January 19th was an ordinary day. I got up, started the coffee, fed the dog and let her outside. After finishing breakfast, my wife and I sat together and discussed our plans for the day. She was meeting our oldest daughter for a mother-daughter spa day the kids gave her for Christmas. I was planning on spending the day doing required elevator maintenance visits at my largest customer’s facility.
For me it was just a typical Wednesday.
When the boss called a little after 9 AM and asked me to come into the office at 11, I knew that something was up. Then I got a call from another field tech telling me not to answer my phone that so-and-so got a call to go into the office. When I told him it was too late his response was unprintable. I got a call from another co-worker and he didn’t believe that they would lay me off. I quipped “I don’t think he called me in to give me a promotion.”
The rest of the morning was a bit of a blur. There was no yelling, screaming, threats or fists through the wall. I shook my now former bosses hand, told him it was a pleasure to have worked FOR him and not just reported TO him, cleaned out my truck and got a ride home from the warehouse supervisor.
When I called my wife to tell her the news she was in the middle of a department store looking at crock pots with my daughter. After hanging up the phone she turned to her and said “I don’t think I’m buying a crock pot today. Your dad just got laid off.”
My mother actually took it harder than anyone. She is an old-time union organizer from the time when picketing workers got their heads cracked by Pinkertons. She called the next day while I was trying to process everything that happened. “What happened? Why you? Where’s your Business Agent? What about unemployment?” The questions where like machine gun bullets. For an 80 year-old woman, she still has a lot of fight.
It wasn’t long before the phone was flying off the hook. Friends and people I’d worked with for twelve years were calling to send their condolences. I noticed a curious thing; everyone talked to me like my wife or children just died in a fiery car crash. It’s the tone, the look in the eyes and the head tilt. “Oh no! How can that happen? What were they thinking?” I’ve heard that it’s the same reaction when someone tells a long-time friend about a divorce.
After everything settled down I had a chance to reflect and reassess the events. My life did change that day but not in all the ways you might expect.
I still get up at the same time every morning. After all, the dog still needs to be fed and the coffee pot doesn’t set itself. After my youngest daughter goes off to work, I spend the morning listening to the radio, drinking coffee with my wife and searching the internet for possible job opportunities, writing and, of course, waiting for the business agent to call.
Before lunch I take the dog for a walk. She has become my best friend. As we walk, I can tell her anything and all she does is look up at me, smile, stick out her tongue and let me know that no matter what happens, she will always like me and that everything will be OK.
BBC America. Noon. Top Gear. Appointment TV. Nuff said.
I spend most of my afternoons making my Honey-Do List into my Honey-Done List. So far I have:
- fixed a hole in the hallway wall,
- replaced a couple of broken floor tiles,
- cleaned up the outside (as our current bout of global warming will allow),
- turned my son’s old room into an office/model railroad room,
- built a couple of models for the model railroad,
- cleaned out my shed,
- read and reread almost a dozen books,
- started a website, and
- successfully stayed out of my wife’s way.
My leather chair makes a great place to nap and pretend to be master of all I survey.
I’ve heard from a couple of my old customers. They wonder where I’m at and when I’ll be back. I just direct them to the company. I occasionally run into the guys and they all say they miss me. When they start telling me about what has been going on, I politely nod my head, go to my happy place and remind them that these are not my problems anymore.
When they were my problems, I took care of them. The only time I’d call the boss was when there was a problem beyond my scope of authority to handle. How many times did he get those calls? Not as often as from others who called you every time drew a breath.
I suppose this is what retirement is like. One of my retired friends told me “every day is a Saturday and every night is a Friday.” I see what he means. All my days are starting to run together. The delineation between Monday, Tuesday or Wednesday has become blurred and meaningless. My nights are defined by whether Top Chef or the US version of Being Human are on TV. Time really does fly.
I loved my job, I loved what I did and I did it well.
I miss it.
Now, I’m off to the next great adventure. Whether that is at another company or in another aspect of the business, I don’t know. I still want to come back and work where I once did and if I have to report to someone else, then so be it.
Until then you know where I’ll be: drinking coffee, applying for work, walking the dog, watching Top Gear, writing and, of course, waiting.
Through the Mill 