Signing On

(Never let it be said that my posts aren't topical.) 

With the debate about whether the long-term unemployed should be made to work for their benefits in full swing, I took it upon me this week to officially join the ranks of the jobless.

There used to be a certain stigma about "signing on", but (despite the Tories' best efforts?) these days it seems rare not to know anybody who has spent some time out of work. I, for example, have a plethora of ex-colleagues that have been made redundant over the last few years, and who have been through the process of claiming job seeker's allowance cycle.

It would be a lie, however, to say that I skipped to the job centre with a spring in my step and a song in my heart, however. A small part of me is still slightly in denial about the whole "I need to find a new job" situation, and this seemed like a step too far towards the scary reality. 

However, the process was remarkably swift for a public body - certainly faster than getting a doctor's appointment - and relatively painless -again, the staff seemed friendlier than some doctors' receptionists I have come across, and I escaped feeling relieved and unscathed.

I fear, however, that the bright colours of the new claims section may have lulled me into a false sense of security and will give way to the usual smell of dejection and grey public waiting rooms when I have to go back to the inner sanctum next week...

Nothing Will Work Unless I Do*

It's been three weeks since that initial awkward conversation with my boss. Three weeks in which the actual work I have to do has pretty much dried up completely, and I find myself in what I can only describe as a strange state of limbo. There is still the minutest possibility that another internal job may come off, but as time passes and that possibility fades into the distance, I'm coming to terms with the fact that I may soon find myself unemployed.

The timing is actually rather fortuitous, meaning that at least I am unlikely to have to worry about childcare over the summer holidays. Brilliant, right? Finally loads of spare hours in the day to get around to tackling my paper mountain, or licking the house into some kind of acceptable shape. I even have time to blog more regularly. Um. However, despite my previous protestations, I'm more than aware of the fact that the life of a stay at home mum can't be mine on a permanent basis. The past couple of weeks have given me a very brief insight into how it might look. Apart from the odd day of unusual productivity decluttering the kids' toys, I've come to the conclusion that I'd just end up eating too many biscuits and spend too much time doing online shopping. So much for economising.

The need for money and mental stimulation therefore mean there is only one thing for it - I will have to find some kind of gainful employment. I can't deny that the prospect scares the hell out of me. I've worked out that my last "serious" interview was probably around 14 years ago. Realistically, much as I'd love to find something flexible, I fear my only real option would appear to be to go back to a full-time office-based role.

Or maybe it's time for a complete change of direction? Get off the treadmill, escape the rat race and start something of my own? The problem is what? I'm too much of a generalist to specialise in selling any of my services. My childhood dreams included an acting career (I fear I may have missed the boat on that one), writing a novel (not self-disciplined enough, even if I thought I had a talent for it, which I'm not sure I do), or owning a bookshop. And sadly headlines declaring the "end of the bookshop" appear all too common. Plus I don't really fancy working weekends. I fear my other interests of gin, cheese and interior design are already well covered in the marketplace...

The return to a cubicle farm beckons. Unless anyone has next week's lottery numbers?

Have some pretty flowers. Don't they instantly lift your spirits?

(*attributed to Maya Angelou - Nothing Will Work Unless You Do)

The Call

I've been waiting for the call for months. The only surprise has been that it has taken this long.

So when the Outlook invitation pops into my inbox, I hardly flinch. The subject line is vague. A "chat". We don't really do "chats". It can only mean one thing.

I dial in at the appropriate time. He's late, apologetic, flustered. I'm calm, collected. I know what's coming before he even has time to clear his throat. He launches into the usual platitudes. "Difficult business conditions...ongoing restructuring". I hear the words and inwardly I laugh. It feels funny being on the receiving end. I've uttered those words myself too many times. I recognise the awkward tone...it's apologetic, polite, but definitely wanting to have the conversation over with. Must follow due process. Must follow the script.

He quotes numbers. I'm still grinning like a Cheshire Cat. "Don't worry", I say, "I totally understand". I do, you see. I'd be doing exactly the same in his position. There hasn't been enough work to go around for a while. I'm still smiling. If I keep smiling I can keep my tone upbeat. So funny.

"Call me if you want to chat about anything", he says, and we say goodbye.

It's only then that I burst into tears.

How many times have you ruined someone's life recently?

I enjoy working. I have a reasonably responsible job in a large corporation that is kind enough to let me work relatively flexibly around the various demands of my children. I run a medium to large-ish department. I deal with a wide variety of people from literally all around the globe. Every now and then I even get to visit them in interesting places (although ironically I now very reluctantly do more of this than I did in my previous, childless existence, when I would have jumped at the chance). I have a lot of people that either directly, or indirectly work for me (yes, I have "layers" underneath me!) - some of whom I have never even met. However, the vast majority I have known for a long time - some since I first started straight out of university many moons ago.

At the risk of stating the obvious, the last couple of years have been not been an easy time economically, and the company I work for has not been immune to the global downturn. I have therefore become more adept than I ever could have wanted or imagined to be at making someone redundant. I had to do it again recently, so it is all rather fresh in my mind.

I have to confess that I have never personally been made redundant, so I cannot truly understand the feelings of someone sitting on the opposite side of the table. However, I have to give credit to all the people I have had to give the bad news to over the past few years that they have been gracious and professional about it at all times. That's not to say that they won't have gone home and screamed, shouted, cried, drunk themselves into a stupor etc, but they didn't start throwing things at me, for which I was eternally grateful. I certainly don't know if I would have taken the news as well.

Occasionally I hear what has happened to some of these former colleagues. The majority have quickly found other jobs in similar roles, for which I am thankful. For some, it has even proved a blessing, as they have worked out what they really want to do in life and have used the opportunity (and, I have to say, extremely generous redundancy package) to go in a completely different direction. However, at the back of my mind, there are always one or two that I still wonder about. Inevitably, these tend to be the people that don't stay in touch, that don't post status updates on "LinkedIn", that don't boast about they are fine now, thank you very much. I know of one colleague that, two years on, is still surviving from one temporary job to another. He has a wife and four children to support.

"Sorry" does not even come close.

It's at times like these that I really hate being the "boss".