![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
canyonwalkerIn a recent blog I recalled a work situation years ago when my team and I knew we were getting laid off well ahead of time. Well, not all of would get laid off (plot twist!), but pretty much all of us knew we'd leave the company one way or another when the ax fell.
Another part of it was the situation didn't totally suck. The job market was strong, and we were all young enough in our careers that we hadn't become Company Men/Company Women who could no longer imagine— or, in some cases, qualify— for comparable jobs anywhere else. Don't get me wrong; staying at the company would've been our first choice. Staying at the company with an intact team and project, that is. But that option was already off the table. Senior management had already decided to cancel our project and dismiss at least half the team. So we started looking for our next gigs. And slacking.
In between all this we were still working, but barely. Email, we'd answer promptly, but little else had a sense of urgency. Mixed in with work we polished our resumes and reviewed them with each other, searched job boards, and did phone interviews in our offices. Oh, we still did work; we just didn't do it fast. Our work output slowed to about 1/3 normal.
One eerie thing— to me, anyway, as this was early in my career— was that our work slowed down for over a month, and nobody higher up cared. They all either a) knew that we were getting whacked and thus didn't care we were slacking, or b) were too worried about their own jobs and those of their favorites (many of them were Company Men/Women terrified by the prospect of having to find work anywhere else) to care about us. Or c) both. Yay, the reality of Corporate America.
Next up: Stacking the Tea Leaves
What, Me Worry?
"Aren't you worried?" my friends and relatives asked. I really wasn't. A big part of it was certainty vs. uncertainty. Many in the company were worried, because they didn't know what would happen to their jobs. But for me and my colleagues, we knew. And thus we could plan.Another part of it was the situation didn't totally suck. The job market was strong, and we were all young enough in our careers that we hadn't become Company Men/Company Women who could no longer imagine— or, in some cases, qualify— for comparable jobs anywhere else. Don't get me wrong; staying at the company would've been our first choice. Staying at the company with an intact team and project, that is. But that option was already off the table. Senior management had already decided to cancel our project and dismiss at least half the team. So we started looking for our next gigs. And slacking.
Like an In-Office Vacation
We went into "marking time" mode for the next 5 weeks. My colleagues would drift in a bit after 9am, we'd take lunch together at 11:30, then a leisurely team coffee break for at least 45 minute in the afternoon, and we'd all leave a bit after 5. I was generally in at 8am, but I routinely spent the first hour or so surfing the web until my colleagues arrived.In between all this we were still working, but barely. Email, we'd answer promptly, but little else had a sense of urgency. Mixed in with work we polished our resumes and reviewed them with each other, searched job boards, and did phone interviews in our offices. Oh, we still did work; we just didn't do it fast. Our work output slowed to about 1/3 normal.
One eerie thing— to me, anyway, as this was early in my career— was that our work slowed down for over a month, and nobody higher up cared. They all either a) knew that we were getting whacked and thus didn't care we were slacking, or b) were too worried about their own jobs and those of their favorites (many of them were Company Men/Women terrified by the prospect of having to find work anywhere else) to care about us. Or c) both. Yay, the reality of Corporate America.
Next up: Stacking the Tea Leaves
