The last day

My last day at work finally arrives, and it's been a long time coming; I work from home in a field-based role for a large multinational Technical Corporation who have been downsizing since I took this job 5 years ago. My position was made officially redundant from the organisation over a year ago, but I've hung on quite a bit longer by virtue of providing assistance to another part of the organisation that was prepared to cross fund me until times got so tough for them that the money pot ran dry. I was served official notice in August.

I'm no stranger to redundancy. In my industry it's recognised and accepted as a hazard of the job; it's happened to me and many others before, so from that perspective this time I've been free from some of the emotions that anyone going through it for the first time will almost certainly experience, such as shock, disbelief, and denial. However, there's no getting past the fact that being made redundant is an extremely traumatic and stressful experience, so I am still experiencing the rest of the emotional cycle of anger, frustration, feelings of self-doubt and helplessness etc.

My redundancy package is modest; the terms are relatively good, but I've accrued only a few years valid service with the company, because this is my second time around with them, and the previous years of employment (which were substantial) unfortunately don't count. One of the very welcome elements of the package has been a programme of support from an Outplacement Agency. Again, I have been though this kind of programme before, but I'm finding it an extremely useful exercise. Not only can one get up-to-date information about what recruiters are currently looking for, the elements of a fashionable CV etc., but more importantly you get to meet and interact with other people from other companies and industries who are going through the same process as yourself. I would advise anybody who has access to this kind of support to take full advantage of all the facilities and help it can offer. It's one of those things where the more you put into it, the more you'll get out of it, especially once you are past the hurdle of the initial emotions outlined above, and concentrating on getting yourself together; documenting your history, articulating your strengths, outlining your achievements, and putting together a plan of how you'll be going forward to find your next opportunity. I started working with the outplacement consultants a few months ago, and the whole programme will last 3 months.

Back to today....I wake up much earlier than usual, because my subconscious knows this is definitely not a normal day. I cannot get back to sleep, so I get up and start to compose my farewell message to the friends and colleagues I'll be leaving behind. This is bizarre and is something I had absolutely not intended to do. I've had weeks to mull over this and until now my intention was to just walk away quietly, but something this morning tells me that this would be the wrong thing to do. I spend about 30 minutes preparing a short and positive farewell message to all the people I've worked with, thanking them for their support and comradeship, and generally wishing them well for the future. I email it out from my study around 6am to people all over the globe. After breakfast I get together the items and information I need to hand back to my employer, leave the house, drop my wife at work, and head off to one of the few remaining offices that the company has left in the UK. When I first started working with this company 30 years ago, it was a major presence in the UK, with multiple factories and offices right across the country. Now, after many years of continual downsizing, cost reduction and closure, there's not much left anymore. This is something to keep firmly in mind; there's little or no opportunity for personal growth left here anymore; this outcome was inevitable for me, and probably many others. It was never a question of "if", but only "when"...

I arrive at the office, and set myself up at a hot desk space, specifically designed for people like myself who work primarily from their home office. I am immediately overwhelmed and quite touched by the numerous personal emails that have arrived in my inbox in response to the farewell message I sent out some hours earlier. Most express surprise and consolation, with heartfelt best wishes for the future. Many are from people located far further east than us, who are obviously much further through their working day. Some inspire further replies outlining my state of mind and plans, and after responding to so many well-wishers, I reflect that crafting and sending that message out earlier was absolutely the right thing to do.

I go walkabout to see who's in, and whose hand I can shake for possibly the last time. I have walked these corridors many times over the years, often with paying customers, and the memories are strong. I am stunned by the level of inactivity in the design and development areas. Where once teams of people would have worked on ground-breaking developments, there are now only silent benches. All the equipment is still here, and all the work in progress is still very evident, but what are missing are the people. It's just like the Marie Celeste. I run into some old chums who explain that the downsizing resulted in this area being basically evacuated. All the remaining people are being shuffled up together so as not to leave large gaps. All the silent projects still around me on display were killed and the people "let go". The headcount on the site has more than halved since I took up my job 5 years back, in complete contrast to the plans at that time which were for the site to expand to a level more than double. So the company is now at a level of around 20% of that forecasted growth. The word morgue keeps popping into my head as I chat with some of the people I meet. Many of them have also been served notice and will be out by the end of the year. These are people that I have known and worked with off and on over three decades of my life. We share some memories, and words and experiences, but our level of mutual respect and empathy is such that much of what is happening here is beyond expression. It is infinitely sad to see at first hand what is happening to the great company that we all were once so very proud of. Of course our individual situations are of concern to us all, but this is a sad indicator of what is happening at a higher level across the industry we work in. The same process is happening in many other companies. This is the result of ferocious competition and cost cutting on the world stage. Outside, the banking crisis is just beginning to bite badly. I reflect that we've probably all had it far too good for too long. You can't increase incomes on the one hand, whilst the real cost of goods in the shops is going doing on the other. It's not a sustainable situation.

The rest of my working day is pretty sporadic. I spend lunchtime nursing a soda in the local hostelry, where I have enjoyed so many raucous and celebratory get-togethers over the years, even on the sad occasions when people have left and moved on to other things. Now there is little joy; hardly anyone has taken up my offer to join me in a last drink, principally because there is hardly anyone left to do it! Back in the office, there is no official goodbye or send off of any kind; no last get together; no farewell card; no words of reminiscence and good luck. I hand back the equipment and other items already agreed, turn in my security badge and leave for the very last time, with head held high and without looking back. I'm leaving behind some great people, many of whom will be following my path very soon. What I'm not leaving behind or losing in any way at all is the store of great memories I've got that relate to this place, the people I knew here, and the great things we achieved together over the years. No-one can take those from me, ever.

On the drive home I am more or less on autopilot, following a route I have traversed many times. I feel kind of empty and somewhat neutral; neither happy nor sad, just ambivalent.

My timing is good. I arrive back in my home town just in time to collect my wife and eldest son, and we pick up a takeout meal from our local Tandoori on the way home; at the end of the day it was just exactly that; just like any other Friday. The end of an era, and now cast adrift with no regular monthly income, but strangely I feel almost nothing at all out of the ordinary as several hours later I switch off the TV, check all the doors and lights, and turn in for the night. Onwards and upward, tomorrow will be another day.

NEXT - the ups and downs of working with recruitment agents