Ah, yes. The job finishing thing. Slipped that into proceedings rather casually, didn't I?
Here's what I knew when I took my current job last year. Number one, that it was initially for three months. Number two, that the contract would most likely be extended as long as I wasn't a complete speng. And crucially, number three: the role would - without question - end in the summer of this year.
The Department, you see, is moving away, along with a sizable chunk of the Company. Redundancies have hit the whole organisation, so the chances of slotting in elsewhere - as is usually the way in this sort of place - are fairly diminished. And the chances of me going with them are...yep, nil. Even without a flat and relationship to tie me down, this Londoner ain't relocating. This Londoner is staying put.
Fact is, there's always work somewhere. It might not be what you want to do, but if you've got enough experience in enough places (even if it involved making tea for people who couldn't get your name right), there'll be something. And failing that there's err, savings. In truth, even when I had rent to pay, the prospect of being back on the job market didn't fill me with fear.
Until now.
See, the invitations to leaving drinks have started flooding in. Those who aren't moving are jumping ship, and the rest are making obvious moves towards the murky water: en mass. Colleagues disappear into the corridors to take phone calls from agencies, or hop off for a couple of hours in the afternoon wearing their best tie and trainer combo (this is the meedjah, after all). Those whose phones aren't ringing make casual jokes about selling their children for cash, while others fish for contacts and ask "so, what are you going to do?" to ease their minds.
There's trepidation in the office.
And even with four months to go - a lifetime for someone who wears unemployment like her favourite KG heels - the panic is catching on.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
6 comments:
I don't know much and I'm not one to dole out advice, but I *can* tell you that potential employers can smell fear and desperation. So tap that down, please.
Do you know what you need? You need rebound guy. I was rebound guy once for a girl who just got a divorce. We had a pretty great time and I liked her quite a lot, but she had just gotten a divorce and I was, after all, rebound guy. But it helped her.
Say, what's the publishing scene like in the UK? Standard advice meted out in these parts to jobless peeps such as myself: now that you have all the times in the world, why don't you write a book? Racy little page turner about beer and boys or sumfink. No?
I hear Manchester is nice at this time of year - it's only 4/5 hours up the road....
I'd try not to get caught up in the panic that will consume other people.
I have to admit that I did read TUB's comment as a pitch to be your rebound guy!
Don't let it infect you. Keep cool.
Unbearable - Rebound? Yeesh, that brings a whole other aspect to proceedings. I'll hold off a bit longer before I jump in with that one.
Nimpipi - Despite a complete love of writing, I actually have no interest in writing a book. In fact, I can't think of anything worse than churning out a novel. I suspect it's because I worked in a publishers and saw how many submissions they get sent, and felt the desperation of those wanting to get published in the accompanying letters. It put me off.
AFC - That's quite enough of that, thank you!
Perp - Haha. Entirely unintentional on his behalf, I am assuming ;)
Ellie - I'm like a cucumber. Well cool. Ish. Or something. Maybe.
Post a Comment