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A little over a year ago, Congrss approved the biggest financial rescue in US history. Some call it the Neo-New Deal; others doom the bailout to failure. Surely it will take a Herculean effort to turn things around. We all know that default on sub-prime mortgages is driving much of the calamity. But why are there still so many people defaulting on their mortgages. Perhaps we should look deeper and address the reasons some people are faced with this predicament. The root of the problem began long ago.
Flash back to 1992. I am the sole provider for my four teenagers and myself: my two sons, Chip and Seth, and my two daughters, Cecily and Coral. Today is a school day. Chip is in his first year at DePaul University. Seth and Cecily go to Prospect High School. There’s a wrestling meet tonight. I washed uniforms for the team last night, so now I throw them in the drier and push start. Cecily greets my “good morning” with the typical-junior-high-scowl. Coral goes to Elmhust Junior High, she’s in Special Education, a “contained classroom.” It’s an orchestrated dance in the morning as we boogie in and out of the only shower, and waltz past each other with toiletries in tow to use the powder room mirror. I’ve got my hair cut Demi-Moore-short-as-in-Ghost, so styling is just a shake of the head. We all sit down to breakfast together, a ritual I insist upon. Departures are staggered. I’m in the car, as the last school bus leaves; I’ll drop Chip at the train station on my way to work. Amidst the flurry of activity, my mind turns to work: Something is up today.
We have our Quarterly Business Review Meeting today. Three times already this year we’ve had an all-shift, all-hands-on deck meeting with the Vice President of Manufacturing, Joe. Fast and Cheap Joe; he’s known for his ability to get the job done on a shoestring. At each of these meeting, I find out some of my colleagues gone. I look around the room, and chairs that were saved are empty. It’s like The Rapture. Those of us who remain, look around for our friends; they are gone. Right-sized.
Those that remain get a “pep rally.” Different verses but the same song: We’re in this together. We’ve got lofty goals to obtain. Our objectives are clear. Those of us that are left have what it takes to get it done. One time there was even a marching band. No lie.
The last time I was sure I’d be the one spirited away. But I remain working in the field, so to speak. I’m pretty sure it won’t be me today. I am working on critical projects that are key to the company’s success. But, who will it be? We’re down from 105 to 55. How far from the right size can we possibly be? Maybe I’m just paranoid and it’s just a quarterly business meeting like the notice on the bulletin board says.
Because the meeting is all-shift, all-hands meeting, we go across the street to the warehouse. A freshly filled coffee mug warms my hands. Inez, Ivory, Ken, and I start to walk through the door, single file. I’m just about to walk past the threshold when I get a tap on my left shoulder. It’s The Boss, Pat. He beckons me with his index finger, like a friend with a juicy piece of gossip he wants to share. As usual, his breath smells like a dog’s that’s been eating crap. My heart drops to my stomach; I know, without a doubt, I’ve been chosen.
Pat takes me to his office and introduces me to Kathy from The Mentor Company, the outplacement firm. She’s got on a royal blue suit. Her silk print blouse has swirls of royal blue that match her suit exactly, and swirls of power-red, too. She looks so professional. I have on a plain white uniform. Kathy explains the re-deployment process. She’s got the brownest eyes; I can’t even see her irises. Her eyes look wet. My sister has eyes like that, big brown cow eyes. Kathy hands me a pocket folder that contains all the information I need to know about my severance. She asks me if I have any questions. The only question I can think of is, Did Mentor hire you because your eyes look so sad? Or did they teach you how to look like you
