Came around the corner today, toward our cramped little four-people-in-an-office-designed-for-two space and saw telltale green and white packing boxes.
"Fuck," said I, ever eloquent,"Are we moving again?"
Two of my coworkers/officemates just stared at me blankly.
"Are we moving again?" I repeated.
"I was let go," the taller, skinnier coworker said, proceeding to put his personal belongings into his box.
"Me, too, and Charlie," said my rounder, friendlier coworker, referencing one of the few creatives who doesn't work in our cramped cubicle.
I started to sweat. "How did you find out?" I asked.
"Phone call," Tall said. I looked at my phone but didn't see the message light. I dropped my purse and computer bag and went looking for my boss. He was talking to AD.
"Nope," he said. "I mean, of course I want to discuss this with you. But it's done and it's over and this is as far as it goes."
So yesterday there were six of us on the team. Today there are three.
I'm comforted that I made the cut, and my boss said later it wasn't even "a close decision" as to which writers and art director he would keep. On the other hand, it's sad to see people over 50 lose their jobs. Round friendly coworker has a speech impediment, and is desperately uncomfortable with the thought of interviewing.
And it's nice to know that I'm not nuts. I mean, I knew something was up. I'm intuitive enough to sense the change in the political barometer, but not to understand what what it all meant.
But it's sad. It's disruptive. It's sobering to remember that, in advertising, it's more unusual to be kept than it is to be let go.