Okay, so not fired exactly. I got made redundant, which makes me horribly sad. It wasn't so much that I did anything wrong, it wasn't performance based, it's just they weren't going in the same direction anymore and alas, suddenly the space that a whole team used to occupy is now no more. I'm sure it wasn't an easy decision, axing a whole team. I do wonder how difficult it was, though, considering that it was a business decision, not a people one, made by people who didn't know us, and didn't really understand the London culture we had going, or how we contributed to it. We were offered the chance to apply for our equivalent jobs in the states, but I'm pretty sure that was mostly air. Half of us didn't even qualify for the visa, and I doubt they were going to go to extreme lengths to keep us.
So yes, I don't have a job.
I'm not worried. It's been a few days and I've already had a handful of interviews. I'm sure that by the time I'm ready to work again (thank you, amazing severance package), work will be there.
The strangest thing is how other people have taken it. Perhaps first, I should mention how our team took it. Well. We took it well, we understood the reasons why, and while we were proud of all that we've done in our time together, we were okay to finish it up, and see it move to elsewhere and move on. We laughed, and reminisced and we drank an awful lot of wine. But mostly, mostly we wished each other well, and promised to keep in touch. We handled it well.
Everyone else in the office? They touched my arm and mentioned how sad they were, and how much it sucks that our company has done this. I know they mean well, and they want to reach out, and to commiserate. They're not sure exactly what to say, and with their furrowed eyebrows and big sad puppy dog eyes I'm apt to avoid them rather then start up a conversation.
Because I'm not sad, and I don't want to commiserate. I can see that my grin and laughter confuses them.
How can someone who has just lost their job be happy and fine? Because I don't doubt my future, that's why. I don't doubt that I'll get another job, and feel that this is just another step in the road rather than a deep cataclysmic apocalypse that everyone else seems to think it is.
Don't get me wrong, I didn't want to be made redundant. I do resent the company a little, and even more so my american counterparts (did you know that in the last two weeks I have in the office, with mere days left until my leaving, my american manager hasn't reached out to say ANYTHING? How rude!). A whole line of plans have been ruined, and I gave up GLASTONBURY tickets because they were worried about how much leave I was taking and then they made me redundant. Dicks.
Anyway. The point is, shit happens. I'm dealing with it and moving on the best I can, and the way I do that is with grins and laughing and enthusiasm for all the possibilities that have now opened up.
But the concerned folks who still have jobs... their concern is getting down on my last week in the office. This office is vibrant, and hilarious and the attitudes of everyone here makes it easy to be here. But when you've been let go... the attitude is one of a dead man walking. Talk quietly, hush, no sudden movements.
There are some things I'll miss. I'll miss my team. My hilarious ridiculous, mostly work inappropriate team. I'll miss the friends I've made, and the Wednesday, Thursday and Friday Clubs. I'll miss the adventures, and random conversations and the ridiculous hats. I was only here a little while, and in that time I managed to climb a mountain with these people, befriend them, and partake in all of the mad adventures.
Moving on, aye? It happens. I'm glad it did. It was brilliant to be part of Social Apps. High five, you guys! I'll miss y'all.