Saturday, December 13, 2008
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Irony?
Yesterday, my boss and I were pulled into a meeting with some very serious people who make a lot of money and are very good at what they do. The most serious and most Irish of these people informed us several times that we were under a non-disclosure agreement. We frowned and nodded seriously. We asked some serious questions. We dreaded the next morning.
Morning came, as it tends to do. I told two of my temps that their assignments would be ended early. No, they weren't fired: Due to the Global Economic Situation, the company is making some changes and they were impacted. I hate euphemisms, but I used this one, because I had nothing else to say. We were lucky, though, my temps got to finish out the week. I stood next to a grown man in the elevator who couldn't hold back a sob. I assumed that today was his last day. I stared straight ahead because I didn't know what else to do.
At 5 o'clock, the exodus was obvious. 3 of the 5 in of us in the elevator were leaving for the last time: one man and two women. The women seemed unnaturally happy. Perhaps they smiled to avoid making the rest of us feel sad, guilty, awkward; perhaps they got a great severance package. In the lobby, coworkers (well, former coworkers) embraced. A pile of boxes sat on the polished marble floor, across the foyer from the Christmas trees atop fake snow.
I stepped outside, forcing myself to go to the gym. Maybe the endorphins would improve this day. I pulled my coat in close and walked quickly down Park Avenue, closed in the west-bound direction to make room for the rides of the annual Christmas Carnival. I continued towards the 30-foot Christmas tree and the booths and the music. And then there it was: Bing Crosby, singing a Christmas song written by a Jew: It's the most wonderful time of the year.
Morning came, as it tends to do. I told two of my temps that their assignments would be ended early. No, they weren't fired: Due to the Global Economic Situation, the company is making some changes and they were impacted. I hate euphemisms, but I used this one, because I had nothing else to say. We were lucky, though, my temps got to finish out the week. I stood next to a grown man in the elevator who couldn't hold back a sob. I assumed that today was his last day. I stared straight ahead because I didn't know what else to do.
At 5 o'clock, the exodus was obvious. 3 of the 5 in of us in the elevator were leaving for the last time: one man and two women. The women seemed unnaturally happy. Perhaps they smiled to avoid making the rest of us feel sad, guilty, awkward; perhaps they got a great severance package. In the lobby, coworkers (well, former coworkers) embraced. A pile of boxes sat on the polished marble floor, across the foyer from the Christmas trees atop fake snow.
I stepped outside, forcing myself to go to the gym. Maybe the endorphins would improve this day. I pulled my coat in close and walked quickly down Park Avenue, closed in the west-bound direction to make room for the rides of the annual Christmas Carnival. I continued towards the 30-foot Christmas tree and the booths and the music. And then there it was: Bing Crosby, singing a Christmas song written by a Jew: It's the most wonderful time of the year.
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