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De-Employed

Shock and awwww

by Scott McNutt

If you are ever plunged into the chaos that ensues from abrupt termination of your life-supporting employment, I highly recommend the following course of action:

Go buy a very large, very expensive bottle of Scotch (preferably single malt).

Bring the Scotch home, place it on the kitchen table, and seat yourself in a chair in front of it.

Pick up the bottle and smash it over your head.

Fall over unconscious.

As you might suspect, this action will in no way ease your fiscal or emotional shock. But it does provide a strong visceral connection to your sense of pain and loss. Which is important, because you're in a complete fog after losing a job. Weeks later, you'll come to, dazed and confused, with no memory of the past days, having lost critical time, during which you could have been filing for unemployment or dancing in a gay bar in Havana, wearing nothing but a sombrero. Using my method, when you wake up in the hospital from your head-trauma-induced coma, at least you'll have something specific to tie your condition to.

Of course, in your time of need, there's no shortage of friends, family, and well-wishers waiting to assist you. This is good, because it gives you, the afflicted, the chance to share your feelings with those closest to you. And those feelings can be best summed up as "Shut the #@&% up!" Because you'll want to say that every time one of them trots out another tired, sympathetic nothing about keeping your chin up, your feet on the ground, and your nose to the grindstone. If you are endowed with the sensitivity of a mollusk, it's only natural to want to say "Shut the #@&% up!" when confronted by such meaningless homilies.

If, on the other hand, you do not wish to seize this rare opportunity to say "Shut the #@&% up!" to those you love, here are a few ready-made responses to some commonly encountered, feel-better-about-your-job-loss cliches:

Loved one: "Every cloud has a silver lining."

You: "Good for the frickin' cloud. How's that help me?"

Loved one: "There's a light at the end of the tunnel." Second loved one: "You know it's always darkest before the dawn."

You: "How can I see the light at the end of the tunnel in the dark before dawn?"

Loved one: "Keep a stiff upper lip."

You: "Why? So the bluebird of happiness can perch there and crap down my throat?"

Yeah, yeah, sure, sure. I know what you're saying: "Scott, that's no way to think! You must take a positive attitude about this."

What can I say? Some people, if life gives them lemons, they sell used cars. Me, when I get lemons, I pucker my lips on their juices and spit it into the eyes of passers-by. Because I'm bitter, dammit, bitter.

If I want the right attitude about losing my job, I'll get it the old-fashioned, American way, I'll by God buy it. That's right: There are dozens of books on job loss, like The Job Loss Recovery Guide: A Proven Program for Getting Back to Work—Fast!, A Punch in the Stomach: Taking Back Your Life After Job Loss, and Who Moved My Cheese?, plus an equal number of courses on job loss with titles like "Coping with Job Loss," "Taking Control of Job Loss," and "Who Moved My Cheese?," all designed and written by people who have lost their jobs just like me, and now want me to keep them employed.

If you are an unAmerican sort who wants to avoid paying for job-loss help, you can find plenty of free information about losing a job on line. For instance, you can learn that there are five stages in dealing with job loss: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. You can also learn that these stages were first identified by Elizabeth Kubler-Ross as what a dying person goes through. When you're dealing with losing your job, knowing that you're also preparing to die is comforting. It demonstrates your multi-tasking abilities.

Ultimately, though, coping with job loss comes down to you. You can whine about your fate, or you can take action. You can grieve about it, or you can get on with your life. You can sit there and take it, or you can stand up and kick it in the ass. You can read this, or you can say "Shut the #@&% up!"
 

July 24, 2003 * Vol. 13, No. 30
© 2003 Metro Pulse