"I'm really sorry," people say kindly. You are both the deceased and the survivors, the receiving line of one. "Maybe you're destined for an even better place," some will add. Heaven? No, a company with dental coverage. Ever pick through the belongings of someone who just died? I got the same feeling when I had to collect all the junk from my desk and walls that I'd brought in to express a little joy and stimulation become, which becomes the most embarrassing and idiotic junk after you get the ax. You decorate your office or cubicle in the spirit of merriment, of making your workplace a spirited and stimulating place.But Spiritedand stimulating is the last thing you feel when packing your boxes. That's why it pays to decorate your office sparsely. In the case that you get laid off, you can make the quick exit. ("He went just like that!" is better than "Mark Morelli finally left his office after a long, brave bout with putting Boxing Nuns, Mr. T cereal boxes and the Smurf figurines arranged in explicit poses into empty Office Max photocopy paper boxes. I was part of eight who were eliminated as a cost measure. The Eight. Capitalized. A band of brothers (and chicks!) who fell so that others may live! I only hope that when the next intern shows up at the ad agency, the kid will hungrily ask about The Eight, and begin to put the tale to music on his folk guitar, or a budding designer will create a mural on some hidden wall in the boiler room. The Eight will join together and limp down Main Street at the next Labor Day parade. Former co-workers will get pregnant and name their new children after us. Or... The morning after I packed up and left, someone said, "I'm taking his chair." A couple of weeks ago, before losing my job, my 11-year-old daughter asked, "What are you afraid of, Dad?" "I'm afraid of not reaching my potential," I said. "I am afraid of not using my gifts and abilities. I'm afraid of growing stodgy and humorless. I'm afraid losing track of time, and letting life slip away to the point where I look back and say, `What did I do? Did I make the best of it? Did I make the world a better place?' I'm afraid I won't write that novel, I'm afraid that I'll never visit England and walk the Cotswolds, I'm afraid...." My daughter's eyes glazed. "I'm afraid of spiders," she said. That's what I'm afraid of . . . being afraid of anything more than spiders. Stay afraid of spiders, and just spiders, and everything will be cool.
It's the closest you'll ever come to attending your own funeral -- the day you get canned and your co-workers hang around while you clean out your desk.
