Hiccup Tears and Being Laid Off

Last week I was laid off. I knew my company was cutting back, but I thought I was safe. I thought my plate was full, penciled in for awhile, an asset and rising star. But I was wrong. Maybe my ideas didn't have legs after all. Maybe being the only one who knew the type of toner to purchase for the HP4100 printer wasn't enough to prove my worth. My loyalty and only 7 sick days a year apparently meant nothing. My job was breaking up with me and I was given the old, it’s not you, it’s the economy line. But I played it cool as I was given the news in the tiny conference room. The only place in the office doubling as a storage space for old, broken office chairs and a private meeting room for discussing severance packages. My manager told me my last day would be in 10 business days and surprisingly, I felt OK; like I had missed a bus I wasn't running to catch anyway. As the door of old opportunity was closing behind me, I thought, “It will be nice to sleep in tomorrow.”

I drowned out my boss’ words of wisdom and possible “next steps” and began to brainstorm my future. The notion of starting my own company had always appealed to me. Dog walking is recession free, I thought! Then I contemplated taking my severance package and heading to New Jersey to live at home. Of course, I told myself, if all else fails, there was always Urban Outfitters…again.

But then the seriousness of being laid off from my first office job hit me like a tidal wave. My thoughts raced with the idea of putting a resume together and going on job interviews. Unfortunately, talking about my strengths was one of my weaknesses. And no one has ever taken me seriously when discussing where I see myself in 5 years, “Married to a rich man and living in the Bahamas.”

With each passing moment I could feel my eyes swelling up with tears that no amount of blinking could sponge dry. So much for playing it cool. And sometime between, “Do you have any questions?” and “Don’t worry, I see big things for you down the road…” I started bawling. The kind of cry that is a fusion of hiccup, hyperventilation and gulping throat noises. Something I haven’t done since 2nd grade when my ponytail got caught in the classroom oscillating fan. After about 30 seconds of watching me cry, my boss offered me the napkin from under his Starbucks cup. It was half soaked with half decaf half regular. As I did the fanning myself motion that is all too familiar for any female that has ever cried in public, my boss asked, “Is this all work related?” As if, on top of being laid off, my boyfriend was breaking up with me and I had a serious bout of PMS.

Several, unprofessional moments passed until I finally composed myself and wiped my tears with the sleeve of my cardigan and headed back to my desk. I looked for a few jobs on craigslist but found a bike for $73 instead. Just as I was scoping the site for a missed connection I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was Owen from accounting holding the Is it Friday yet? Garfield mug I had given him for the secret Santa gift exchange. “Oh, hey, I’ve been looking for ya” he said, “Would you mind changing the toner? Looks like we’re out.” I smiled, changed the toner one last time, and left after filling my purse with as many office supplies as it could hold.