Fuck, fuck, fuck

At 4:15 pm tonight, I was called into the CEO’s office and laid off for lack of work. I had to return my keys, my building key card, my company credit card and — this is what cheesed me off — my bus pass. I was told that this would be my last day, there was my two weeks notice pay (I have my last pay cheque coming in through direct deposit on Monday), and I should make an off-hours appointment to come back and get my stuff so as not to affect morale by cleaning out during work hours.

To the best of my knowledge, no one was unhappy with my work — just with our current lack of projects and my relatively billing high rate (I’m underpaid for my experience, skills and diplomas, but our overhead rate is high.) Except for one other person in the office, I was probably the most versatile. I didn’t get, in the conversation, any indication that the managers were not happy with me, even though the way this was done looks like an execution.

Naturally, this is not a good time. Not that there are many times when you want to be laid off, but right now is not particularly auspicious, given that I’ll have to fly back and forth to Quebec and that’s costly. Maybe we’ll move back there.

Frankly, I thought it would have been nice to at least have lunch with my ex-colleagues rather than be buried behind the shed.

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