To the Hard Working People Who Get Fired Every Day Through No Fault of Their Own

Bottom line. In the red. Downsizing. Combining revenue streams. Consolidating assets. Maximizing potential. Cutting the fat. Force reduction. Derecruitment. Job separation. Right-sizing. Workforce imbalance correction.

“I’m sorry, but we have to let you go.”

And just like that. As if you are freed; they have “let” you “go.”

The opposite is true. Suddenly, you are more tied down than you have ever been. You pull out your bank statements and start doing the math. First the essentials: food, rent, gas for the car (now much less that you aren’t driving to work), Internet because you have to look for a job and cellphone because they need to call you. Electric, water.

Then you look at what’s optional. Cable TV (who has that anymore? sooo 2005). Prescription meds? Maybe you can cut them in half. Summer camp for the kids? That’s what the backyard is for. Pizza Friday? We’ll make our own.

Your kid comes in; she’s scratching a bug bite on her leg and wants a popsicle. Don’t upset the children, you think, and hand her a grape one. Tomorrow morning, she will tell you she’s glad you’re having breakfast with her. And you lose your appetite. You love her, but you don’t want to eat too many breakfasts with her.

You plan. You update the resume and pull out your interview jacket. You get on the phone; make a call, and another, and another. You keep busy. Volunteer. Stop all Facebooking and Tweet only sports news.

People will ask you how you are and you will say fine. They will tell you about when they got fired or their cousin did. And then they will pat you on the back and say two things, “You’re gonna be ok,” and “Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

You have always worked on Tuesdays and it’s weird. It’s wrong. Your run to the store to get onions for dinner, only it’s 3 PM and you’re in shorts.

You have always worked hard. You didn’t think you did it for the money, but…

I don’t believe in praying for jobs or patience or good luck. I don’t believe in blessings. I want to believe in justice, but there are too many people.

So now you take care of what you can. You paint your house. You volunteer at the Free Community Meal. You drive your mother to the doctor. She can’t remember the name of her bank. You’ve stopped rolling your eyes when she does this. You think about the day she won’t remember which house is hers, the day you walk in and she doesn’t recognize you. There is always so much work to do.