's a kid's voice taunting "Rabbit Troop sucks!" What? Yes. Yes, I do watch a lot of cartoons. Have you seen television lately?
(snooze)
Time to bring out the Big Guns. Bambi's father. Yep. I try to cover my head with my pillow, but it's no use, as the big guy is in my head. "Get up, Bambi. Bambi, get up. GET UP. GET UP, Bambi. GET UP!!!" I don't know about you, but I don't care too much for being called Bambi. Plus, that buck sounded scary as hell.
So I got up. Normally, on Day Two -- How sad is it that I get laid off frequently enough that there's a routine for Day Two? A lot sad, would be my estimate. Anyway, normally this is the day for calling and emailing everyone to find out what the hell happened, for updating my accounts and search agents on Monster, CareerBuilder etc. and for scouring the boards for jobs and firing off a bunch of résumés. I usually also call my friends at the temp agency.
This Day Two was different, as this entire journey through joblessness has been (and is to this day). Having had a very early heads-up from Boss Lady, I had spent many months saving all the cash I could, and between that and the better-than-expected severance package she and our nice Controller got me, I wasn't going to be in financial trouble for at least a couple of months. That took a lot of the usual panic away. Also, having seen this one coming for so many months, including 75 days of official notice, there was no reeling to put a stop to. This trip down unemployment lane was also my first with professional recruiters, but those initial meetings had already taken place in October and November.
Bottom line: There was less to do than usual. I checked in with my fellow expendables and recruiters, sent out a résumé or two, stepped on the scale for the first time in too long (yikes!), packed away my workplace stuff after trashing half of it (how many company mugs does a non-coffee-drinker need, anyway?) and I organized some closets. It was very therapeutic.
I was planning on more or less taking December off, and this was the perfect start. It was sunny and 40 degrees, but winter was coming. I could feel it.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Day Zero of Double-barrel Unemployment
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
(Yes, if you're doing the math, that's really Day Minus-5, but let's not quibble.)
Wow, did that not feel like getting laid off. All three of my previous involuntary departures - and even one of the voluntary resignations - had been relatively traumatic bolts from the blue, with little or no time to prepare - or even to absorb the news. Still, this also didn't feel like any of my planned, "two-weeks' notice" job departures, which were always happy escapes from bad jobs or at least happy moves to something better.
This was a slow death.
It was certainly as unwelcome as any other termination, but by the time Day Zero arrived, all that was left was exhaustion and sadness - and maybe a measure of relief. Three months earlier, in the rumor-fed angst of the days just before the announcement that those asshats from texas were acquiring us and there would be few survivors, this was the white board in my cubicle:
Originally, this was my artificial "window" to my sandy beach, towel, umbrella, sunset etc. - drawn by my favorite coworker. The "South Park Underpants Gnomes" business model on the left was added later, adapted for my job at Vortex of Doom Communications, in red. In the chaos leading up to The Announcement, my awesome boss lady added the OMG and STFU. As things got worse, we made the sea all messy and stormy, drew some people being ejected from the Ship of Fools, and set it (and them) on fire. The dolphin, originally drawn merely frolicking, is now fleeing, squeaking "So long, and thanks for all the fish" as he departs.
That seemed so very long ago, by Day Zero. The artist was gone and already re-employed. My awesome boss lady - easily the second-best boss I've ever known - was gone. Most of my department was gone. The transition work and partial-year audit for which I had been kept around those last couple of months were over (at least, as far as my involvement was concerned).
Except for a couple of days when the auditors needed things with which I could help, I basically coasted through my last week and a half. I searched the internet job boards, sent out résumés, called recruiters and socialized. By November 25, we had done all the reminiscing we could do. All the stories had been told and re-told. We no longer felt like getting T-shirts that said "If you want happy, get a dog." The office was getting quieter each day.
I've tried in previous posts to illustrate why it was hard to lose this job, why this job was special. I know I have failed to do it justice. I'll try one more time: It was a chemistry thing. I was part of a group of people who meshed personally and professionally in ways I had never witnessed. It wasn't just with my boss and immediate coworkers, either. The company was just full of good, sharp people. Of course, it had its faults, and it's a shame that we couldn't get out of our own way.
It's a bittersweet pill to swallow - knowing, knowing that this was the best I'm going to do, and that it was over. Everyone has that stretch in their working lives where everything just clicks like it never has and never will again, and for me, these had been those years. I know - never say never. So I won't say never, but I knew by Day Zero what a challenge it would be to ever come close to replacing this gig.
The office was calm, that afternoon. It was peaceful. The sadness comes from feeling like the peace marked the end of a war, and that it was a war we could have won, but did not.
(Yes, if you're doing the math, that's really Day Minus-5, but let's not quibble.)
Wow, did that not feel like getting laid off. All three of my previous involuntary departures - and even one of the voluntary resignations - had been relatively traumatic bolts from the blue, with little or no time to prepare - or even to absorb the news. Still, this also didn't feel like any of my planned, "two-weeks' notice" job departures, which were always happy escapes from bad jobs or at least happy moves to something better.
This was a slow death.
It was certainly as unwelcome as any other termination, but by the time Day Zero arrived, all that was left was exhaustion and sadness - and maybe a measure of relief. Three months earlier, in the rumor-fed angst of the days just before the announcement that those asshats from texas were acquiring us and there would be few survivors, this was the white board in my cubicle:
Originally, this was my artificial "window" to my sandy beach, towel, umbrella, sunset etc. - drawn by my favorite coworker. The "South Park Underpants Gnomes" business model on the left was added later, adapted for my job at Vortex of Doom Communications, in red. In the chaos leading up to The Announcement, my awesome boss lady added the OMG and STFU. As things got worse, we made the sea all messy and stormy, drew some people being ejected from the Ship of Fools, and set it (and them) on fire. The dolphin, originally drawn merely frolicking, is now fleeing, squeaking "So long, and thanks for all the fish" as he departs.
That seemed so very long ago, by Day Zero. The artist was gone and already re-employed. My awesome boss lady - easily the second-best boss I've ever known - was gone. Most of my department was gone. The transition work and partial-year audit for which I had been kept around those last couple of months were over (at least, as far as my involvement was concerned).
Except for a couple of days when the auditors needed things with which I could help, I basically coasted through my last week and a half. I searched the internet job boards, sent out résumés, called recruiters and socialized. By November 25, we had done all the reminiscing we could do. All the stories had been told and re-told. We no longer felt like getting T-shirts that said "If you want happy, get a dog." The office was getting quieter each day.
I've tried in previous posts to illustrate why it was hard to lose this job, why this job was special. I know I have failed to do it justice. I'll try one more time: It was a chemistry thing. I was part of a group of people who meshed personally and professionally in ways I had never witnessed. It wasn't just with my boss and immediate coworkers, either. The company was just full of good, sharp people. Of course, it had its faults, and it's a shame that we couldn't get out of our own way.
It's a bittersweet pill to swallow - knowing, knowing that this was the best I'm going to do, and that it was over. Everyone has that stretch in their working lives where everything just clicks like it never has and never will again, and for me, these had been those years. I know - never say never. So I won't say never, but I knew by Day Zero what a challenge it would be to ever come close to replacing this gig.
The office was calm, that afternoon. It was peaceful. The sadness comes from feeling like the peace marked the end of a war, and that it was a war we could have won, but did not.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Other People's Day Zeroes of Double-barrel Unemployment
One of the benefits of being laid off with advance notice, as I was in 2008, is that there's time for support groups to form. My coworkers and I had transition periods ranging from two weeks to several months. A few weeks before my personal Day Zero - around Day Minus-20 or so - several of us engaged in the modern therapeutic ritual of The Sharing of Layoff Stories. I know there are now approximately eleventy bazillion of these anecdotes floating about in cyberspace, but these are more real to me because they actually happened to my friends (or, at least, to friends of friends).
I've always found that having something bad happen to me, and then immediately hearing stories of worse things happening to others is equal parts comforting and just damned annoying, but what are you going to do? It's a natural response. "You got laid off? I know this guy who got laid off on the day his house burned down." "You got hit by a car and broke every bone in your body? I once got run over and decapitated."
It's my own fault. I started it by sharing with my coworkers a story my wife had just emailed to me, about her less-than-brilliant company doing its first layoff. They started with the receptionist and their Human Resources/Payroll/Benefits person - a person who had no backup. So, they had no plan for greeting visitors or answering the phones, and they put someone with zero experience - or interest - in HR/Payroll/Benefits in charge of trying to do those three jobs. The company also never said anything about this layoff of ten percent of their staff to surviving employees. No email, no meeting, no memo - nothing. The news was spread by the panic-stricken rumor mill.
A coworker in my department immediately offered us her story from a couple of jobs ago. She and about 80 of her coworkers were ushered into a conference room scarcely large enough to hold them all. They were given the 30-second "times are tough and you lot no longer work here" notification speech. The company was privately owned, and as far as the employees had known, it was doing well, so this was a shock to all of the rank and file. There were long-tenured coworkers, and she said there was crying, shouting and threats of violence. For the next thirty uncomfortable minutes, there was a very contentious "Q&A" session, in which their HR Director deflected every question except those about COBRA coverage.
Just as word was making its way through the crowd of victims that the front doors had been locked from the outside, an announcement was made that everyone was free to please leave immediately through the fire doors in the back, which opened directly into the parking lot. As the stunned and furious downsized rabble filed out, each was handed a box containing his or her hastily-packed personal belongings and a final paycheck, as well as a formal letter warning them that anyone returning to the premises would be arrested for trespassing. Sweet.
Another friend had a roommate who had been sent with a large number of his coworkers to an off-site meeting at a nearby college lecture hall. There, they were notified of their unemployed status and told not to return to the office, where their access cards would no longer work. Their belongings would be mailed to their homes. Charming.
Someone else had been laid off in a manner so pathetic as to almost be funny. He arrived at work to find his access card would not open either the parking garage door or the building's side entrance. Several of his coworkers were having the same problem, and a bunch of them made their way through the main lobby to the reception area. There, the receptionist leaped from her chair and blocked the hallway a couple of the employees were attempting to enter. My coworker was heading down the opposite corridor when the receptionist half-screamed "NO! WAIT! You all have to stay here and wait for the HR Manager." A couple of them waited there. Several made their way to their desks, where they were unable to log onto the network. At one point, the HR Manager was seen running after one of the wayward employees. It took all morning to get them all rounded up and fired.
In another story, a small company laid off one employee - their Jamaican-American receptionist, a single mother. The next day, a VP visited the office and uttered the following gem: "Sometimes a company is like a Holstein cow, and you have to cut away the black spots." The VP didn't mean it "that way," but given that the receptionist had been the only black employee, it did not go over well.
One of our sales guys chimed in with a tale of a CEO getting what he deserved. He thought this story would make us feel better about losing our jobs, while our own failure of a President took a huge bonus check and danced off to his next $300,000-a-year job. So, this CEO of a small brokerage firm was the kind of liar who was so detached from reality that he could scare away prospective investors. Once, when asked for an easily-verifiable forecast of the company's sales for the present month, he gave a number that was roughly ten times the real number. He did this in front of a number of employees from several departments, all of whom were fully aware of how ludicrous his answer had been.
Not long before being fired, this CEO was forced to set up one of those "sexual harassment in the workplace" seminars -- due to complaints by several women in the office - about HIM. He arrived just as the consultant/instructor was being introduced, tip-toed creepily up behind her and proceeded to massage her shoulders. Yeah, he was fired. He didn't take it well. In fact, he had to be escorted from his office by the police, as he refused to accept his termination and leave on his own. You know - that one did kind of make me feel a little bit better, however briefly.
These stories are just a handful of illustrations of what I have come to accept as a universal truth: Nothing is ever, EVER so bad that it can not be worse.
I've always found that having something bad happen to me, and then immediately hearing stories of worse things happening to others is equal parts comforting and just damned annoying, but what are you going to do? It's a natural response. "You got laid off? I know this guy who got laid off on the day his house burned down." "You got hit by a car and broke every bone in your body? I once got run over and decapitated."
It's my own fault. I started it by sharing with my coworkers a story my wife had just emailed to me, about her less-than-brilliant company doing its first layoff. They started with the receptionist and their Human Resources/Payroll/Benefits person - a person who had no backup. So, they had no plan for greeting visitors or answering the phones, and they put someone with zero experience - or interest - in HR/Payroll/Benefits in charge of trying to do those three jobs. The company also never said anything about this layoff of ten percent of their staff to surviving employees. No email, no meeting, no memo - nothing. The news was spread by the panic-stricken rumor mill.
A coworker in my department immediately offered us her story from a couple of jobs ago. She and about 80 of her coworkers were ushered into a conference room scarcely large enough to hold them all. They were given the 30-second "times are tough and you lot no longer work here" notification speech. The company was privately owned, and as far as the employees had known, it was doing well, so this was a shock to all of the rank and file. There were long-tenured coworkers, and she said there was crying, shouting and threats of violence. For the next thirty uncomfortable minutes, there was a very contentious "Q&A" session, in which their HR Director deflected every question except those about COBRA coverage.
Just as word was making its way through the crowd of victims that the front doors had been locked from the outside, an announcement was made that everyone was free to please leave immediately through the fire doors in the back, which opened directly into the parking lot. As the stunned and furious downsized rabble filed out, each was handed a box containing his or her hastily-packed personal belongings and a final paycheck, as well as a formal letter warning them that anyone returning to the premises would be arrested for trespassing. Sweet.
Another friend had a roommate who had been sent with a large number of his coworkers to an off-site meeting at a nearby college lecture hall. There, they were notified of their unemployed status and told not to return to the office, where their access cards would no longer work. Their belongings would be mailed to their homes. Charming.
Someone else had been laid off in a manner so pathetic as to almost be funny. He arrived at work to find his access card would not open either the parking garage door or the building's side entrance. Several of his coworkers were having the same problem, and a bunch of them made their way through the main lobby to the reception area. There, the receptionist leaped from her chair and blocked the hallway a couple of the employees were attempting to enter. My coworker was heading down the opposite corridor when the receptionist half-screamed "NO! WAIT! You all have to stay here and wait for the HR Manager." A couple of them waited there. Several made their way to their desks, where they were unable to log onto the network. At one point, the HR Manager was seen running after one of the wayward employees. It took all morning to get them all rounded up and fired.
In another story, a small company laid off one employee - their Jamaican-American receptionist, a single mother. The next day, a VP visited the office and uttered the following gem: "Sometimes a company is like a Holstein cow, and you have to cut away the black spots." The VP didn't mean it "that way," but given that the receptionist had been the only black employee, it did not go over well.
One of our sales guys chimed in with a tale of a CEO getting what he deserved. He thought this story would make us feel better about losing our jobs, while our own failure of a President took a huge bonus check and danced off to his next $300,000-a-year job. So, this CEO of a small brokerage firm was the kind of liar who was so detached from reality that he could scare away prospective investors. Once, when asked for an easily-verifiable forecast of the company's sales for the present month, he gave a number that was roughly ten times the real number. He did this in front of a number of employees from several departments, all of whom were fully aware of how ludicrous his answer had been.
Not long before being fired, this CEO was forced to set up one of those "sexual harassment in the workplace" seminars -- due to complaints by several women in the office - about HIM. He arrived just as the consultant/instructor was being introduced, tip-toed creepily up behind her and proceeded to massage her shoulders. Yeah, he was fired. He didn't take it well. In fact, he had to be escorted from his office by the police, as he refused to accept his termination and leave on his own. You know - that one did kind of make me feel a little bit better, however briefly.
These stories are just a handful of illustrations of what I have come to accept as a universal truth: Nothing is ever, EVER so bad that it can not be worse.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Day Minus-17 of Double-barrel Unemployment
My amazing boss at Vortex of Doom Communications left the company on her own terms, after holding herself hostage for a huge "stick around" ransom, thanks to having a new job offer in hand when the board finally bothered to talk to her about the post-acquisition transition. Her last day was Friday, November 14, 2008. She was beyond ecstatic about it. I was considerably less than thrilled. I was disconsolate, actually. My sadness was mitigated, though, by the fact that I myself would be gone in two weeks (less, with Thanksgiving week), and by the fact that 99 percent of my own work was done. I also still had high hopes that somehow, she'd be able to help me find a job - not necessarily with her new employer, but with a someone in her vast professional network, or through one of her head-hunters.
So, I couldn't help but feel conflicted when I stepped into her office for the last time and proceeded to conduct a mock exit interview.
Me: Thank you for taking the time to meet with me, Boss Lady. I will try to keep this brief.
Boss Lady: No problem. If it takes too long, I'll just leave. I'm going to keep packing up my shit while we do this.
Me: You don't have much to pack up, though, do you?
Boss Lady: Nope. Most of my office stuff is still in the trunk of my car from the move in July. I wasn't about to waste my time moving it in here, just to have to get it all out again in a couple months.
Me: Of course. So, let's start off with the big one. What is your primary reason for leaving Vortex of Doom Communications?
Boss Lady: Really? Are we really doing this? I thought this was just a - you know - a bit.
Me: It is a bit, but it's our last one, so play along. What is your main reason for leaving?
Boss Lady: Well, we could go with "I got a job offer I couldn't refuse," but really, I'd have to say that it's because this place was already a swirling whirlpool of shit and dysfunction, long before our new owners came along. It was making me feel like I needed to drink every night, and a couple of times it frustrated me so much I almost cried.
Me: And you don't cry.
Boss Lady: And I do not cry. So just put down "fuck this place" for number one.
Me: I see. What do you value about the company?
Boss Lady: Nothing. No, wait. I value the package they only gave me because I had an offer in hand when they got around to finding out they couldn't do the transition and audit without me. I value that.
Me: And? [Batting eyelashes]
Boss Lady: [Holding chocolate voodoo doll, still in its box] You wanna hang on to this?
Me: [Looking wounded] I gave that to you! It was a gift! Wasn't there anything else here of value to you?
Boss Lady: I'm sorry. Okay, okay. I value you. Geez - you're so high-maintenance. You know I hate this kind of stuff.
Me: I know. But I gotta get my last shots in while I can. I know you're not crossing The Bridge, like, ever again. And unless it's to work for you, I ain't going to the other side. Okay. This one will be more fun. What do you dislike about the company?
Boss Lady: They took away our free sodas.
Me:
Boss Lady: [Blinking]
Me: That's all?
Boss Lady: Yes. Otherwise, it was a fabulous company.
Me: Okay. How was your relationship with your manager?
Boss Lady: My what?
Me: Your manager? Supervisor? You know - boss.
Boss Lady: I adore Jim [CFO who bailed on us two years prior], but I would never work for the guy again. The rest were idiots.
Me: I see, I see. Did working here help you to advance your career goals?
Boss Lady: Well, I'm starting a new job that's pretty much a lateral move from this one. So, no. I'd say my five years of 90- to 100-hour work weeks, babysitting a bunch of sales boys and killing myself in a fruitless attempt to polish this turd have not exactly advanced my career.
Me: You're pretty cranky for someone who's leaving forever in an hour, and who was paid - what, about eleventy thousand dollars for the last 60 days.
Boss Lady: [Gesturing toward the white board, behind me] You are forgetting Rule #4.
Me: Sorry. Forgot. Okay, last question. What could the company do to improve this workplace?
Boss Lady: I don't know, Joe. Suck less? How about not fail. The company could try not failing. They'd have to go back in time, obviously. But then maybe we could have gone IPO, like our competitors, and not have had to sell out to this bigger bunch of assholes and all lose our jobs.
Me: Would a company car have helped?
Boss Lady: You know, I think it kind of would have.
Me: Corporate jet?
Boss Lady: YES! And those automatic hand-dryers in the rest rooms!
Me: A Starbucks in the lobby?
Boss Lady: Well, obviously. Maybe a masseuse on staff. Or Skittles in the vending machine.
Me: Well, at least we learned new catchphrases. If it weren't for our old receptionist, we would never have given any thought to which sodas were highly drunk daily!
Boss Lady: I'm going to be saying that for the rest of my life! And let's not forget the sales guys, with their "see, what happened was..."
Me: And the one I should have said earlier when you were bitching about everything...
Boss Lady: Hey - If you want happy, get a dog!
Me: Well, if you think outside the box at the end of the day, it is what it is.
Boss Lady: UGH.
Me: And will you have a coworker like Foghorn Leghorn at the new place? I doubt it. Ah say, ah say, ah say.
Boss Lady: [in her best Foghorn Leghorn voice, which was really bad but kind of adorable] Ah say - wHot in THEE hale is the matta with ya, boy?
Me: You're going to miss me.
Boss Lady: I don't miss people.
Me: I'm not people. You're going to miss me.
Boss Lady: Maybe a little.
(The preceding has been highly fictionalized, because while the idea of a mock exit interview was cute, the reality of it was just kind of sad.)
So, I couldn't help but feel conflicted when I stepped into her office for the last time and proceeded to conduct a mock exit interview.
Me: Thank you for taking the time to meet with me, Boss Lady. I will try to keep this brief.
Boss Lady: No problem. If it takes too long, I'll just leave. I'm going to keep packing up my shit while we do this.
Me: You don't have much to pack up, though, do you?
Boss Lady: Nope. Most of my office stuff is still in the trunk of my car from the move in July. I wasn't about to waste my time moving it in here, just to have to get it all out again in a couple months.
Me: Of course. So, let's start off with the big one. What is your primary reason for leaving Vortex of Doom Communications?
Boss Lady: Really? Are we really doing this? I thought this was just a - you know - a bit.
Me: It is a bit, but it's our last one, so play along. What is your main reason for leaving?
Boss Lady: Well, we could go with "I got a job offer I couldn't refuse," but really, I'd have to say that it's because this place was already a swirling whirlpool of shit and dysfunction, long before our new owners came along. It was making me feel like I needed to drink every night, and a couple of times it frustrated me so much I almost cried.
Me: And you don't cry.
Boss Lady: And I do not cry. So just put down "fuck this place" for number one.
Me: I see. What do you value about the company?
Boss Lady: Nothing. No, wait. I value the package they only gave me because I had an offer in hand when they got around to finding out they couldn't do the transition and audit without me. I value that.
Me: And? [Batting eyelashes]
Boss Lady: [Holding chocolate voodoo doll, still in its box] You wanna hang on to this?
Me: [Looking wounded] I gave that to you! It was a gift! Wasn't there anything else here of value to you?
Boss Lady: I'm sorry. Okay, okay. I value you. Geez - you're so high-maintenance. You know I hate this kind of stuff.
Me: I know. But I gotta get my last shots in while I can. I know you're not crossing The Bridge, like, ever again. And unless it's to work for you, I ain't going to the other side. Okay. This one will be more fun. What do you dislike about the company?
Boss Lady: They took away our free sodas.
Me:
Boss Lady: [Blinking]
Me: That's all?
Boss Lady: Yes. Otherwise, it was a fabulous company.
Me: Okay. How was your relationship with your manager?
Boss Lady: My what?
Me: Your manager? Supervisor? You know - boss.
Boss Lady: I adore Jim [CFO who bailed on us two years prior], but I would never work for the guy again. The rest were idiots.
Me: I see, I see. Did working here help you to advance your career goals?
Boss Lady: Well, I'm starting a new job that's pretty much a lateral move from this one. So, no. I'd say my five years of 90- to 100-hour work weeks, babysitting a bunch of sales boys and killing myself in a fruitless attempt to polish this turd have not exactly advanced my career.
Me: You're pretty cranky for someone who's leaving forever in an hour, and who was paid - what, about eleventy thousand dollars for the last 60 days.
Boss Lady: [Gesturing toward the white board, behind me] You are forgetting Rule #4.
Me: Sorry. Forgot. Okay, last question. What could the company do to improve this workplace?
Boss Lady: I don't know, Joe. Suck less? How about not fail. The company could try not failing. They'd have to go back in time, obviously. But then maybe we could have gone IPO, like our competitors, and not have had to sell out to this bigger bunch of assholes and all lose our jobs.
Me: Would a company car have helped?
Boss Lady: You know, I think it kind of would have.
Me: Corporate jet?
Boss Lady: YES! And those automatic hand-dryers in the rest rooms!
Me: A Starbucks in the lobby?
Boss Lady: Well, obviously. Maybe a masseuse on staff. Or Skittles in the vending machine.
Me: Well, at least we learned new catchphrases. If it weren't for our old receptionist, we would never have given any thought to which sodas were highly drunk daily!
Boss Lady: I'm going to be saying that for the rest of my life! And let's not forget the sales guys, with their "see, what happened was..."
Me: And the one I should have said earlier when you were bitching about everything...
Boss Lady: Hey - If you want happy, get a dog!
Me: Well, if you think outside the box at the end of the day, it is what it is.
Boss Lady: UGH.
Me: And will you have a coworker like Foghorn Leghorn at the new place? I doubt it. Ah say, ah say, ah say.
Boss Lady: [in her best Foghorn Leghorn voice, which was really bad but kind of adorable] Ah say - wHot in THEE hale is the matta with ya, boy?
Me: You're going to miss me.
Boss Lady: I don't miss people.
Me: I'm not people. You're going to miss me.
Boss Lady: Maybe a little.
(The preceding has been highly fictionalized, because while the idea of a mock exit interview was cute, the reality of it was just kind of sad.)
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Another Day Zero of Double-barrel Unemployment
While it is absolutely true that there's no nice way to tell employees you won't be employing them anymore, there are definitely some approaches that are better than others. The internet start-up where I landed following my 1998 job elimination is a shining example of both extremes.
I loved that job for a couple of years. We all did. We were growing every day and working on this super cool internet thingy -what's not to love? Our product was a web-enabled résumé management tool, hosted in-house. We had customers ranging from tiny architect firms to federal agencies to massive global Fortune-100 corporations, and most of the time, they loved us. My job was to train recruiters to use the product, and then to provide ongoing user support. I'm not a technical guy, but most of our users were touching the internet for the first time, so my coworkers and I felt pretty hi-tech. Business was still really brisk when the first layoff came.
The company had decided to outsource its data entry function, which would eliminate some 30 lower-level jobs from our company of no more than 100. I've never seen so much care and caution go into a layoff. On Day Zero, they brought in career counselors, a résumé-writing expert and a couple of undercover police officers (there had recently been a few incidents of layoff-related violence in the news - enough that the term "going postal" was changing to "going dot-com"). They gave the victims 30 days' notice. They offered the departing employees bonuses for sticking around for a two-month transition period. They paid them all four months' severance - unheard of, for data entry staff. It made me feel better about working there, knowing that if things went bad, at least I'd be laid off really gently.
About eight months later, as big competitors entered our marketplace and began to beat us badly - and as the dot-com boom began its implosion - we had a second layoff. This time, it was only about a dozen of our then 120ish headcount (we had resumed growing after the first layoff). This time, it was simply a cost-saving staff reduction. This time, there was an all-hands meeting and more talk of how hard it is to do this, blah blah blah. However, this round featured no notice, no stick-around bonuses, no job placement assistance and two months' severance. Not terrible, but a far cry from the first round.
My turn came another ten months later, some 45 days after 9/11. It is at this point that I realize I should stick to criticizing only the way my Day Zero was handled, but I just can't do that. One of the things that had made this company such a happy place at first was our president. He was a friendly, warm-fuzzy, outside-the-box-thinking, "vision guy." There were two problems with that. One was the fact that, as we grew and tasted some success and started to encounter competition, we needed management that was capable of managing the company, and vision guys, especially ours, are rarely thus qualified. The other problem was that his vision was wrong; in the long run, it simply was not going to work as a business model, now that the market was over the initial novelty of it. This guy had surrounded himself with experienced, savvy and highly-skilled technical people, but he grew tired of listening to them tell him his vision was flawed and wouldn't work.
Since that second round of layoffs, we had been joking about anything that looked like a bad way of telling us we'd been let go. Once, after someone had quit, the name tags on our mailboxes were rearranged, and in his momentary failure to find his name, a coworker declared that he'd been fired and no one had told him. Once, a few employees' access cards failed to open the door to the office and they had to enter through the reception area. "Are you trying to tell us we're fired?" No, not yet. Our I.T. guys reset the phone system once, resulting in all of our phones displaying "new employee" in place of our names. "A massive layoff?" No. Not yet.
Here's a tip for you employers who are planning on letting people go: Don't start shutting stuff off until you've had a chance to notify them. As user support employees, my group had a master password, with which we could access any customer's database for training and troubleshooting. I took a call the minute I arrived, and the master password didn't work. My manager tried it on her system. Fail. Went down the hall to the I.T. security guy's office, where we were informed, after some stuttering and stammering and lots of "ums," that it had been accidentally reset. He gave us the new one, and we handled a couple of calls.
Then our vision president called an all-hands meeting at 9:15AM, with about 5 minutes' notice. He made grand declarations that for too long, the company had been divided pretty much along either side of the post-9/11 flag hanging on the wall in the reception area. He told us of two phone conversations he had just had - one resulting in our Chief Technology Officer's termination, the other resulting in departure of our Director of Operations. Uh oh. My side of the flag. He grandly declared that from this day forth, we would be One Company again. He told us that our senior programmer would assume the CTO role. That's all. Dismissed. Oh and there will be individual meetings for the rest of the morning, followed by another all-hands at 1:00.
We got back to our desks and took a couple more calls, and the new master password failed. Went to the I.T. security guy again. The man didn't try to lie again. Literally said, "Oops" and reset it again. Obviously, there were to be cuts in our department. I will never forget that feeling. I quietly began forwarding all my funny emails and updated résumé and anything important to my home address. The poor senior programmer-turned-CTO's first assignment was to play executioner for the day. He came for Bill, a senior I.T. guy not in our department, but two cubes down from me. Bill didn't even come back. "Geez - they're actually killing them!" Executioner came for my boss, next. She was back within 3 minutes, crying and packing up her desk while the executioner watched. Nice. Another coworker and I helped her carry her stuff to her car, where she said good luck - they wouldn't tell her who else was on the list, but she assumed it was going to go pretty deep.
I heard the executioner clear his throat outside my cubicle. "Joe? You got a minute?" I said "Nope! I'm very busy, here! Come back later!" No good. Two weeks' severance and a COBRA insurance form. I was given the option of coming back the next day for my personal things, which they would pack up for me, or clearing out now, with the executioner watching. I had more or less created a second home in my cubicle, and I wasn't about to leave it to them to pack it up. I couldn't, however, pack it up anywhere near as quickly as my boss had done hers. It took between 30 and 45 minutes and 3 requests by the executioner for me to hurry up, before I was cleared out. As an added emotional bonus, the receptionist had not been informed of who was being laid off, so twice she tried to send customer calls to me. On the first one, I simply said "what is wrong with you?" and she gave the call to someone else.
When she tried again to send me a call, I picked up, told the customer they should find another recruiting system provider as soon as possible, and hung up. Executioner didn't like that, but I was pretty much done packing up at that point, so he got over it.
I learned later that another one of my department was on the list, cutting the group by 50%. Overall, there were about 15 poorly-handled executions in our company of 80, that day. The company put a classy little post-script on this story when they refused to pay any of us our accrued vacation time. Luckily, that's illegal in Maryland, so they eventually gave in. Nice.
This company is no longer in business, but I'm sure its former president is still having visions.
I loved that job for a couple of years. We all did. We were growing every day and working on this super cool internet thingy -what's not to love? Our product was a web-enabled résumé management tool, hosted in-house. We had customers ranging from tiny architect firms to federal agencies to massive global Fortune-100 corporations, and most of the time, they loved us. My job was to train recruiters to use the product, and then to provide ongoing user support. I'm not a technical guy, but most of our users were touching the internet for the first time, so my coworkers and I felt pretty hi-tech. Business was still really brisk when the first layoff came.
The company had decided to outsource its data entry function, which would eliminate some 30 lower-level jobs from our company of no more than 100. I've never seen so much care and caution go into a layoff. On Day Zero, they brought in career counselors, a résumé-writing expert and a couple of undercover police officers (there had recently been a few incidents of layoff-related violence in the news - enough that the term "going postal" was changing to "going dot-com"). They gave the victims 30 days' notice. They offered the departing employees bonuses for sticking around for a two-month transition period. They paid them all four months' severance - unheard of, for data entry staff. It made me feel better about working there, knowing that if things went bad, at least I'd be laid off really gently.
About eight months later, as big competitors entered our marketplace and began to beat us badly - and as the dot-com boom began its implosion - we had a second layoff. This time, it was only about a dozen of our then 120ish headcount (we had resumed growing after the first layoff). This time, it was simply a cost-saving staff reduction. This time, there was an all-hands meeting and more talk of how hard it is to do this, blah blah blah. However, this round featured no notice, no stick-around bonuses, no job placement assistance and two months' severance. Not terrible, but a far cry from the first round.
My turn came another ten months later, some 45 days after 9/11. It is at this point that I realize I should stick to criticizing only the way my Day Zero was handled, but I just can't do that. One of the things that had made this company such a happy place at first was our president. He was a friendly, warm-fuzzy, outside-the-box-thinking, "vision guy." There were two problems with that. One was the fact that, as we grew and tasted some success and started to encounter competition, we needed management that was capable of managing the company, and vision guys, especially ours, are rarely thus qualified. The other problem was that his vision was wrong; in the long run, it simply was not going to work as a business model, now that the market was over the initial novelty of it. This guy had surrounded himself with experienced, savvy and highly-skilled technical people, but he grew tired of listening to them tell him his vision was flawed and wouldn't work.
Since that second round of layoffs, we had been joking about anything that looked like a bad way of telling us we'd been let go. Once, after someone had quit, the name tags on our mailboxes were rearranged, and in his momentary failure to find his name, a coworker declared that he'd been fired and no one had told him. Once, a few employees' access cards failed to open the door to the office and they had to enter through the reception area. "Are you trying to tell us we're fired?" No, not yet. Our I.T. guys reset the phone system once, resulting in all of our phones displaying "new employee" in place of our names. "A massive layoff?" No. Not yet.
Here's a tip for you employers who are planning on letting people go: Don't start shutting stuff off until you've had a chance to notify them. As user support employees, my group had a master password, with which we could access any customer's database for training and troubleshooting. I took a call the minute I arrived, and the master password didn't work. My manager tried it on her system. Fail. Went down the hall to the I.T. security guy's office, where we were informed, after some stuttering and stammering and lots of "ums," that it had been accidentally reset. He gave us the new one, and we handled a couple of calls.
Then our vision president called an all-hands meeting at 9:15AM, with about 5 minutes' notice. He made grand declarations that for too long, the company had been divided pretty much along either side of the post-9/11 flag hanging on the wall in the reception area. He told us of two phone conversations he had just had - one resulting in our Chief Technology Officer's termination, the other resulting in departure of our Director of Operations. Uh oh. My side of the flag. He grandly declared that from this day forth, we would be One Company again. He told us that our senior programmer would assume the CTO role. That's all. Dismissed. Oh and there will be individual meetings for the rest of the morning, followed by another all-hands at 1:00.
We got back to our desks and took a couple more calls, and the new master password failed. Went to the I.T. security guy again. The man didn't try to lie again. Literally said, "Oops" and reset it again. Obviously, there were to be cuts in our department. I will never forget that feeling. I quietly began forwarding all my funny emails and updated résumé and anything important to my home address. The poor senior programmer-turned-CTO's first assignment was to play executioner for the day. He came for Bill, a senior I.T. guy not in our department, but two cubes down from me. Bill didn't even come back. "Geez - they're actually killing them!" Executioner came for my boss, next. She was back within 3 minutes, crying and packing up her desk while the executioner watched. Nice. Another coworker and I helped her carry her stuff to her car, where she said good luck - they wouldn't tell her who else was on the list, but she assumed it was going to go pretty deep.
I heard the executioner clear his throat outside my cubicle. "Joe? You got a minute?" I said "Nope! I'm very busy, here! Come back later!" No good. Two weeks' severance and a COBRA insurance form. I was given the option of coming back the next day for my personal things, which they would pack up for me, or clearing out now, with the executioner watching. I had more or less created a second home in my cubicle, and I wasn't about to leave it to them to pack it up. I couldn't, however, pack it up anywhere near as quickly as my boss had done hers. It took between 30 and 45 minutes and 3 requests by the executioner for me to hurry up, before I was cleared out. As an added emotional bonus, the receptionist had not been informed of who was being laid off, so twice she tried to send customer calls to me. On the first one, I simply said "what is wrong with you?" and she gave the call to someone else.
When she tried again to send me a call, I picked up, told the customer they should find another recruiting system provider as soon as possible, and hung up. Executioner didn't like that, but I was pretty much done packing up at that point, so he got over it.
I learned later that another one of my department was on the list, cutting the group by 50%. Overall, there were about 15 poorly-handled executions in our company of 80, that day. The company put a classy little post-script on this story when they refused to pay any of us our accrued vacation time. Luckily, that's illegal in Maryland, so they eventually gave in. Nice.
This company is no longer in business, but I'm sure its former president is still having visions.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Days Minus-575 and Minus-545ish of Double-barrel Unemployment
Vortex of Doom Communications became a vortex back in 2007, at least 18 months prior to its eventual acquisition by a slightly-less-doomed company - possibly much earlier. One thing about riding a vortex is that you get to circle the drain many times before finally leaving the sink. It was far from a death spiral in mid-2007, but those first few long, slow arcs around the drain had begun.
My better-than-I-probably-deserved boss had thrown a couple of large raises and several spot-bonuses my way, but those days appeared to be at an end. She still couldn't stomach the thought of either replacing me or doing her job without me, and I wasn't particularly fond of the prospect of either replacing this job or doing it for some other boss. So, we had pledged our loyalty to each other. If she left, she had to take me with her and I would stick it out until she was ready to leave. As things at her VP level got unbearable, I would talk her in off "the ledge," and she would do the same for me when my job was made impossible by company actions beyond our control.
Day Minus-575 - Friday, May 4, 2007
joe: morning!
bosslady: yes, it is.
joe: yikes. hey - did we ever figure out how i'm gonna invoice that stuff that doesn't exist in the system yet?
bosslady: yes, but i don't want to do anything to the system until "we" figure out how the fuck we're pricing our product.
joe: um...
bosslady: marketing and product management should have a pricing model done by
joe: 2011?
bosslady: 2018
bosslady: KMN
joe: i will not kill you now. how about you FMN!
bosslady: fire?
joe: :)
bosslady: no i will NOT fire you now. or ever. you're stuck here until the bitter end.
joe: when is that? have you heard something?
bosslady: not soon enough.
joe: now now...
joe: ((hide under desk))
bosslady: do NOT "now now" your boss when she's on the ledge!
joe: i know it's beautiful outside, but that doesn't mean the ledge is any kind of place to be. it's covered in all manner of bird poop and whatnot. just stay inside.
bosslady: i'm okay with bird poop. i deal with shit all day.
joe: dammit. i walked right into that one.
joe: ok. well, stay off the ledge because i'm asking nicely and saying please.
bosslady: not gonna throw me another softball?
...LATER...
bosslady: it IS very poopy out here!
joe: WAIT!! step back off the poopy ledge. i have a reason for you.
bosslady: please share.
joe: 3 words - Spring Shoe Sales.
bosslady: i'm in a meeting that was scheduled for 12-1. it is now 2:15. kmn.
joe: yikes.
bosslady: and speaking of shoes - i bought a fab new pair on monday. i think i'll wear them to my new job...
joe: nooooooo... here will be just fine.
joe: you might end up where fabulous shoes of awesomeness are totally unappreciated.
bosslady: that's ok. i will appreciate their awesomeness.
joe: hey - that's only 50% of the purpose for which fab shoes are designed. the shoes will be sad if they're only appreciated by the wearer.
bosslady: damn. that's a good one. i hadn't thought of that.
joe: yeah - you don't want your shoes to be sad, do you?
bosslady: ok - i am impressed with your awareness of my mental state and that of my shoes.
joe: thank you. are you off the ledge, yet?
bosslady: that would be a yes if i had jumped, you know.
joe: now listen you!
bosslady: fine. we're done here anyway. on my way back to my office...
Day Minus-545ish - Week of June 4, 2007
joe: if this hold music is my "bonus," i think i'll pass.
bosslady: chill out i'm dialing in now, smartass.
...LATER...
joe: are all your meetings and conference calls as depressing as this one?
bosslady: yes. not to mention boring.
joe: super. ok then. see you on the ledge tomorrow. i'll bring the rum and tequila.
joe: maybe a lime or two. health be damned.
bosslady: you're not allowed to die - just like you're not allowed to quit.
joe: if the stuff of the past 8 months didn't kill me, the lung surgery didn't kill me, driving here on Vicodin every morning hasn't killed me and this place hasn't killed me...
bosslady: are you still on that stuff?
joe: [whistle innocently, look around]
joe: what?
bosslady: lol
joe: there's still some pain at night. so, yeah. some mornings, i float here on a cloud of hydrocodone and broken dreams.
bosslady: ROFL
bosslady: it's cool. you do what you gotta do. just be careful.
joe: aye - i am. but you know what?
bosslady: ?
joe: i have you to thank for my love of tequila (and [Maris]'s, for that matter). i never touched the stuff until you gave me that Patron Silver (see -- i even stop to do caps!) last christmas.
bosslady: um, sorry?
joe: no, no - it's awesome stuff, and we are forever in your debt for the introductory bottle. just sayin'. when this place goes kablooey, we'll be left with Patron taste and a Cuervo budget! :)
bosslady: ah yes. hadn't thought of that. now for your off the ledge talk...
joe: oh whatever, boss.
bosslady: don't make me come over there!
joe: lol
bosslady: seriously. don't. i don't like it over there, now. i feel like whenever i come to your desk, all the engineers shut up and listen to our conversations.
joe: can't hear you. out on the ledge...
bosslady: no ledge! let's see here... you like your boss...
joe: well, "like" is a little strong.
bosslady: shoosh!
bosslady: you have a great commute...
bosslady: there's free sodas and cup-o-noodles...
bosslady: um...
joe: wow is that weak.
bosslady: you get to put the top down when you do your bank runs...
bosslady: you get to listen to fascinating engineer debates outside your cube all day...
joe: okay, if i come in off the damn ledge, will you stop?
bosslady: yep!
joe: thank you.
bosslady: HA! i'm queen of the ledge talk!!
joe: that you are, ma'am. that you are, indeed.
bosslady: =))
My better-than-I-probably-deserved boss had thrown a couple of large raises and several spot-bonuses my way, but those days appeared to be at an end. She still couldn't stomach the thought of either replacing me or doing her job without me, and I wasn't particularly fond of the prospect of either replacing this job or doing it for some other boss. So, we had pledged our loyalty to each other. If she left, she had to take me with her and I would stick it out until she was ready to leave. As things at her VP level got unbearable, I would talk her in off "the ledge," and she would do the same for me when my job was made impossible by company actions beyond our control.
Day Minus-575 - Friday, May 4, 2007
joe: morning!
bosslady: yes, it is.
joe: yikes. hey - did we ever figure out how i'm gonna invoice that stuff that doesn't exist in the system yet?
bosslady: yes, but i don't want to do anything to the system until "we" figure out how the fuck we're pricing our product.
joe: um...
bosslady: marketing and product management should have a pricing model done by
joe: 2011?
bosslady: 2018
bosslady: KMN
joe: i will not kill you now. how about you FMN!
bosslady: fire?
joe: :)
bosslady: no i will NOT fire you now. or ever. you're stuck here until the bitter end.
joe: when is that? have you heard something?
bosslady: not soon enough.
joe: now now...
joe: ((hide under desk))
bosslady: do NOT "now now" your boss when she's on the ledge!
joe: i know it's beautiful outside, but that doesn't mean the ledge is any kind of place to be. it's covered in all manner of bird poop and whatnot. just stay inside.
bosslady: i'm okay with bird poop. i deal with shit all day.
joe: dammit. i walked right into that one.
joe: ok. well, stay off the ledge because i'm asking nicely and saying please.
bosslady: not gonna throw me another softball?
...LATER...
bosslady: it IS very poopy out here!
joe: WAIT!! step back off the poopy ledge. i have a reason for you.
bosslady: please share.
joe: 3 words - Spring Shoe Sales.
bosslady: i'm in a meeting that was scheduled for 12-1. it is now 2:15. kmn.
joe: yikes.
bosslady: and speaking of shoes - i bought a fab new pair on monday. i think i'll wear them to my new job...
joe: nooooooo... here will be just fine.
joe: you might end up where fabulous shoes of awesomeness are totally unappreciated.
bosslady: that's ok. i will appreciate their awesomeness.
joe: hey - that's only 50% of the purpose for which fab shoes are designed. the shoes will be sad if they're only appreciated by the wearer.
bosslady: damn. that's a good one. i hadn't thought of that.
joe: yeah - you don't want your shoes to be sad, do you?
bosslady: ok - i am impressed with your awareness of my mental state and that of my shoes.
joe: thank you. are you off the ledge, yet?
bosslady: that would be a yes if i had jumped, you know.
joe: now listen you!
bosslady: fine. we're done here anyway. on my way back to my office...
Day Minus-545ish - Week of June 4, 2007
joe: if this hold music is my "bonus," i think i'll pass.
bosslady: chill out i'm dialing in now, smartass.
...LATER...
joe: are all your meetings and conference calls as depressing as this one?
bosslady: yes. not to mention boring.
joe: super. ok then. see you on the ledge tomorrow. i'll bring the rum and tequila.
joe: maybe a lime or two. health be damned.
bosslady: you're not allowed to die - just like you're not allowed to quit.
joe: if the stuff of the past 8 months didn't kill me, the lung surgery didn't kill me, driving here on Vicodin every morning hasn't killed me and this place hasn't killed me...
bosslady: are you still on that stuff?
joe: [whistle innocently, look around]
joe: what?
bosslady: lol
joe: there's still some pain at night. so, yeah. some mornings, i float here on a cloud of hydrocodone and broken dreams.
bosslady: ROFL
bosslady: it's cool. you do what you gotta do. just be careful.
joe: aye - i am. but you know what?
bosslady: ?
joe: i have you to thank for my love of tequila (and [Maris]'s, for that matter). i never touched the stuff until you gave me that Patron Silver (see -- i even stop to do caps!) last christmas.
bosslady: um, sorry?
joe: no, no - it's awesome stuff, and we are forever in your debt for the introductory bottle. just sayin'. when this place goes kablooey, we'll be left with Patron taste and a Cuervo budget! :)
bosslady: ah yes. hadn't thought of that. now for your off the ledge talk...
joe: oh whatever, boss.
bosslady: don't make me come over there!
joe: lol
bosslady: seriously. don't. i don't like it over there, now. i feel like whenever i come to your desk, all the engineers shut up and listen to our conversations.
joe: can't hear you. out on the ledge...
bosslady: no ledge! let's see here... you like your boss...
joe: well, "like" is a little strong.
bosslady: shoosh!
bosslady: you have a great commute...
bosslady: there's free sodas and cup-o-noodles...
bosslady: um...
joe: wow is that weak.
bosslady: you get to put the top down when you do your bank runs...
bosslady: you get to listen to fascinating engineer debates outside your cube all day...
joe: okay, if i come in off the damn ledge, will you stop?
bosslady: yep!
joe: thank you.
bosslady: HA! i'm queen of the ledge talk!!
joe: that you are, ma'am. that you are, indeed.
bosslady: =))
Monday, June 7, 2010
Days Minus-1,151 & Minus-696 of Double-Barrel Unemployment
Since one of the big differences between my prior stints as an unemployed person and this one is the fact that this job had been for most of its duration beloved, I feel it would behoove me to take a minute and shed some light on why I had so adored it. Long before this latest unemployment story began and even longer before it became "double-barreled," there was a story of employment bliss. I can't really do justice to the coolness of this little software company, my job and my boss, so my natural inclination is just not to try at all. But - wait a minute. Did I actually just use "behoove" in a sentence? Whoa! What is that about? Quick - somebody hire this guy, before he says behoove again!
It's pretty simple, really. The actual work I was doing was just challenging enough to keep me from getting bored, most of the people around me were really cool, the pay was good and the commute short. More importantly, I was blessed with a relatively hands-off, extremely smart and smart-ass little boss lady who had the rare gift of ample common sense. She also happened to be the most upfront and candid boss I've ever known, and within my first few months at the Vortex of Doom she was sharing details about the company, its executives and board and its future plans. She wasn't reckless with information; she decided that she could trust me, and although the Vortex is now long-gone, I won't betray that trust by sharing it all here. I'll only share illustrative examples of our work communications - names changed and all that. By the way - she swore like a sailor, especially once the company's downward spiral was underway, and she made me cuss, too. Before I met her, I never used profanity. What? Why are you looking at me like that?
Anyway, this little company, and Bosslady in particular, relied very heavily on instant messaging to communicate. This came in handy, because she was constantly in meetings and/or off-site. She was the VP-Finance and Controller for the Vortex, and worked with the salesdudes and customers to help structure - and ultimately approve - their deals. She loved the salesdudes, and they worked and partied HARD when they attended trade shows and such, but she was tough and mature enough to still be the bad cop when they tried to push through bad deals. Despite all the promise of this still-growing little company, by the time I joined her (about a year after she had started), she was not only becoming cynical about the Vortex, but had decided she didn't even really like accounting, anymore.
Day Minus-1,151 - Friday, September 30, 2005
bosslady: you there?
joe: nope.
bosslady: sucker! have i taught you nothing? you shouldn't have answered! now i'm gonna ask you questions and annoy you.
joe: DOH!
joe: joe's not here right now, but your IM is important to him. please leave a message about how awesome you think he is, and he will consider whether or not to get back to you. thank you. (BEEP).
bosslady: lol - nice try. how many orders so far?
joe: um... it's only 10:30am, lady. try zero. zero orders. i was about to take a nap.
bosslady: OK, so you're getting used to the whole quarter-end madness. that's good!
bosslady: but i was told there would be like a million in orders from asia and they were supposed to be here by now. it's already like 10:30 at night in tokyo.
joe: ROFLMAO APAC orders! you slay me.
bosslady: now now.
joe: really? you're gonna now now me at 10:30. ooh, it's going to be a long day.
bosslady: i reserve the right to now now anyone at any time. now now is my thing.
joe: you don't own it.
bosslady: yes i do. i own it. it's mine. nah-nah!
joe: by the way - where are you?
bosslady: :)
joe: i won't tell.
bosslady: i'm at starbucks. there was a big accident on the bridge, and i couldn't sit in that traffic for one more minute. deals are being made, left and right.
joe: ugh.
bosslady: don't cry - i'm heading in soon. so where are we in bookings? $6.5ish, right?
joe: roughly. and what are we expecting today? eleventy?
bosslady: lol
joe: :(
bosslady: try eleventy bazillion, but that includes the missing apac orders.
joe: Kill. Me. Now.
bosslady: hey - KMN is kind of my thing, too. you can say it, but i'll never kill you! i need you too much. besides, you know you love this stuff.
joe: eleventy bazillion is an awful lot of beans. you'll have to help CFOman count them. :)
bosslady: hey - there's no reason to throw beans at me this early! besides, can i tell you a secret?
joe: another one? sure!
bosslady: fuck beans!
joe: wow! fuck beans???
bosslady: i HATE the beans. i don't even like accounting. i haven't for a while. shhhh...
joe: huh.
joe: i hear the fax! brb...
bosslady: yay!
bosslady: is it an order?
bosslady: is it for eleventy bazillion dollars?
bosslady: is it a new customer?
bosslady: is it a clean order?
bosslady: whose customer is it?
bosslady: ANSWER ME!!!
joe: i can't help but think that a customer whose PO numbers start with TWELVE (12!) zeros is maybe just a bit too . . .
joe: optimistic.
bosslady: LOL
bosslady: =))
joe: (their accounting manager in a meeting with their accounting software rep...)
bosslady: killing me
joe: "we need more zeros, man! we're going to be doing close to one quadrillion POs."
bosslady: literally crying here. people are staring at me.
joe: sorry. had to get that out. it's a little $30K hardware-only order for BlahBlah.
bosslady: shit. OK, i'm heading in now.
Day Minus-696 - Friday, September 30, 2006
bosslady: the monsoon of orders is coming. you ok out there?
joe: kill me?
bosslady: not a chance.
bosslady: wow - you are an order-scanning MACHINE
joe: i put crack on my corn flakes this morning.
bosslady: lol and you didn't think to share?
joe: i kinda thought everyone else around here had already had more than enough.
bosslady: even me?
joe: no - not you. you're running on pure audit-hell aggravation energy, i assume.
bosslady: ugh. you got that right!
joe: ah, quarter-end. where the fun never . . .
joe: . . . starts.
bosslady: lol - i was going to say begins.
joe: i need drugs.
bosslady: me too!
joe: oh and btw - those little baby valiums = useless.
bosslady: so THAT'S why you've been so complacent today!
joe: lol
joe: well, that, plus my new attitude of whatEVER. and the fact that i haven't really gotten to the hard part of this pile, yet.
bosslady: atta boy! that's why you're my favorite order processing machine! =)
joe: yeah, yeah. don't get too excited, i'm also just pacing myself with my ranting, this time.
bosslady: i know. just keep the rants directed at me. i may be on the same page with you, but others, not so much.
joe: aye-aye, cap'n!
Okay - this is running a little longish. More about the Vortex of Doom later. Much. (Much more - not much later!)
It's pretty simple, really. The actual work I was doing was just challenging enough to keep me from getting bored, most of the people around me were really cool, the pay was good and the commute short. More importantly, I was blessed with a relatively hands-off, extremely smart and smart-ass little boss lady who had the rare gift of ample common sense. She also happened to be the most upfront and candid boss I've ever known, and within my first few months at the Vortex of Doom she was sharing details about the company, its executives and board and its future plans. She wasn't reckless with information; she decided that she could trust me, and although the Vortex is now long-gone, I won't betray that trust by sharing it all here. I'll only share illustrative examples of our work communications - names changed and all that. By the way - she swore like a sailor, especially once the company's downward spiral was underway, and she made me cuss, too. Before I met her, I never used profanity. What? Why are you looking at me like that?
Anyway, this little company, and Bosslady in particular, relied very heavily on instant messaging to communicate. This came in handy, because she was constantly in meetings and/or off-site. She was the VP-Finance and Controller for the Vortex, and worked with the salesdudes and customers to help structure - and ultimately approve - their deals. She loved the salesdudes, and they worked and partied HARD when they attended trade shows and such, but she was tough and mature enough to still be the bad cop when they tried to push through bad deals. Despite all the promise of this still-growing little company, by the time I joined her (about a year after she had started), she was not only becoming cynical about the Vortex, but had decided she didn't even really like accounting, anymore.
Day Minus-1,151 - Friday, September 30, 2005
bosslady: you there?
joe: nope.
bosslady: sucker! have i taught you nothing? you shouldn't have answered! now i'm gonna ask you questions and annoy you.
joe: DOH!
joe: joe's not here right now, but your IM is important to him. please leave a message about how awesome you think he is, and he will consider whether or not to get back to you. thank you. (BEEP).
bosslady: lol - nice try. how many orders so far?
joe: um... it's only 10:30am, lady. try zero. zero orders. i was about to take a nap.
bosslady: OK, so you're getting used to the whole quarter-end madness. that's good!
bosslady: but i was told there would be like a million in orders from asia and they were supposed to be here by now. it's already like 10:30 at night in tokyo.
joe: ROFLMAO APAC orders! you slay me.
bosslady: now now.
joe: really? you're gonna now now me at 10:30. ooh, it's going to be a long day.
bosslady: i reserve the right to now now anyone at any time. now now is my thing.
joe: you don't own it.
bosslady: yes i do. i own it. it's mine. nah-nah!
joe: by the way - where are you?
bosslady: :)
joe: i won't tell.
bosslady: i'm at starbucks. there was a big accident on the bridge, and i couldn't sit in that traffic for one more minute. deals are being made, left and right.
joe: ugh.
bosslady: don't cry - i'm heading in soon. so where are we in bookings? $6.5ish, right?
joe: roughly. and what are we expecting today? eleventy?
bosslady: lol
joe: :(
bosslady: try eleventy bazillion, but that includes the missing apac orders.
joe: Kill. Me. Now.
bosslady: hey - KMN is kind of my thing, too. you can say it, but i'll never kill you! i need you too much. besides, you know you love this stuff.
joe: eleventy bazillion is an awful lot of beans. you'll have to help CFOman count them. :)
bosslady: hey - there's no reason to throw beans at me this early! besides, can i tell you a secret?
joe: another one? sure!
bosslady: fuck beans!
joe: wow! fuck beans???
bosslady: i HATE the beans. i don't even like accounting. i haven't for a while. shhhh...
joe: huh.
joe: i hear the fax! brb...
bosslady: yay!
bosslady: is it an order?
bosslady: is it for eleventy bazillion dollars?
bosslady: is it a new customer?
bosslady: is it a clean order?
bosslady: whose customer is it?
bosslady: ANSWER ME!!!
joe: i can't help but think that a customer whose PO numbers start with TWELVE (12!) zeros is maybe just a bit too . . .
joe: optimistic.
bosslady: LOL
bosslady: =))
joe: (their accounting manager in a meeting with their accounting software rep...)
bosslady: killing me
joe: "we need more zeros, man! we're going to be doing close to one quadrillion POs."
bosslady: literally crying here. people are staring at me.
joe: sorry. had to get that out. it's a little $30K hardware-only order for BlahBlah.
bosslady: shit. OK, i'm heading in now.
Day Minus-696 - Friday, September 30, 2006
bosslady: the monsoon of orders is coming. you ok out there?
joe: kill me?
bosslady: not a chance.
bosslady: wow - you are an order-scanning MACHINE
joe: i put crack on my corn flakes this morning.
bosslady: lol and you didn't think to share?
joe: i kinda thought everyone else around here had already had more than enough.
bosslady: even me?
joe: no - not you. you're running on pure audit-hell aggravation energy, i assume.
bosslady: ugh. you got that right!
joe: ah, quarter-end. where the fun never . . .
joe: . . . starts.
bosslady: lol - i was going to say begins.
joe: i need drugs.
bosslady: me too!
joe: oh and btw - those little baby valiums = useless.
bosslady: so THAT'S why you've been so complacent today!
joe: lol
joe: well, that, plus my new attitude of whatEVER. and the fact that i haven't really gotten to the hard part of this pile, yet.
bosslady: atta boy! that's why you're my favorite order processing machine! =)
joe: yeah, yeah. don't get too excited, i'm also just pacing myself with my ranting, this time.
bosslady: i know. just keep the rants directed at me. i may be on the same page with you, but others, not so much.
joe: aye-aye, cap'n!
Okay - this is running a little longish. More about the Vortex of Doom later. Much. (Much more - not much later!)
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Day Minus-76 of Double-Barrel Unemployment
[Check out the intro, if you haven't already: http://mostlyharmlessdrivel.blogspot.com/p/double-barrel-unemployment.html]
September 16, 2008
I'm told one should start at the beginning, but then I'm told lots of things. The beginning is interesting only to those who were there, so here's the 6th-grade book report version: Once Upon A Time, The End. No, Billy -- F. Go stand out in the hall; I'm calling your parents.
Okay - real quick-like... The awesome little software company for whom I had lovingly processed orders and invoices and cash since mid-2005 had used up the patience of its board and investors by the end of 2007. You can't be a "start-up" and be nine years old, apparently. In December, my company merged with another unprofitable little firm and we took on our fourth CEO in three years. So, 2008 was a tumultuous year at Vortex of Doom Communications (not its real name).
January: New CEO acts as if he's managing an elite platoon of Navy SEALs. Our jeans-wearing, multinational company of engineers is not impressed. It's funny and sort of sad to watch.
February: I smell doom. I ask my boss if she smells it, too. Not only does she smell it, too, but she tells me more than someone in my position usually gets to know about the nature and timing of the doom. I update my résumé and stop spending on all non-essentials. Patron Silver and fine rum survive the budget cuts.
March: I don't remember. It was madness, or something. Oh - I REMEMBER! I wrap up about seven months of working harder than I ever had. We all did. Killed ourselves, really - just to try to meet a bunch of nearly impossible targets, so that we could collect little bits of bonus cheese. I cut my domestic spending further. The rum and tequila are safe, for now.
April: The rumors start to fly about a big round of impending layoffs. Rumors like that, in my experience, tend to be true. Boss Lady says don't worry - this time around. They're trimming and slimming to make the company more appealing to a buyer. Ugh. I know this road. I'm pretty sure I've stopped to barf on the side of this road. It's not a fun road. Blind curves and giant holes and bitey little creatures, the whole way. Patron and rum are on sale, so the budget is held steady.
May: Boss Lady and several of us minion-level types work even harder than before and become slightly bitter about it, as we know all we're doing is getting things in order for some acquiring company who will not keep as around. But we have nothing against our customers and it's mostly for their benefit, so we slog onward. At the end of the month, the layoffs - about one-third of our small company - are announced. Some are gone that day; some get "transition periods." Some of us wish we could have been included in this round. Home budget is further tightened. Rum and Patron survive. Who needs food?
June: Farewell lunches and happy hours galore. I try to keep my head down and feign a positive attitude, but it's difficult when you know your reward for helping to salvage as many millions of some rich people's dollars as possible will be a pink slip. At home, we stop using hot water, the TV and soap. Rum and Patron budget is increased by 25 percent.
July: Boss Lady and I are aware of negotiations with at least one potential buyer. Boss Lady is looking for other employment NOW, and I begin a search of my own. All the stragglers from the May layoff are now gone. We move into a much larger and more expensive space - one that was selected and committed to long before the decision to cut and sell out. Okay - THAT'S pretty funny, at least to the few of us who know what's coming. More personal budget cuts: razor blades, light bulbs and contact lens solution. Limes become "dinner."
August: "Sputter, sputter" goes the Vortex of Doom. Even Boss Lady is having trouble faking it. She's fallen out of the loop and knows what that means. She takes her vacation. I'm saving my leave - I figure it's pretty much my severance, based on what I've heard about the VoD's suitor. She returns at the end of the month with a verbal job offer. Meanwhile, my wife [Maris]'s job lurches into vortex mode. We stop using cold water, now, start car-pooling and learn how to cook squirrel with a magnifying glass. We discuss cutting the rum/Patron budget. As a compromise, rum is cut and Patron is increased slightly.
September: "Creak, groan" says the VoD. How lame is it that the brightest spot for me in this slow death actually belongs to someone else? Pretty lame, but so what? It gave me great pleasure to see Boss Lady hold these millionaires and their transaction hostage. She had a formal offer in hand when, two days before the sale was to be finalized, the big bosses finally brought her back into the loop to let her know they'd need her to stick around for a few months of "transition." I have no idea what they had to pay her for those 60 additional days, but it was enough to infuriate the board, so bully for her. But again, that's really her victory, not mine.
So. September 16, 2008 - Day Minus-76: Most of the company is notified that their services will not be required as of today. Some "lucky" few will be retained by the new owners. The finance and accounting group, which includes me and my strange hybrid job, will be kept around for 30 to 90 days. Boss Lady will be gone in 60. I have 75. The CEO of the acquiring company rides in on his silver steed in the afternoon, via conference call. We had two offices; he'll be here tomorrow. Super. I can't wait to meet him. I have a hard time mustering any real indignation, as my boss and our very cool finance guy have somehow managed to get me a decent severance package and even a small "stick around" bonus. It's still a brutal and ultimately depressing day. A lot of us had really believed at one point that our little company would make it.
September 17, 2008 - Day Minus-75: Okay, there's a little indignation to be mustered. Silver Steed Guy swoops into our decimated office and begins insulting us right and left. [This is the easiest part to write, because I don't even have to make anything up. What follows is absolutely true.] First, he belittles the guy who leased this "huge, overpriced waste of office space," when we all know that he leased precisely what the big bosses had instructed him to lease. Classy, no?
Next, Silver Steed Guy spends about six minutes at the beginning of our "all (remaining) hands" meeting, telling us to our faces how grossly his company overpaid for this organization we had devoted anywhere from three to nine years building. Even the least business-savvy among us wondered why he would pay too much for something so allegedly worthless. His backtrack didn't help much. He went on to grudgingly acknowledge that together we would "make it worth it." Sir, if your assessment is that we'll eventually be worth it, than you didn't exactly overpay, did you?
Finally, he tried the old song and dance about how difficult it is to acquire companies (which is all he does), find redundancies and terminate people's jobs. It was even more ridiculous than we'd expected. He stood in front of this room full of intelligent, educated adults and explained to us that his nine-year old son had "cried himself to sleep last night, knowing that tomorrow Daddy was going to have to fire a bunch of nice people." Really, dude? Your fourth-grader? Really? Do us a favor and just go with the cold, hard facts approach. It's harsh, but it's better than making us listen to such bullshit.
Still, I had to play nice. This was the best severance package I had ever encountered, and I had heard about this "Great Recession," and the prospect of double-digit unemployment levels. So I put on my best poker face, went home and toasted with [Maris] to the slow, painful death of this man. We decided that the bit about the crying son was in a dead heat for Best CEO Line We Have Ever Heard. The other one came from the Vortex of Doom's CEO in the wake of the big May layoff, when he told 120 "survivors" that he couldn't make us happy. "If you want happy, get a dog," he said. There was talk of getting t-shirts made with this as our new slogan.
[Maris] and I looked over the budget and decided that, at least temporarily, electricity and soap would be added back in. There was also a modest increase in the Patron allocation.
September 16, 2008
I'm told one should start at the beginning, but then I'm told lots of things. The beginning is interesting only to those who were there, so here's the 6th-grade book report version: Once Upon A Time, The End. No, Billy -- F. Go stand out in the hall; I'm calling your parents.
Okay - real quick-like... The awesome little software company for whom I had lovingly processed orders and invoices and cash since mid-2005 had used up the patience of its board and investors by the end of 2007. You can't be a "start-up" and be nine years old, apparently. In December, my company merged with another unprofitable little firm and we took on our fourth CEO in three years. So, 2008 was a tumultuous year at Vortex of Doom Communications (not its real name).
January: New CEO acts as if he's managing an elite platoon of Navy SEALs. Our jeans-wearing, multinational company of engineers is not impressed. It's funny and sort of sad to watch.
February: I smell doom. I ask my boss if she smells it, too. Not only does she smell it, too, but she tells me more than someone in my position usually gets to know about the nature and timing of the doom. I update my résumé and stop spending on all non-essentials. Patron Silver and fine rum survive the budget cuts.
March: I don't remember. It was madness, or something. Oh - I REMEMBER! I wrap up about seven months of working harder than I ever had. We all did. Killed ourselves, really - just to try to meet a bunch of nearly impossible targets, so that we could collect little bits of bonus cheese. I cut my domestic spending further. The rum and tequila are safe, for now.
April: The rumors start to fly about a big round of impending layoffs. Rumors like that, in my experience, tend to be true. Boss Lady says don't worry - this time around. They're trimming and slimming to make the company more appealing to a buyer. Ugh. I know this road. I'm pretty sure I've stopped to barf on the side of this road. It's not a fun road. Blind curves and giant holes and bitey little creatures, the whole way. Patron and rum are on sale, so the budget is held steady.
May: Boss Lady and several of us minion-level types work even harder than before and become slightly bitter about it, as we know all we're doing is getting things in order for some acquiring company who will not keep as around. But we have nothing against our customers and it's mostly for their benefit, so we slog onward. At the end of the month, the layoffs - about one-third of our small company - are announced. Some are gone that day; some get "transition periods." Some of us wish we could have been included in this round. Home budget is further tightened. Rum and Patron survive. Who needs food?
June: Farewell lunches and happy hours galore. I try to keep my head down and feign a positive attitude, but it's difficult when you know your reward for helping to salvage as many millions of some rich people's dollars as possible will be a pink slip. At home, we stop using hot water, the TV and soap. Rum and Patron budget is increased by 25 percent.
July: Boss Lady and I are aware of negotiations with at least one potential buyer. Boss Lady is looking for other employment NOW, and I begin a search of my own. All the stragglers from the May layoff are now gone. We move into a much larger and more expensive space - one that was selected and committed to long before the decision to cut and sell out. Okay - THAT'S pretty funny, at least to the few of us who know what's coming. More personal budget cuts: razor blades, light bulbs and contact lens solution. Limes become "dinner."
August: "Sputter, sputter" goes the Vortex of Doom. Even Boss Lady is having trouble faking it. She's fallen out of the loop and knows what that means. She takes her vacation. I'm saving my leave - I figure it's pretty much my severance, based on what I've heard about the VoD's suitor. She returns at the end of the month with a verbal job offer. Meanwhile, my wife [Maris]'s job lurches into vortex mode. We stop using cold water, now, start car-pooling and learn how to cook squirrel with a magnifying glass. We discuss cutting the rum/Patron budget. As a compromise, rum is cut and Patron is increased slightly.
September: "Creak, groan" says the VoD. How lame is it that the brightest spot for me in this slow death actually belongs to someone else? Pretty lame, but so what? It gave me great pleasure to see Boss Lady hold these millionaires and their transaction hostage. She had a formal offer in hand when, two days before the sale was to be finalized, the big bosses finally brought her back into the loop to let her know they'd need her to stick around for a few months of "transition." I have no idea what they had to pay her for those 60 additional days, but it was enough to infuriate the board, so bully for her. But again, that's really her victory, not mine.
So. September 16, 2008 - Day Minus-76: Most of the company is notified that their services will not be required as of today. Some "lucky" few will be retained by the new owners. The finance and accounting group, which includes me and my strange hybrid job, will be kept around for 30 to 90 days. Boss Lady will be gone in 60. I have 75. The CEO of the acquiring company rides in on his silver steed in the afternoon, via conference call. We had two offices; he'll be here tomorrow. Super. I can't wait to meet him. I have a hard time mustering any real indignation, as my boss and our very cool finance guy have somehow managed to get me a decent severance package and even a small "stick around" bonus. It's still a brutal and ultimately depressing day. A lot of us had really believed at one point that our little company would make it.
September 17, 2008 - Day Minus-75: Okay, there's a little indignation to be mustered. Silver Steed Guy swoops into our decimated office and begins insulting us right and left. [This is the easiest part to write, because I don't even have to make anything up. What follows is absolutely true.] First, he belittles the guy who leased this "huge, overpriced waste of office space," when we all know that he leased precisely what the big bosses had instructed him to lease. Classy, no?
Next, Silver Steed Guy spends about six minutes at the beginning of our "all (remaining) hands" meeting, telling us to our faces how grossly his company overpaid for this organization we had devoted anywhere from three to nine years building. Even the least business-savvy among us wondered why he would pay too much for something so allegedly worthless. His backtrack didn't help much. He went on to grudgingly acknowledge that together we would "make it worth it." Sir, if your assessment is that we'll eventually be worth it, than you didn't exactly overpay, did you?
Finally, he tried the old song and dance about how difficult it is to acquire companies (which is all he does), find redundancies and terminate people's jobs. It was even more ridiculous than we'd expected. He stood in front of this room full of intelligent, educated adults and explained to us that his nine-year old son had "cried himself to sleep last night, knowing that tomorrow Daddy was going to have to fire a bunch of nice people." Really, dude? Your fourth-grader? Really? Do us a favor and just go with the cold, hard facts approach. It's harsh, but it's better than making us listen to such bullshit.
Still, I had to play nice. This was the best severance package I had ever encountered, and I had heard about this "Great Recession," and the prospect of double-digit unemployment levels. So I put on my best poker face, went home and toasted with [Maris] to the slow, painful death of this man. We decided that the bit about the crying son was in a dead heat for Best CEO Line We Have Ever Heard. The other one came from the Vortex of Doom's CEO in the wake of the big May layoff, when he told 120 "survivors" that he couldn't make us happy. "If you want happy, get a dog," he said. There was talk of getting t-shirts made with this as our new slogan.
[Maris] and I looked over the budget and decided that, at least temporarily, electricity and soap would be added back in. There was also a modest increase in the Patron allocation.
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