Thank You, [Name] For Coming In

March 24th, 2009Blog, Fiction0 comments

Fiction.

I was very good at my job. I think it’s because of the shape of my face. I have a round face. Some have described it as a harmless face.

I am older but not graying. My eyebrows arch gently. I am a white male, but not the executive type. I’ve been told that I look like the Whirlpool Repair Man from the commercials — friendly, Midwestern, a little plump. Like a younger version of a greeter at Walmart. I have a very earnest smile, and I smile a lot.

My job was to calmly inform people that they no longer had jobs. Corporations would hire my outfit to handle the task of right-sizing their workforces. We would take care of all the bric-a-brac, right down to the face to face human encounter where a person would be told that they were no longer employed.

That job was my job.

This is how I would start: I would enter the person’s office, introduce myself. “Thank you, [Name] for coming in. I have some information regarding your organization that I want to tell you in person.”

The odd, scripted formality of the words would inform people right away of what was going on. It was less like a hammer falling and more like a confirmation of what they had been suspecting for a long time. They already knew it was going to happen — in their hearts, some people were actually relieved.

“As you know, [Company Name] has been having a challenging year and is focused on reducing costs. We’ve had to make some tough decisions all around, eliminating a number of positions. Your position is one of these being eliminated.”

In other words, this has been hard for all of us and there is no ambiguity. You have to go now. I never say “please” or “I’m sorry”, because people need finality — closure — before they can completely move on.

[If needed:] “This was a very difficult business decision supported by senior management.”

[If needed:] “This decision is final.”

“[Company Name] appreciates what you have done for [Company Name]. What is important now is to focus on what is next for you.”

This is the most important part of this process: Transition. See, I never saw myself as an executioner. I don’t flip a switch on an electric chair. That’s not what I am.

My goal was to help people see what’s outside that newly opened door. And it’s a tough thing — you feel like the rug’s been pulled from under you. But what everyone needs to understand is that this can be a whole new beginning for them.

“Now, we need to discuss your severance package and your continuing health coverage through COBRA.”

Immediately show them that there is a light at the end of the tunnel. That they are well protected in terms of severance pay and health care as they transition to their next job. Also, collect all their company assets / security before they leave for the day — preferably no later than two hours after the meeting.

After over one thousand of these encounters, no one has ever gotten angry with me, swore at me, or got upset at me. One man cried, but eventually he wiped away his tears and thanked me. I smiled at him earnestly.

I felt fundamentally secure in my job. No one else could possibly do it as well as I did.

Then one morning I walked into our conference room. There was a robot sitting there.

It had a round head, looked like a miniature astronaut.

“Thank you, [Name] for coming in,” said the robot, “I have some information regarding our organization that I want to tell you in person.”

“Oh fuck,” said a nearby IT guy, “It was supposed to say ‘Robert’ instead of ‘[Name]‘. Sorry, Robert… Sorry.”