Some of you are still virgins and wondering when your time will come.
Doing what we do for a living, with its volatility and bottom lines, most likely you’ll get laid one of these days.
I got laid off for the second time in my short creative career last Monday.
Halloween. Axed on Halloween.
I can’t say it was a total surprise either. When you’ve been through it once already, you recognize all the signs. Suddenly you realize your coworkers have gradually eased into working around you. It usually isn’t until hours before the big moment that deep down you sense something is wrong.
And then the cryptic message to “go to the conference room,” or “come into my office.” There will be a closed door. There will be the pall bearers looks. There will be someone you know well in the room. There will also be someone you vaguely recognize in the room; a surprise guest—usually the person who does the books.
I see my fate once I step into the room. Wading through a conference room of dangling plastic vampire bats. I then begin to wish they had more of a sense of humor about this and dressed up: An executioner, Death, Dracula, Donald Trump. No. They are wearing what they always wear. I should have known there was something up when they announced our company Halloween “dress up day” would be on Friday, not Monday. It was a humane thing to do. I only wish I wore my “Astro-Not” costume that day, the motorcycle helmet that said “AWESOME” in bright letters and the duct-tape suit. Instead I just sat there. Smiling in blue jeans.
“You’re not going to axe me on Halloween, are you?”
Yes they are. Me and four others. Three of which had six, nine and ten years of service at the firm, respectively. In our industry, that’s a long time. Not very awesome.
I immediately begin talking to the inflatable skeleton bobbing in the corner. I want an answer. Why?
“Restructuring.”
Restructuring. The amiable enemy of creativity. There is no cure for restructuring. You can make fixes to color palettes, line widths and headlines. There is no fixing the bottom line. The Agency must be saved. God save the agency.
They are prepared for the worst. There are tissues in the room. There are mournful looks.
Then it all fades away. The guy who does the books is talking. Severance. COBRA. Sorry. Your keys. Sorry.
You go about awkwardly cleaning out your cubicle. If you are a designer, likely this means taking down all the ridiculous shit you’ve lined your “creative zone” with. All the Bruce Lee pictures, vinyl toys, and paper company tchotchkes. All swept into a box. Then the pictures of your pets, or significant other. Your ten commandment tablet-sized design books. Your music files. Fonts. All while you are doing this, the natural rhythm of the studio is broken. Those around you notice something is out of order. There is a slight stir of anxiety as everyone begins to wonder of their own fate. Once they make sure they are safe, they converge with looks of relief and sorrow.
Goodbye. Take care. We will meet again. Drinks on Thursday, the bastards.
Soon you are at your own funeral. People will say the things you’d never thought you’d hear. They are nice things. But now, as you are passing to the other side, they are spoken.
“You’re the most talented here.”
“What the hell are the thinking?”
“I can’t believe it.”
Smile and nod. Sheepishly grin. You take a small portion of your stuff, but they’ll send the rest. Hand off the keys and you are gone. Someone will see the opportunity for a good karma smoke break, and they will escort you out.
It is never good to leave alone.
The subway on a weekday at 2:30 is not very full. Likely every day there is someone like me; sitting on an off-hour train carrying a small box and some folders. A little bit glazed over. A bit tired maybe. Just got laid, man. Just got some freedom. Just don’t know what I am going to do tomorrow, man. Just don’t know how many galleries I am going to visit this week, or how many old friends will be hearing from me, man. Maybe I will take a trip. Or maybe start all those paintings I thought about right before bed, man. Or maybe its time I started working for myself…
Before you know it you’re a little bit drunk eating mexican food. And then you are waking up and starting over, buying some coffee and take your first cautious steps on your laptop.
And then the afterglow.
You never know what is good till you lose it. I guess thats precisely how those who fired you should be feeling soon.
I have been gawking at ur works for more than two years now, and needless to say you are one of my inspirations!
On Nov.05.2005 at 09:13 PM