It was a 104 degrees in Portland. It was 80 degrees in Tillamook. And it was maybe in the high 60's with fog on the beach. That's Oregon for you. Still, Gabe, Michelle, Sarah, and I had a good time throwing the Frisbee and enjoying the coast.
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That's a fried chicken sandwich. Smothered in coleslaw.
Me: "How much am I gonna have to work out after I leave this place?"
Girl behind the counter: "Honey, you gonna need two gym memberships."
It looks confused. It looks like cousins and aunts and uncles and friends and a dog named Bailey. It looks like a surprise. It looks like a perma-grin. It looks like a 20 pound cake with 5 sticks of butter in it. It looks like a few tears. It looks like a speech even when you’re speechless. It looks like champagne, toasts, flashing light bulbs and a whole lot of fun. It looks like balloons, flowers, and a big birthday banner. It looks like Jenny and Jeff planned one hell of a surprise party. That’s what 60 looks like. Times two. Happy sixtieth Pat and Nancy. Your kids got you. The got you so good.
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It twists and turns around her arm. The colors melding into a kaleidoscopic cornucopia of rainbow colors that she can call her own. It’s beautiful. But I don’t want one, let alone two. Those tattoos are for life. Both arms work in a melodic way, dancing with the machine in front of her. Turning knobs, tamping, making the morning more alive for the line of customers. They wait for a taste of the black elixir. The smells are intoxicating. It’s the energy of the sunrise, infused into the air, with the promise of a sip soon to come. I wished I wanted a sip, but I don’t. I just enjoy the smell and the spectacle. This is my new office.
Didn’t see that coming. But then, again, I probably should of. When the head of HR for your office meets with the head of HR for the L.A. office meets with the head of the office all day and deep into the night you should probably figure that someone is meat. Or in this case, that someone happened to be almost half the office. We were all meat. So when I walked in on Thursday, after working until 8 the night before, it was slaughterhouse five. And it had just begun.
Now I’m no expert on how to blow away half your staff, but death by telephone seems to be the preferred method. Just sit there in your desk, working away, getting stuff done for the company, your client, and The Man, all the while telephone ringers are going off all around you like little hand grenades. Oh shit, Joane’s phone just rang. She’s been hit. I think she might die. Yep. She Dead.
It worked like this. You’d sit in your desk not knowing what the hell was going on, and if your phone rang and it was the bosses number, you dead. The thing is, they only did one person at a time, so the rest us got to watch as our fellow co-workers got the call, walked into the room, and came out with a manila envelope. Some people walked out indifferent, some people came out hysterically crying, and some people seemed happy. But everyone was relieved to finally know their fate. At least I know I was.
I was one of the last one’s called into the office. If it wasn’t for another co-worker, whose phone rang the death bell to an empty desk (he was in a meeting with a client) then I would’ve been the very last victim in our department. So I’d been waiting all morning to find out my fate. And so far, I had been spared. But I wasn’t necessarily thinking that that was a good thing.
When the company you’ve given a year of your life to impacts you so much that you start reevaluating your career and questioning if success is really the success you thought it was, you kind of hope your phone rings. You kind of want to jump out the emergency exit. Pull the chute. You kinda…and then my phone rang. Loud and clear. For all to hear.
You look into your co-workers eyes at that moment. They know, what you know. You is gone. And you can see it in their eyes. They’re blown away. Partly because (I’d like to think) they can’t believe that you’d get the call. Partly because they’re going to be left behind to clean up the mess without you. And partly because the whole damn thing is just fucked up. But everyone knows, if they’re honest, that my former place of employment is just that. Fucked up.
There’s an oddly comforting feeling when your number gets called. It’s kind of numbing and relieving at the same time. You don’t have to wonder anymore. Yep, Caspian, you’re walking the plank. The deed is done. And for some of us, it’s an action that we couldn’t have accomplished by ourselves. But it’s an action that needed to happen. I didn’t feel like the time had come for me to leave, but apparently I was mistaken. That mistake was rectified in one ring of a my office phone.
So here I was listening to the creative director say he was sorry. Listening to the HR guy from L.A. drone on about this and that. Whatever. Dude, I don’t work here anymore. And then he said something about sign this, promise not to sue us, and we’ll give you more money. Cool. I’m in.
I got to admit, I haven’t really felt like working a whole lot since that day. It’s been a little over a month and I’m starting to get back on the horse. But that horse has got to look a little different. It can’t be the same. It can’t look the same. Run the same. But most importantly. It can’t have the same heart. I can’t do that again.
Right before I left, I sent out an email. I’ve got a ton of friends who work or worked at this place and I want to keep in touch with them. My email went a little like this:
There will be beautiful new growth. Peace and love. I'm out. Keep in touch.
But it was nothing compared to what another copywriter wrote:
Never have so many done so little for so few.
Never indeed. I’m out.
Everybody’s got a new camera. Autumn, Eli(jah), Sara, Colby, Evan, Aaron, etc. We’re talking magapixels here. SLR’s with huge memory cards and beautiful glass. Everyone’s got a new camera’s. I think it’s time for me to get one too.
The nice thing about these new cameras is they produce new pictures. Stories without words. No need for a copywriter. So whether Aaron snaps off some shots in Reno, Evan shoots the new Portland tram, or Colby shares a visit to the Olympic National Park, I see what they see. And so do you. In 10 megapixels.
I have three exams tomorrow - what else am I going to do than BLOG!!!
While Cas was in Utah living it up I wanted you to know that I was home, at school, buried up to my ears in stuff to learn - who knew there was so much to know?
Made it through two milestones - First Semester and White Coat Ceremony. I'm now in the clinic once a week as a Student Physical Therapist - in addition to five days a week in class 8-5. Rockin'.
But Cas is a sport and I'm marching along.
