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Notes from the Breadline:
You Can’t Go Back, and You Can’t Stand Still

Tuesday, February 24, 2009 6:08 PM - By Roxana St Thomas

Notes from the Breadline Roxana St Thomas.jpgEd. note: Welcome to the latest installment of “Notes from the Breadline,” a column by a laid-off lawyer in New York. Prior columns are collected here. You can reach Roxana St. Thomas by email, at roxanastthomas@gmail.com, or find her on Facebook.

There are certain pieces of news that no one wants to deliver, and which seem so unpalatable that the need to announce them induces dread, discomfort, or simply the desire to hide in one’s apartment and alphabetize the bookshelf. Examples of such revelations might include “I wrecked the car,” “There’s a typo in your tattoo,” “Your boyfriend belongs to the Celine Dion Fan Club,” or “I forgot to save the document, and then my computer crashed.” Having the ensuing conversation is sure to be unpleasant; knowing that you’ll probably have it every day is enough to make the standard bikini wax, by comparison, seem delightful.

But the wheel is turning; you may not be able to hold on, but you can’t let go. If, like me, you are fired abruptly (and without a generous parting gift from the sponsor), it does not take long to realize that time is among the luxuries not included in your severance package. You have approximately one day, give or take a few hours, to stare into space pondering your fate, wonder why you didn’t throw a paperweight, kick over a chair, or scream “fuck you!” during the meeting at which you were “terminated,” and debate whether it is too late to eat a large meal, return to the assignment partner’s office, and induce vomiting. After that, take a deep breath. Notwithstanding widespread belief to the contrary, they weren’t kidding. And, although being “terminated” sounds like a CIA euphemism for “being killed,” it is, in fact, both far better and way more complicated; if the firm simply had you ‘disappeared’ (an option that many have probably contemplated), your to-do list would be considerably shorter. For better or worse, the fact is that when your job ends, the work begins.

So, if you find yourself tasked with this unwelcome new avocation, where to begin? As a preliminary matter, take note: post-employment may feel more like a stress test than a learning experience, but there are certainly lessons to be derived from the floundering, confusion, and free-flowing advice that characterize its early days.

Among them are a few basic (but helpful) concepts. First: tell everyone. Second: be prepared for the responses, from the ridiculous to the sublime, which will invariably pour in.

Read about some of the suggestions, after the jump.

Shortly after my unceremonious discharge (or, as I learned to call it, “being fired”), I heard a piece on the radio entitled The Silver Lining, which featured the author of a book with the gratingly cheerful title No Job? No Prob!: How to Pay Your Bills, Feed Your Mind, and Have a Blast When You’re Out of Work Despite my initial urge to go directly to the radio station and throttle any person who had the audacity to suggest, with exclamation-pointed ebullience, that being jobless could be viewed as a groovy break from the grind of annoying, time consuming employment, I listened on. To be certain, both the author and most of the callers appeared to be viewing unemployment from the distant shore of what I thought of as Workistan - the state in which one arrives after a period of joblessness, and from which being out of work seems unfettered and romantic; a time to sit in cafes, read your untouched New Yorker issues, and window-shop for things you can’t buy but probably didn’t have room for in your apartment anyway (whew!).

Moreover, none of them seemed to have experienced a layoff under the circumstances now faced by an entire generation of lawyers. It might be easy to relax if you were relatively confident about your job prospects, but the sheer number of jobless attorneys clogging the market made me wonder how far we were from gathering in parking lots to solicit potential employers for day work. Summary judgment motion? I can do that! TRO? I’ll do it for less than that guy! I pictured crowds of lawyers in bespoke suits, clamoring for a spot in the back of the pickup truck that would take them to an office - any office - for a day of research and document drafting, hunched over in low light.

Still: they had several good points, among them the importance of routinely announcing that one was “between opportunities.” In fact, one caller told of not one but two random encounters (during which she mentioned that she was out of work) which led to real, live, full time jobs. It was true, I thought, listening to the show: anyone could have an idea, a connection, or a lead on a position. And, notwithstanding the irritatingly upbeat tone of the show’s callers, there was something to be said for coming clean. Spending your days desperately e-mailing resumes from the public library is unappealing, but why hide it? I had observed creepy men openly and notoriously surfing for porn on You Tube; pursuing employment, on the other hand, was at least arguably more dignified.

Having determined that I would “come out” to anyone who would listen, I realized that both time and method were of the essence. Announcing that you have lost your job is like having a terribly ugly boyfriend; you want to prepare people early, if only to manage expectations. The modern world is kind to us in this regard: a simple e-mail can save you from having The Conversation countless times, facing the inevitable awkward silence, and being forced to explain that you are not, in fact, trying to perpetuate an elaborate ruse.

I decided to send one e-mail to my family and another to friends and colleagues. (Note: if your family members lack technical skill, and are likely to send a “reply all” message in which pet names or childhood stuffed animals are mentioned, you might want to consider this tactic.) My e-mail to friends announced that I was among the recently downsized, and that I had decided to spread the word, just in case someone had an idea or an insight. I did not ask for help, but offered my resume to anyone who might want it; it seemed important to explain, without saying so, that I did not assume that my lawyer friends could do anything to help me. I knew that many of them were as precariously situated as I had been, and I did not want them to feel guilty. I did not attempt to sound quite as upbeat or casual in the e-mail to my family. Moreover, I warned them, “I got a shitty severance package, so don’t say things like, ‘think of it as an unplanned vacation!’”

Should you find yourself in this unfortunate situation, the silver lining may, in fact, be the heartbreaking degree of generosity and kindness with which most friends and family members respond. But - without diminishing, in any way, the gift of support and encouragement - be warned: once your news is out there, the floodgates are open. And, I learned, once advice is given or help offered, there is an unspoken expectation that you will take it - and take it gladly.

One cousin wrote, “We’ll keep our fingers crossed as you search for a new job and will send along any suggestions, most of which will be bone-headed I am sure.” This sentiment was followed by a boneheaded suggestion. My father, with whom I had not lived since I was 17, offered me a place to stay. He added that “room, board, incidentals are free if you need them,” and mentioned that my old teddy bear could be summoned back into service. He also seized the opportunity to opine on the evils of capitalism, writing that “having lived through all Grandma and Grandpa’s Depression stories, I know that this has nothing do with anyone’s worth. I agree with mentioning your situation to everybody and most emphatically with not hanging your head in shame. That was one of the multiple things I learned from Grandma and Grandpa, who had a hell of a lot of experience with unemployment, and taught me that what one earns, or does not, in a capitalist society is ABSOLUTELY NO MEASURE of one’s intrinsic worth intellectually, spiritually, or in any other way.” Several months later, my father still begins every conversation with, “So, are you going to lose your apartment?” and, invariably, finds a way to blame my situation on the Bush administration.

My stepmother told me that I “should not be ashamed” to come and stay with her, adding that “there are lots of great singles events at the Y!” and that “maybe you can finally meet someone!” My mother sent me a listing for a job in Buffalo; when I told her that I did not want to think about relocating just yet, and especially not to Buffalo, she seemed hurt. “You wouldn’t have to relocate,” she said impatiently. “Buffalo is seven hours away,” I told her. “What would I do? Commute?” She looked at me as though I had just declined a piece of homemade pie. “Hmphf,” she sniffed. “You know, it pays a lot more than unemployment.”

Friends were also supportive, although a number of them suggested that I take an impromptu vacation, or at least engage in activities which, as a soon-to-be unemployed person, suddenly seemed off-limits. “Oh Roxana,” one wrote, “I am so sorry! Greed has put a lot of the world in such a bad situation. I hope you find something soon! Well, we’re thinking of going skiing this weekend, if you are interested. Let me know!” Another responded, “Really sorry to hear that! Yes, please send me your resume. Hey, just think of the bright side — you can come be a beach bum with me all summer!” I winced upon reading that. All summer? Six months from now? The thought made me shudder.

Another friend reminded me of an idea I’d had, and promptly forgotten. “Oh, Sweetie,” her e-mail began. “I am so sorry to hear this. But now it totally makes sense that you were asking how to get a fish into the dropped ceiling in your office.” No, I wanted to tell her: it doesn’t really make sense. But it might go well with the egg.

So, I learned, telling people that I had been laid off could be cathartic, even comforting. It was also a lot easier than I thought it would be, and became more so as time went on. In fact, it may have become too easy. Toward the end of the week I was “terminated,” I decided to make one last trip to the overpriced neighborhood ice cream store (a casualty of my austerity plan).

“Roxana!” the girl behind the counter exclaimed when I walked in. “I haven’t seen you in, like, a million years!”

“I got fired!” I said automatically. She stared at me blankly, unsure how to react. I realized, suddenly, that I had said too much. Being laid off was the biggest thing that had happened to me that week, but, to a relative stranger, it was no more interesting than the unprompted revelation of what I’d had for dinner, or the news that puppies are cute.

“Sorry,” I mumbled. “I’ll have a large.”
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Roxana St. Thomas is a laid-off lawyer living in New York. You can reach her by email, at roxanastthomas@gmail.com, or find her on Facebook.

Earlier: Prior installments of Notes from the Breadline

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