Oh you efficient laying-off machine!

Hardly any phones were ringing but tears and handshakes flourished in a few isolated corners. I arrived late and could have sworn I heard an employee a few years my junior telling the receptionist that she was no longer employed. I wanted to look back but, as a five-year veteran of corporate America, I knew that would be bad form.

As I approached my desk I noticed a flattened cardboard box adjacent to a coworkers’ desk. This particular gentleman had flirted with outright termination only a few months prior, so his potential dismissal was unsurprising. I saw another young man enter the Chief Operating Officer’s lair and became fully aware of what was happening.

Rather than the old-fashioned In/Out board, we had a computer application where everyone could indicate whether they were in the office, out to lunch, or sick, and when they would return. As I changed my status to “in,” I noticed that some names had already been removed from the employee list. “That’s pretty quick,” I thought and settled in with a strange anxiety in my gut.

I’ll have you know my heart was never in the job, or even the industry for that matter. I accepted my first job when what I really wanted was to play the drums, read, and wander across the country like a faux-hemian Jack Kerouac wannabe. I was essentially a square, no doubt, but still, I thought a little wandering would be good for my blood. Unfortunately, I hadn’t the courage to follow this “dream” and ended up in my first cubicle. I did, however, purchase a condo only a few blocks from where Kerouac did much of his drinking in Denver, as if to hold on to a small part of my previous lifestyle as an “outsider.”

This attitude had stuck with me through that job, the next, and the one at which I was working that fateful morning. I routinely came in late, dressed in jeans, and spent half a day per week at the university studying the work of idealists and neomarxists, but I was still a good employee: efficient, organized, etc. Therefore, I felt as if my anxiety was justified. I thought if they were cutting out people, they would probably take the opportunity to cut out those that didn’t quite fit.

So I worked for about two hours and felt okay. I’d stand up and look to the chopping block and see an employee with far less experience than myself, and somewhat embarrassingly, feel okay.

An interesting thing about our office phone system is that each desk phone has two rings: a stuttered short ring for calls from outside lines and a longer, continuous drone for calls from within the office. Right after noon my phone started ringing, my stomach dropped, and then it stuttered, indicating a call from outside.

I told my wife nothing about what was going on since she’s pregnant and I didn’t want to stress her out.

Then it was back to work, kind of. Whispers floated across the low partition walls; my immediate supervisor looked happy enough. I got a glass of water and made a lap around the office to see who was in the big boss’s office, and who had moved on to station two, the office manager’s office. A youngster was in the latter but the former was occupied by a guy about my age.

“No surprise that he’s getting the axe,” said a coworker. I had no idea that the guy was that kind of employee, but I guess the truth comes out at times like this.

Regardless, this indicated that the boss was working his way up the ladder; that it wasn’t only going to be newbies.

About fifteen long minutes later my phone rang that long continuous drone.

More than anything, I’m impressed by the efficiency of the laying-off process. Your phone rings and you go in to hear the whole story. You are given the chance to ask questions which the boss answers sincerely. Next, like a widget on an assembly line, you are a transported to the office manager’s space where she explains the benefits and is ready to counsel if necessary. She reminds you to pack up your valuables and hit the road, and lets you know that the rest of your stuff will be coming in the mail. After that, it’s back to your desk to find that your connection to the office network has been terminated, that your email is nonexistent, and that you are indeed deleted from the sign in/out program that runs on the computer.

A few perfunctory goodbyes ensue. “I can’t believe it” and “now I’m scared” and “well, we should have a beer.” Your immediate boss is out to lunch and, shortly thereafter, so are you. A handshake with the cool office assistant and a few last minutes with the receptionist and it’s down the elevator, carrying a load that’s a little too heavy, and back on to the street.

It feels a little like freedom and a little like disgrace.