Yesterday I was laid off from my job.
Always before when I left a job it was on my own terms. This time it was on their terms. The cuts were deep and the exodus was large. One third of the workforce vanished within the last two weeks.
A co-worker walked past me, head hung low, carrying the things one takes away from a cubicle; photo of a loved one, a child’s drawing. Another was carefully folding his work life into a small cardboard box.
I first noticed the pink slip ripple when my husband lost his job in January. (Thankfully, he started in a new position Monday.) He was always a starched-white-shirt kind of guy. Suddenly, we found ourselves with almost no need for a dry cleaner. “Where is the blond woman who used to greet me?” I wondered silently during one of my rare recent visits to the cleaners.
And then came my own job-gone yesterday. Today I laid off our nanny and the couple who clean our house. The nanny, a self proclaimed Starbucks addict will probably make fewer trips to that “third place.” The cleaning couple will no doubt make cuts of their own.
And the pink slip ripple continues.