Instead of finding that chronicle of the early days of Coachella, I found the essay I wrote when I was laid off from my dot-com job the following week. I'm posting it here, because I thought it was lost forever. I had decided at the time not to post it on my webzine. But there's a heckuva lot of water under the bridge since then--like, all of my 30s.
I give you, from the early months of the George W. Bush administration...
The
Day I Lost My Dot-Com Job
They
say the first sign you’re going to lose your job is your ass is sitting in an
Aeron chair. Mine’s been lounging in one since last June, and indeed, it’s been
a long, slow, sometimes painful death. It all came to an end in the early
workday hours of Friday, May 4.
Somehow,
despite all the signs and the knowledge that anyone at any dot-com could go at
any moment, it still seemed a shock. Maybe because we stopped referring to
ourselves as a dot-com a while back. (Too many negative connotations for VC--venture
capitalists, not Viet Cong.) We had weathered the storm for a while, and it
seemed our benefactors were committed to the company.
Still,
a day or two before the ax fell, a coworker (also axed) was discussing the
general climate, and the fact that you’d have to be seriously out of it not to see
things couldn’t last much longer. Our head of production had set a goal of
around 6000 registered users. Instead, we had maybe seven. That’s a single
digit, my friend, not thousands.
The
chain of events went something like this:
Around
9:15 I saw the head of production in my boss’s office with the door shut. I do
not think that I have ever seen the head of production talking in my boss’s
office. I do not think I have ever seen the head of production talking to my
boss, period. This was clearly not a good sign.
I
returned to my desk and logged in to my Outlook email box. A message from the
CEO sent to everyone read: there is a staff meeting at 1 pm. Please plan to be
there. We have not had a staff meeting in a month or so, and those are usually
on Tuesdays. I remarked to a coworker nearby about this. Could be “the” meeting
I said. Shit, I don’t want to be fired today, she said.
And
she wasn’t. But I’m getting ahead of myself. After this remark to my coworker,
I returned to my office and sat down. I don’t believe more than two minutes
passed before my boss stuck her head in the office and asked my officemate and
I to come speak to her.
Okay.
We’re getting some sort of warning, I thought. The situation doesn’t look too
good. We ought to start looking for other options in case our portion of the
site was closed. I brought my coffee. I would be relaxed, despite what was
definitely going to be some serious discussion. And besides, I had just poured
the dang thing.
So
we sat down, and I sipped some coffee. My boss was looking mighty somber. But
before she could say anything, or there was any uncomfortable silence while we
waited for her to say something, the CEO flew into the office, sweeping the door shut behind
and pulling up a chair.
I
know that there’s been some rumors going around recently about lay-offs, she
said. Have you heard these rumors?
No,
I said. More of a general feeling that things were not going well.
Okay,
well, unfortunately, there are going to be lay-offs, and you two will be some
of the ones let go.
And
that was that. This discussion went on a while about not being any reflection
on our personal performances, etc. She explained our severance package, and
then I signed something saying I would not disclose any trade secrets or
proprietary information, and that:
“In
accordance with normal ethical and professional standards, you agree to refrain
from taking actions or making statements, written or oral, which disparage,
defame or negatively reflect on the goodwill or reputation of the Company, its
directors, officers, executives and employees, or which could adversely affect
the morale of employees.”
My
favorite part of that is the capital “C” for “the Company.” Hey all you
Christians out there, when Jesus kicked out that one disciple, did he force him
to sign something that said he would not say anything that would “negatively
reflect on the goodwill or reputation of God”? Maybe that’s where this
gem of legalese came from…
I
have no intentions of defaming the company. I am fairly certain that our
funder’s stormtroopers of death would swoop down on me if I dared disparage the
big “C.” And I think they’re all decent people. They mean well.
The
company is actually doing a pretty good job of handling this, giving us another
week of “work” which we aren’t really expected to show up for, and an
additional two weeks of severance pay. Thing is, that three weeks puts me one
week away from my one year anniversary, at which I would be entitled to my 10%
bonus, that everyone within the company has pretty much received just for
lasting that long. And I would receive a third of my vested stock options (HA!)
in case this company ever amounted to anything. Which it won’t.
And
then, immediately after being fired, before the CEO got up, we were told that
there might be some contract work coming in that we would be needed for. So we
could be fired, then re-hired to come right back here and work, sans benefits
or bonuses. Doesn’t that sound great! That would be a little weird, don’t you
think, I asked. You don’t have to accept the contract work, I was told.
Funny
thing is, this mirrors the situation when I was hired. I was offered my job a
mere minute or two before I was assigned to jury duty. When the company found
out I might have to serve on a jury, they began to have second thoughts: maybe
we don’t want you, maybe we do want you, maybe we don’t want you. It was all
very unprofessional, and typical of a start-up without any human resources
liason. Again this was happening, and it wasn’t the fault of conniving,
mean-spirited administration, just benign incompetence.
The
sort of benign incompetence that works very hard to keep employees on in any
way possible, but doesn’t do the fundamental things to make the company a
success. Things like having a workable business model; okay, there are not many
of those floating around for web sites like ours. But how about our “Field of
Dreams” marketing approach? It goes like this, spend all your money on
expanding the company and developing your site, but NONE on advertising. You
don’t need any. If you build it, they will come. Oh, why don’t they come?
To
be fair, we did spend a bit on advertising, but that was only because we
committed to it long, long ago. Our advertising ran at the end of last summer,
and it was brilliant: we took out a full page ad that utilized a royalty-free
photo, the sort anyone can buy generically rather than shooting themselves.
Guess what? Someone else bought it (one of our “competitors”) and ran it in an
ad (in the very same magazine). Nevermind that no parent (no one period) I know
reads family computer magazines like the one our ad ran in.
But
back to my day. I decided it might be fun to hang around, despite the fact that
I was told I could leave. I was interested to attend that staff meeting.
Unfortunately, I stepped out for some air with a fellow laid-off person, and
came back to find everyone in a bumped-ahead meeting. Maybe they were waiting
for us to leave the building, I don’t know. I stuck around, whittled down my
MP3s, and ate another free lunch. Portabello mushroom sandwich. Those free
lunches probably kept me from quitting of my own accord long ago. The day
before we were canned, the company spent almost $500 on sodas. (Your friends
are gone, but think about all the free Mountain Dew!) Smart folks, in some
ways.
I
finally headed home, but not before the CEO popped in my office letting me know
she was close to landing a contract deal for more editorial work. She is really
trying hard! I do not think she wants to fire me! But this is not working! Not
any of it! I really have to leave; I cannot hang out any longer waiting for the
“good” news. I go home, and my boss calls me frantically. She wants me to get
excited about this potential contract work. She doesn’t want to fire me either.
She is genuinely upset about all this. But it is no use. I am not interested in
treading water with this company any more. Thanks, but no thanks. It’s been
real, and it’s been fun, but—
The
last month or so I had thought about the final statement I would make when my
time was up with the company. An email message sent out to the entire staff
with Johnny Paycheck’s “Take This Job and Shove It,” perhaps. But, no, I think
I won’t do that. Instead, I will leave with the words of another great redneck,
Davy Crockett. It was Davy who once said:
“YOU
ALL CAN GO TO HELL. I’M A GOIN’ TO TEXAS!”
And
maybe I’ll die there like Davy. But that beats a slow drowning in a Century
City office building. See ya.
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