Redundancy: Part 1
These things always happen when you least expect them, don’t they? Like a confession of infidelity or a Lottery win. Thankfully I’ve never been on the receiving end of the former, but then sadly neither have I of the latter…
But in all truthfulness, it didn’t come out of the blue. Working for one of Wales’ biggest publishers, I had spent seven years witnessing almost annual rounds of redundancies thanks to falling print ad revenues, fewer people buying newspapers and an over-zealous MD, so it was really only a matter of time before it was my turn.
Like the death of an elderly relative who has been ill for years, it still came as a body shock.
How they announced the redundancies
Here’s how it happened: I was going on holiday and had taken the day off to pack and have a spray tan. On walking back through the front door from the salon, the phone rang. It was my boss. And not my line manager but my BIG boss. Uh-oh. I must have made some horrendous subbing mistake that was going to lead to legal action and cost me my job.
Well, I was kind of half right, as it turned out.
She was fairly ambiguous, suggesting it would be a good idea to come into the office as a major departmental meeting was being held in literally an hour or so from then. I recall asking directly whether it was regarding redundancies and getting a non-committal reply. Not good news.
My first thought was to not bother going in. After all, it was my day off, for heaven’s sake! Not to mention the fact that I was covered head to foot in fake tan that I had been instructed not to wash off until the following morning. But the alternative was to sit at home worrying what was going on and whether my future was being decided for me in my absence.
Who was going to get the axe?
So donning a black maxi dress I braved the torrential rain (tip: fake tan and water don’t mix) and caught the train to work, feeling like a condemned woman but then reminding myself that my tendency for pessimism might mean that I was blowing this all out of proportion. Perhaps it was something entirely different?
Walking into the office, the tension was palpable. And as we all congregated in one of the boardrooms, it was obvious this was serious.
What our editorial director said in that meeting is now just a blur (even though, like a good journalist, I made notes during the meeting). And despite individuals not being named, in a nutshell, most production journalist roles were being made redundant and we would be forced to compete for a handful of new roles or a part-time position – or opt for redundancy.
Like bereavement, redundancy seems to have several stages – shock, grief, anger, acceptance, moving on, etc. At this point I simply felt numb, although I recall texting my other half, desperate to hear, or rather read, some words of reassurance and hope.
Although it was my day off, I filed back to my desk with the rest of the department to join the safe ones (writers, managers), most of whom who had the good grace to look a little sheepish. Any hint of smugness would have been too much to bear – as I was to discover further down the redundancy process.
But for now, the shock hit me and the tears came as I realised that, in all probability, my life was never going to be the same again.
To be continued…
Claire Gardiner, journalist