Redundancy is wild

A very British approach to losing your job

One minute you’re all coexisting. The next, the floor drops out and everyone’s gunning for each other with staplers.

Suddenly Cheryl, who has never once turned her camera on, is providing daily updates and asking if anyone needs support.
Previously non-violent members of the team are quietly planning some sort of coup.

Management are in a meeting debating whether they can stretch to mince pies or if it sends the wrong message.
God forbid a little festive cheer with your P45.

And in true British fashion, no one actually addresses it directly.

Instead, everyone starts talking to you in whispers.
It’s well-intended, but you’re not dying.

A personal highlight was walking into the office post-incident and hearing the playlist change to low-fi instrumentals.
The thinking being that Mr Brightside wasn’t quite the right tone.

By day two, we’re joking.
Wearing black to mourn our jobs.
Saying things like, “what’s the worst they can do, make us redundant?”

And then, every so often, it hits you.

On the drive.
At the corner shop.

I might not be able to afford milk.

Fuck.

There’s also this quiet, humiliating evaluation.
How attractive are you actually?
Will hiring managers like you back?

You rally.

You fix your CV.
You post on LinkedIn.
A recruiter messages you back.

Instant elation.

Then the trail goes cold and the cycle repeats.

All the while, you’re still trying to do your day-to-day job well enough that they might just keep you.

While privately fantasising about stabbing everyone with a really blunt spoon.

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Then suddenly it’s like waking up from a weird fever dream.

It’s over.

Daylight feels sharp. The noise-cancelling headphones come off.

People settle into whatever outcome they got. Some stay. Some go.

I’m leaving.

I should feel excited about what’s next. Instead, I feel resentful that I had to look at all.

Watching people keep their jobs while quietly realising I’m no longer part of the group. It’s a head fuck.

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Thanks for reading! I promised myself to write a honestly as possible — new piece every Sunday.