First, I was optimistic about being laid off. Yes, I really was. I thought that this was a sign from the universe that there was something new out there for me. Although I couldn’t be happier with my work and co-workers (who have since day one treated me as a member of an extended family), the one hour commute each way along with a naive trust in my previous ability to land great jobs in just a couple months of searching clouded my vision. In fact, the very week that the announcement came there were two job postings that fed this delusion.
This is not to say that I wasn’t shell-shocked and disappointed too. We just moved into a brand new space that cost taxpayers nearly a quarter of a million dollars. And if I were sending my daughter to a developing nation for two years, I certainly would feel better if I knew there was at least an office within driving distance solely dedicated to volunteers. Downsizing to keep costs low is supposed to happen primarily in the private sector. Since when did federal agencies become so concerned about the bottom line?
I likened the “merger” or lay offs, as it should’ve been called, to getting dumped. Headquarters was just not that into us. They felt guilty. They wished they could be with us in the way we wanted them to, but it’s not working out. Like in many relationships, it seemed to come out of nowhere. It never does. Rumors of a merger would resurface and then recede every few years.
Like in a break-up, there was denial. Maybe they’ll reconsider? Then anger. How dare they! Our friends in other regional offices felt awkward not knowing what to say. We wallowed. I was due for a hefty annual raise and instead of joy, it made me depressed. I then rebounded with one of those two job propspects I mentioned. One didn’t seem quite right, but I landed a phone interview and then a second one face-to-face. It was a private, large “company” not an “institution” or “nonprofit” where I have spent most of my career. However, it fit my new criteria; creative/rewarding/challenging, offered work life balance, and a shorter commute.
I walked in and the minute I sat down across the table from the woman who would be my boss, I was ready to get up from my chair to leave. She would not make small talk with me. My impression was that she had sacrificed several interns to the corporate gods during her rise into middle management. She asked me to describe myself. My answer wasn’t nearly as polished as her designer stilettos. Realizing this, I admitted that I was going through a layoff. Just like a date with someone on a rebound — they spend the dinner talking about their ex.
She nodded as if in agreement that I could’ve answered her question better. “Yes, I see from your resume that you’ve only worked in humanitarian focused organizations. And now you want to switch? I’m curious why. Because honestly, it is kind of a red flag. I mean, I have friends who tried to go from nonprofit to corporate and hated it.”
“Yeah, okay. Thanks. Bye now.”
I didn’t really say this. I still tried to interview for this job that I could see disintegrating with each passing minute. A few more questions later, she took a phone call. It was apparently a very busy day in the corporate world. I said that I understood. Although, how could I possibly because everything is kum-by-yah and stress free in humanitartian organizations. She spent a lot of time telling me what it would be like to work under her. She asked if I knew PowerPoint. The ad said they wanted someone with a graduate degree and 5 -7 years marketing and communications experience. I should hope this person could use PowerPoint.
When I finally was able to leave “The Devil Wears Prada” boss wanna-be behind, I got mad. So damn angry that I had to be out looking for a job only a year later. I’ve gotten over that. Mostly…some days are hard. But what’s done is done. We’re closing. Okay, fine. It wasn’t meant to be. I still never heard from the other job. It would’ve been perfect. And every day the job boards are bare. Where’s my better fish in the sea? I’m out swimming and it’s just ocean.
