The methods of delivering the bad news have changed in the last 20+ years but the emotional and economic devastation remains pretty much the same.
Back in 2001, just a couple of weeks before two of the four hijacked planes struck the twin towers of the World Trade Center in NYC, “911” the unimaginable tragedy felt around the world, I was sitting at my desk, in the heart of the corporate labyrinth, feeling trapped by drab 4-foot walls. One cubicle after another after another, like a maze of gray and beige passageways leading to nowhere.
Blissfully unaware of the storm brewing on the horizon which would alter the course of my life, I was on the phone with a fellow co-worker, saying how I had made it through another round of layoffs, no problem, when suddenly a bright yellow Post-it-Note appears on the far corner of my desk, “Need to be available at 12 pm.” No other information, no trail of Post-It-Notes leading to a logical explanation.
I quickly hung up, thinking this is bad, very bad. My heart pounded in my chest, plummeting to the pit of my stomach. My breath quickened and my hands trembled as I set the phone down on my desk. I try to get further information from my manager, whom I’ve known for twelve years. “Can you tell me if I have lost my job?” He responds blankly with, “No, I can’t tell you anything. I am under strict orders not to disclose any further information.” For a fleeting moment, I thought I saw his hand touch his forehead as if saluting someone. His monotone impersonal response, “Just be available at noon.”
I slowly returned to my cubicle, barely able to lift the lead weights that had replaced my shoes. What a false sense of security those four short walls had provided. “Is he insane?”, I mumbled to myself. It is only 10:30 am in the morning. What am I supposed to do for the next hour and a half? I turned into a blubbering idiot, unable to keep my dignity and hold back the tears. No matter how hard I try to keep my mind distracted from inevitable doom, nothing works.
My fellow co-workers would just have to pretend not to notice my red, puffy eyes and the river running from my nose to my chin. Good thing I spent the extra money on the waterproof mascara now leaving streaks on my cheeks like tire tracks from a tiny matchbox Mack truck.
As I am led to the room of doom by my manager, I try to pretend nothing is wrong. What would happen to my manager if he revealed more information? Would the company take him to a secret torture chamber — shine a blinding light in his eyes and drip water on his head for days until he cracked?
Once in the room I had a fleeting thought that maybe I would not lose my job. Maybe they were going to give me a special award, promote me to vice president, and give me an enormous raise. Why not? I was their best employee ever.
No such luck. A tall man with slightly graying hair and a painted smile handed me a letter stating that I was part of the latest cost-reduction initiative. Reduction, I thought I can lose weight. Scarsdale, the Zone, or Jenny Craig. I can reduce with the best of them. The frozen-faced gentleman hands me a thick, obnoxious vanilla envelope containing all my company information. How could they just shove my entire employment history into a dull, lifeless envelope? He reassures me my job performance has been outstanding. What was it then? Did I tell too many bad jokes? Did I wear the wrong color blouse with my skirt last week? Maybe my skirt should have been shorter or longer? The flicker of hope was quickly extinguished by the cold harsh reality of a corporate mantra of “profit over people”. The weight of the news weighed heavily on my mind and sent my thoughts adrift in a sea of emotions.
He hands me a box of Kleenex. The company must have given him extensive training on exactly how and when to hand me that Kleenex. I should have requested Puffs with lotion for extra softness. It’s the least they could do. Crying, unable to speak, I just want to go home.
He insists I go to one of the counselors provided for free by the company. I finally give in and let him walk me through what feels like halls of shame until we reach another conference room. He introduces me to the counselor and leaves. Like a cold and endless mass production assembly line, the voice in his head kept repeating “Must stay on schedule in order to keep the reduction moving.” When the company-appointed counselor asks my name. I responded even though I could barely speak. Two minutes later the voice behind the unfamiliar face utterly devoid of emotion, is shoveling a sandwich into his mouth as he mispronounces my name then asks, “How are you doing?” Could this insensitive man ask me a more ridiculous question? What did he think I was going to say? Great! Never been better. But instead, I ask if I can leave. My feet are moving as fast as they can as I push open the double doors to the parking lot. Where is my car? Being able to get inside my car will feel so much safer than my cubicle. I drove away as fast as I could without getting stopped by the security guards. While the car was moving no one could hand me another Post-It-Note with bad news.
I picked my kids up from daycare carrying on a normal how was your day conversation. I did not want to let them know what had happened at the office today. I would have to tell them in the next couple of days because our daily routine was about to change substantially. Better to let them know at the end of the week rather than rock their lifeboat before the real storm hits.
I have a few days to clean out my desk, say goodbye, and get my work affairs in order. Somehow, I make it to the office the next day through the thick haze of shock and denial. Immediately, I was approached by several coworkers. Most of my female coworkers hug me and start to cry. Of course, I start to cry, there goes most of my days. Every two minutes or so someone comes to my desk to talk. They all say they can’t believe that I, of all people, have been laid off. As I absorb all the heartfelt condolences, I am thinking me neither!
I wonder how some other employees managed to still have their jobs.
Later that day another coworker I have known for several years peeks around the corner of my cubicle, she is visibly upset. She has no idea what to say. She chooses to hug me and simply say “I’m sorry.” A couple of minutes later she returns with a candy bar as a parting gift. “These always make me feel better. For the next few days, I receive gifts of one type or another, including a bottle of red wine. I suddenly got the brilliant idea that if I ate all the candy and drank the wine I would be disqualified from the “Workforce Reduction Program”. Amidst the barrage of hugs, tears, goodbyes and parting gifts, a bittersweet farewell hung heavy in the air. The ache of severed connections, lost camaraderie, and the uncertainty of what lay ahead created somber images in my mind. Maybe my two kids would find some comfort in Mom’s pitiful jobless bounty.
Returning home, I faced the daunting task of explaining to my children, grappling with their innocent questions and unwavering optimism in the face of adversity. My children are too young to comprehend what “unemployed” or “work-force reduction” means. They don’t notice any immediate changes in their lives; for them, what is the big deal, Mom? The unparalleled innocence in his voice almost brings tears to my eyes, as my son asks me, “Did you get a new job yet Mom? One that comes with a lot of money and free candy. No, I quietly reply. “Why not? Are all the jobs gone? I see his orange and brown lips barely moving while his clear blue eyes give a soft empathetic glance. My response further confused him, “I could not find a job that was a good fit.” “How can a job fit?” Jobs don’t fit Mom pants do.” He looks down to see if his pants are still there as he dips another Cheeto in his chocolate pudding. “What I mean is Mommy’s work experience did not match the requirements for the jobs that are available.” I reach for a Cheeto and dip it in the chocolate pudding, hoping we can relate on some level. “Well, you better go get more exercise so you can fit more jobs.” He pulls his pants up and asks, “Can we go see the new Superman Meets Batman Meets Spiderman movie?”
In the aftermath of my departure, I penned a brief farewell to as many colleagues as I could recall in those last moments on the job. There was no way I would be able to reach out to everyone who had helped along the long winding road of my career path with the company. It had been a twelve-year journey with many bumps, stop signs and forks in the road. This was a detour I had not planned on ever choosing. In fact, I had never even found it on the company map.
Many of those on my distribution list were more than just coworkers; they were friends, human beings I had spent the last several years working side by side, sharing life events such as weddings, the birth of our children, raising our children, divorce, and the loss of family members. One of the most emotionally difficult moments of dealing with the loss of my job was realizing how much some of my coworkers really meant to me and how much I would miss them. The loss of my job had temporarily misplaced a part of my identity and purpose outside of my children. As the sunset on this chapter of my life, a glimmer of hope flickered on the horizon as a testament to the strength which can be found in the depths of despair.
Say Goodbye to Tradition: Zoom Meetings Revolutionize the Layoff Process
Almost a quarter of a century later, the specter of workforce reduction nightmare reared its ugly head once more.
To my disbelief, I found myself just as shocked as I had been the first time the layoff hammer had come down on my fragile glass career bubble.
The night before receiving the devastating news, which coincided with the end of the fiscal quarter, I had toiled away tirelessly. Starting work at 7am, I took only brief breaks to grab whatever food was in my fridge and attend to nature’s call. Fueled by an unhealthy mix of coffee, tea, and diet coke. By 11:15pm, sheer exhaustion had taken its toll on both my mind and body. Right before powering off my laptop and phone for the night at 11:30pm, the thought swirling around in my head was, “I can’t continue like this, neglecting my well-being and enduring these grueling hours of immobility.”
The following morning at 5:30am, I awoke to a flood of around 40 messages awaiting my attention. Among them was a deal that had hit a snag due to a last-minute alteration required in a transaction document to book the deal. Fatigue weighed heavily on me from the lack of sleep, compounded by a sense of guilt for missing the crucial change before shutting down for the night. Ordinarily, I would have burned the midnight oil to catch all discrepancies. It dawned on me then that the company, which prided itself on being a champion of work-life balance, harbored a dark secret – employees involved in the booking process were expected to work well beyond the conventional eight to ten hour workday. This same dark secret had permeated into all the companies I had worked at prior to this company.
One email stood out from all the others. It was from the CEO, timestamped at 2:30am on the first day of the new fiscal quarter. The email was announcing an impending round of workforce reductions impacting over 500 employees. The email stated the positions were being eliminated. Shortly thereafter, I received an invite to a “special” Zoom meeting, with three subsequent reminders, in Slack from the VP.
The familiar feeling of dread engulfed my mind and body. The knowledge that I had been selected for elimination from my job made my empty caffeine filled stomach feel even worse.
In the virtual gathering, the Vice President of the organization I reported to, presided over a group of about ten employees, all under this person’s purview but reporting through different direct managers. Strangely absent were our immediate supervisors, as we were explicitly instructed not to engage with them for the next two hours, as the VP had yet to inform them of the individuals selected for dismissal.
Each of us appeared in our designated squares on the screen, only to be abruptly informed in front of all those involved, we were being let go from our job positions. The position were being eradicated immediately. We had until 8pm that evening to get any appropriate documents or information off our laptops before sending them back to the company. No rationale was provided for our selection, leaving us bewildered and disheartened. My most recent performance appraisal had been extremely positive, in fact several of us on the call had earned promotions within the past nine months.
Tears welled up in my eyes, my voice quivered, and I struggled to articulate my thoughts. I turned my camera off so no one could see me fall apart emotionally and physically. The whole ordeal felt intensely impersonal, cold and calculated. Perhaps this refusal to discuss or add any hint of remorse to the phone call made it easier for the executive management to justify their ruthless decisions. The physical distance created by the guise of a Zoom meeting call I am sure made it easier for the management to deliver the bad news. At least they did not have to look us in the eye and tell us we no longer had jobs. The Zoom meeting shielded the management from actually feeling the intense sadness emanating from the living breathing human beings on the screen,
Along with my colleagues, I had devoted myself to my role, under the assumption that I had found a secure sanctuary in a company that purportedly prioritized stability over frequent layoffs.
Just like the rest of my co-workers I had dedicated myself to my work, believing that I had found a stable haven in a company that didn’t resort to frequent layoffs.
Alas, the ruthless landscape of the industry, exacerbated by economic ups and downs, rendered job security a fragile and obsolete notion. Once again, I had poured my heart and soul into my work, embracing its challenges, and finding solace in a sense of belonging. Three years earlier, I had believed myself to have reached the zenith of my career. Good compensation, an inclusive corporate culture, and the opportunity to explore learning new technologies and skills invigorating. Securing the role had entailed enduring a seven-round interview process.
The initial months proved to be a whirlwind of learning, akin to drinking from a firehose of knowledge. The guidance of intelligent, kind and supportive mentors allowed me to navigate the intricacies of the cloud software industry.
The perpetual state of uncertainty mirrored the unforgiving realities of a competitive and cost-saving measures adopted by financially beleaguered organizations. Profit over people really has become the mantra of most companies in the modern world.
The emotions of rejection, identity loss, fear, instability, and the absence of camaraderie with recently formed friendships and connections are impacting me with the same intensity as they did twenty-three years ago.
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