First off, I’m NOT DEAD!!
And it’s official now. I’ve been laid off by the company I work for. My last day was this past Saturday.
This whole thing has left behind that all-too-familiar bitter taste. The only communication regarding the layoff came in the form of a posted piece of paper on the bulletin board. A piece of paper that originally spelled good news: the layoff was to be by seniority within our classification, in accordance with our contract. That would have saved my job. Then the very next day a revision was posted stating that the layoff was instead going to be based solely on seniority. No explanation was given for the change. Not even by our very company-friendly union which obviously had a hand in the final decision. And there was no indication as to how many would be sent packing. I sent out a very cordial yet strongly-worded email to several people on both sides of the situation. No one took the time to reply. So I have questions. What about my vacation? How long until my insurance runs out? You know . . . things of the not-so-insignificant variety. Conveniently, the HR folks went home early the day the list of affected employees was posted.
The plant-wide grumble-factor reached a fevered pitch that evening.
So I spent my last day making nice (sort of) and doing my job well one last time. Then I headed home to polish my resumé. I’m surprisingly optimistic at this point. Despite my cheerful attitude and gentle manner (or perhaps because of those things), I never really fit in there. Also, the opportunity to look for work closer to home is a welcome one. So, I’ll be alright.
But first . . .
I’m having major oral surgery tomorrow; time to bring back the old, confident smile that’s been tentative and weak as of late. Sure my teeth will soon be made of high-grade plastic, but a smile’s a smile. I see Tylenol with codeine, several rinses per day, mucho sleep and large doses of malaise and incoherence in the not-so-distant future. My biggest fears? What will I sound like when I speak? Will my wife still want to share those wet, passionate kisses with me anymore? And how the hell am I gonna pay for all this? Things could be ugly for a spell.
Do me a favor. Those of you with kids? Tell them to brush their teeth every once in a while. Especially the ones they want to keep. If you need some scary pictures to hang on their bathroom mirror as an incentive, I’ll send you some real doozies.
Your thoughts are coveted and appreciated in advance . . .