I broke the layoff news to my husband in the following manner: “The nightmare is over! I got laid off!!” (As I was simultaneously jumping up and down, clapping my hands in delight, and smiling ear to ear.)
He was not quite so pleased. “I knew something was wrong when you showed up at home in the middle of the day.” He said, looking grim.
In time, he warmed up to the idea.
In our discussions about how to best use my newfound time, we decided that, instead of unleashing my ridiculousness on the corporate world again, I would work for him. A big perk being that his company is one of the very few that can meet my hefty vacation time requirements.
We had the requisite discussions around who the “Boss” is at any given time:
- During the work day
- Before the work day
- After the work day
- During each meal
- In the office
- In the house
- During the solstice
- During the equinox
- During each phase of the moon
- Before and after sudden changes in barometric pressure
- In wartime
- In peacetime
- In the event of a tornado, flood or any other act of god
There are sure to be some additional “alignment discussions” (read: screaming matches) around the “Boss” issue along the way, but whatevs. I am sure those events are completely normal when a small business owner hires his unemployed, headstrong (but oh so charming) spouse, who is not particularly gifted at communicating or following instructions.
I have gotten a grace period between jobs, and I have been taking full advantage by travelling as much as possible.
When my grace period ends, the work really begins and the business partnership between my husband and me will result in one of two scenarios:
We will either murder each other, or we will build an empire.
Place your bets, kids. It’s going to get interesting!
Dear Lifers, Since being let go from the Widget Factory, I have been busier than normal, and thus, my blogging schedule has been shot to the dickens. Apologies!
For some odd reason the higher powers at the Widget Factory chose to make go to work for a week after laying me off. (To recap, it went like this: “Your position has been eliminated.” )
I spent the last week of work consoling people who came to my cube to pay their respects.
Some were literally in tears.
I was ecstatic. Beaming.
“Wow, you have such a positive attitude!” people said.
“The nightmare is over” I thought.
In truth, I will miss many of the friends I had become close to over the years. Overall, I worked with a great group of people.
I will not miss the corporate nonsense, the red tape, and the lack of control over my time.
And, as in any office, or any cross-section of the population, there were a few bad apples.
During my years at the widget factory, I had played out countless scenarios in my head; what biting comment I would toss out to whom, who I would call out on the carpet in front of the department.
In the end, I did none of these things. It was not because of any newfound aptitude for grace or political correctness; I just didn’t feel any want or need to act out any of these (incredibly detailed and well crafted) scenes.
Instead, my catharsis manifested itself in the blissful knowledge that I would never, ever have to set foot in the widget factory again.
I wished everyone well, took my ball and went home.
Yep, I got laid off.
I know.
Didn’t see that one coming (after the British accent debacle, the laptop discussion and the, um, creative differences over training) did ‘ya?
Here’s how it went down:
My direct boss called me into a conference room. I assumed that he was going to speak to me about my habitual lateness, ridiculous antics, or inability to muster even the slightest bit of enthusiasm for my job.
“Here we go.” I thought.
Instead, his boss was sitting in the room when we arrived. “Here we really go,” I thought.
There was talk of the lack of work, the loss of valuable clients, lack of a sales pipeline. “Here it comes,” I thought.
There was talk of restructuring. Of “rightsizing” the widget processing department. My position had been eliminated. “There it is,” I thought.
Did I have any questions?
I didn’t.
So, here I am: newly married and jobless.
What am I going to do?
First, I am going to make a mental note to stop asking rhetorical questions on my blog.
Then, I am going to write about it.
The good, the bad, the in-between.
As I’ve said before–it’s on.
Thanks to the great response from yesterday’s challenge, I did indeed conduct my entire widget processing training session using a British accent.
A co-worker asked: "Are you going to talk like this the whole time?" (This question was raised after I arbitrarily threw in the British pronounciation of schedule a few too many times.)
My answer: "Yes, for the entire claaass!"
Immediately, one-third of the coworkers on the phone mysteriously dropped off, never to return.
Another co-worker asked if I had spent the morning drinking (I had not. Well…not this morning).
More people dropped off the phone. Luckily, I had a captive audience of twelve in the room (including my boss).
Admittedly, as the class wore on the accent faded in and out a couple of times.
I was a little disappointed in myself for that, but the information was slightly technical, and not found in any of the Harry Potter films. (Having watched "Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallows" recently, I used the movie as a frame of reference for my ambiguous British accent. In the beginning of any particular sentence, I may have sounded like Hermione Granger, but may have morphed into Professor McGonagall (or any other character from any movie with or without a British accent) by the end.)
Yes– this whole thing may sound like a complete train wreck.
And it was, except for one thing:
Somehow I talked my boss into adding a question to the requisite Post-Training Survey asking whether the British accent was convincing.
I’m going to call that a win.
Follow me on twitter at http://twitter.com/dearlifeitson @dearlifeitson
Settle down. Not that kind of proposition.
Ok folks, I had an afternoon coffee at Starby’s today and came up with the following while all gigged up on said coffee:
Proposition:
If I get 50 new and unique confirmed email subscribers to my blog, http://dearlifeitson.com by 9 AM EST Tomorrow (July 27, 2011) I will conduct tomorrow’s training session using a British accent (hint, hint, I’m not British).
To subscribe: Go to http://dearlifeitson.com, and enter your email in the subscription box in the upper righthand corner.
**UPDATE: AFTER YOU ENTER YOUR EMAIL ADDRESS, YOU WILL NEED TO CONFIRM THE SUBSCRIPTION BY CLICKING THE LINK IN THE CONFIRMATION EMAIL IN ORDER FOR IT TO COUNT.** (Sorry- I didn’t realize that until after I posted this cockamamie stunt.)
Background:
As I have been exhaustively documenting here on http://dearlifeitson.com, I have been conducting training classes here at the widget factory. You’re probably just as sick of hearing me complain about it as I am of training the widgeteers.
So, provided I get 50 new and unique subscribers to my blog by 9AM tomorrow, I will shake things up by conducting my widget training class using a fake British accent.
And yes, of course I will write about it.
That’s it Dear Lifers. Tell your friends. It’s on!
Oh, and while you’re at it, follow me on twitter at http://twitter.com/dearlifeitson @dearlifeitson
In a department meeting the other day, our new Leader of Technology could not figure out how to share a Webex on his "Magic Typewriter box."
I sense great things to come out of his tenure.
1. I write an anonymous blog about work, at work. Um, Oops.
2. There are no jobs in my company that are even remotely attractive to me. We (read:they) have a parent company that is headquartered in New Jersey, so I am assuming that the idea that is supposed to motivate employees to Strive For Greatness goes something like this: (game show announcer’s voice) "Work hard at your job, and someday you might be promoted and get to move to…NEW JERSEY!!!" (Shudder)
3. I am chronically 15 minutes late for work (relax haters–I always make up the time). Since I don’t deal with clients directly, the time I get to work in no way affects my ability to process widgets. Thus, it is completely irrelevant.
My boss disagrees.
So, my chronic tardiness has been noted in my permanent record.
Like it was in high school.
And middle school.
Awesome.
4. As I have mentioned before, I have been tasked to train some coworkers on processing widgets, or whatever nonsense I do for a living. In my company, when giving a training, it is generally expected that the presenter display some semblance of enthusiasm toward the topic at hand. When the class convened, I sat down next to my boss and began the session with the following statement:
"Welcome to the Widget Processing training course. At the end of this training course, you will be able to add "Processing Widgets" to your resume. Clearly, having it on your resume won’t get you very far. Just trust me on this"
5. When I am at work, I would pretty much rather be anywhere else, except maybe say…drowning in a lake of hellfire. Or burning. Whatevs.
6. Yikes. I think number 5 is beginning to show.
Follow me on Twitter – @dearlifeitson
A couple listens to a fast-paced thriller via audiobook during a long drive.
She said: Can we get some henchmen?
He said: I already have henchmen.
She said: That’s true, but I don’t have any henchmen.
He said: You have me.
She said: Perfect.
The scene:
A newlywed couple enjoys a shared plate of tacos.
She said: How is it?
(With zero hesitation) He said: If I wasn’t already married, I would marry this taco.
Seriously. Back off, you spicy homewrecking temptress!
Has your marriage been threatened by a food item? Whether it was the exotic chicken curry that moved in next door, or the burger you USED to trust, leave a comment–we won’t judge!
