The Unemployment Chronicles
So . . . I’ll admit I’m no scholar, no athlete, genius or even particularly talented at any one thing. That said I’ve always been fortunate to find myself in the top half of most things I try. So just imagine my surprise when I found myself in that unfortunate 10% of Americans that are involuntarily unemployed. Now when I write “imagine my surprise” its. . . well . . . not entirely accurate. I wasn’t really surprised at all. In truth, they didn’t work too hard to hide the axe and I was packed when they came down the hall with it. Had been for awhile. After all I’d been around a long time, probably too long. I’d seen a lot of brush get cleared and I learned to recognize when they were sharpening the axe.
So when the day came I was ready for them. I knew the day, the time and the manner, the signs were there. Just like tea leaves or Tarot the office can be read if you know how to read and like I said they didn’t really hide the hammer. So when they came, my two comrades, I was ready. And they came and then they killed me. But it’s okay, it’s only business, and that’s all I’ll say about that.
It was a Friday in late February well after five and I was putting the accumulated crap of ten pretty miserable years in my trunk. I was numb as I pulled out of the lot and called Shari. . . “they finally got me” I said. And then she said to me. . . she said it’s okay, come home, it’s the best thing that ever could’ve happened to us. That’s my wife, Shari, my heart . . . my reason and she was right.
But I’ll admit it was a hard sell that Friday night. I’d been employed, uninterrupted, for 20 years — 10 at the place that just decided I was obsolete. My income wasn’t all the eggs in one basket but it was certainly most of the eggs in the basket. And suddenly there wouldn’t be any new eggs coming from me. No new eggs at all. Scary.
So that first night I gave myself one simple and achievable goal. . . to drink. . . a lot. And with that simple win I moved on.
On day two I made contact with friends many previously pruned branches from the same bush. They had to know that I was not the sole survivor. So by email and Facebook, text and phone I told the story and was embraced into the club, a club of the once disenfranchised and obsoleted, unemployed and recovered. My friends — real survivors all.
On day three, glowing from the well wishes and friendly concern and no longer hung over, I decided to set a new course. A new direction. A fresh start. And so I got on with my life and took the next week off.
And so it went. The shears cut and they cut clean, the only pain coming from the knowledge of who wielded them. But now these months later I realize where I am today sucks so much less than where I was then . . . and for that I could almost say thank you. Almost.
Stay tuned.