When I got laid off three weeks ago, I wasn't surprised to experience many of the same emotions I did the first and second time around. What I wasn't so prepared for was all the anger that built up inside of me. It took a few days, maybe a week, but at it's height I felt like my esophagus would explode if I didn't scream at the top of my lungs. I think the reason it took a good bit of time was that the day we had "the meeting," my coworker was fired up enough for the both of us. Despite her hot-tempered delivery, none of the complaints she raised were invalid. In fact, she was spot-on about the insufficiency (or perhaps even cruelty, however inadvertent) of the company's business practices. One of Lance's token phrases came to mind frequently in the following week - "used and abused."
Now, I don't intend to shed such a terrible light on my bosses. They're generally kind people and were a pleasure to work with, when I was working. They just aren't so good in their foresight, and the fragile economic state of architecture only accentuated the weakness in their strategic planning. Leading to the multiple lay-offs and call backs.
I thought I was over my anger. And I actually thought I was doing okay with having to go to Camden for this appointment; that was until last night, when I couldn't even happily watch Transformers because I was growing increasingly grumpy. Sure there were some extraneous instigators: Shiah LeBeouf's acting, for one, and a few more, especially when I got home and tried to sleep (the joys of having only a party wall to separate my room from my neighbor's apartment.) Despite my best efforts, I think I only slept for an hour or so between seven and eight this morning. I laid in the living room all night. At around three a.m. I got up and disposed of the ice cream that I shouldn't have been eating for the past four days.
But today, glad for the forecast of snow not coming to fruition, I sucked it up and went. Getting there was 1/3 of the battle. The best means of public transit to the office, according to trusty google maps, would've been the NJ Transit bus. From unfortunate personal experience, I know that this is never the best means. Walking is even a better bet. So, I chose to take the train and ride my bike. This would've been wonderful had it not been so windy. For those of you who are unaccustomed to cycling, the feeling of riding a bike against harsh wind is akin to swimming against an arctic current. Being there and getting back were the other 2/3's.
Upon arrival, there was a long line of people waiting to file for benefits in person, as opposed to waiting on the phone, only to be repeatedly disconnected. One of the staffers announced that those of us with a one o'clock appointment would be in conference room three. So we went back, and proceeded to be "oriented." The only redeeming part of the whole adventure was perhaps that the guy sitting beside me saw that I was reading The Architect's Newspaper and asked how I felt about the room we were sitting in. It was just as you might have expected. The uncomfortable desks were organized in rows on top of a grey-green carpet. No windows and no clock. The only thing adorning the walls were a handful of motivational posters, my favorite of which featured the key phrase "the path to failure is the path of least persistence." And one with a bunch of rubber duckies on it, of which I completely missed the point. My new comrade indicated that it would've been nice to see one with a kitten on it, and I wholeheartedly agreed.
The hour and a half that followed was far less stimulating than those first ten minutes. We watched a video on the programs offered by the state. Besides the subject matter being entirely unrelated, it felt like a movie we would have watch in tenth grade health education, complete with clips of techno-pop recycled from a 1980's exercise video, a woman with an accent that I couldn't place, and corny powerpoint graphics with the image of a key in the top left of the screen that I can only imagine seemed really innovative back in 1995. The mustached man proctoring seemed nice enough, but his feigned enthusiasm, juxtaposed by the settling boredom in the room, made it feel even more like tenth grade health class.
They do honestly provide some fantastic to resources, none of which I plan to use. Mainly because it would require making the dastardly trip to South Jersey on multiple occasions; that has absolutely no appeal. On my ride home though, I took some time to reflect on how I might not consider this experience as a total loss. I was hoping that maybe my experience in the dismal classroom might have some bearing on my thesis. Or maybe there was a "flexing of my emotional muscles," so to speak. I didn't really come up with anything though - maybe it'll hit me tomorrow.
No comments:
Post a Comment