The color of the day is pink
They forced me into early retirement!
I can picture it as if it had happened last week. It was Monday, May 20th, and I’d gotten up like any other day, got ready for work, packed my kid into the car to take him to daycare, picked up my carpool buddy, and drove 19 miles through Southern California traffic to the office where I worked as a magazine art director.
Traffic was busier than usual, and we got in around 9:15 am. I wasn’t in the most cheerful mood that morning, barely acknowledging the coworkers in my row of beige, waist-high cubicles. I grumbled something of a greeting to my copy editor (we’ll call her Lisa), who sat facing away from me, and as I plopped down into my pseudo-Aeron chair, I huffed, “I do not want to be here today.”
Lisa chuckled nervously. Mousy, in her presence, she said most things nervously, but this felt different, but I didn’t give it much thought at the time.
I spun up my Apple Mac Pro, logged in. While I waited, I walked upstairs to the kitchen to grab some shitty coffee and a vending machine muffin. I cracked the plastic wrap and tossed the pastry into the microwave to make it slightly less inedible. Someone I didn’t know but had seen around the office a few times walked into the kitchen beside me to grab coffee. I nodded a knowing gesture toward them while I waited for the microwave to give me permission to leave this uncomfortable moment.
The appliance dinged. I grabbed a paper towel, wrapped it around the muffin, grabbed my coffee, and headed back to my desk. Once I put my hand on the mouse, the screensaver of swirling vectors stopped, and I typed in my password again. After logging in, my email app popped to the front, as it always did, to remind me of my daily obligations and requests for my time. At the top were two emails marked IMPORTANT!
The first email was a mandatory all-hands meeting for my group at 10 am in the garage (we published magazines about cars, trucks, and motorcycles) with scant information about the meeting.
The second email was an appointment with the vice president and the human resources director at 9 am.
“Remember when I said I didn’t want to be here?
I think I manifested this.”
My eyes went wide as I exclaimed, “Holy Shit!”
Lisa gasped, as did Sandy (also not her real name), the other editor in my row. “What’s wrong?” Lisa asked, still in shock at my expletive.
“I missed a meeting with the vice president.”
“What?” she asked with a mix of shock and confusion.
“I don’t know what’s going on.” I shared as I got up to look for others in my magazine group. I went to the next cubicle row, where a few other art directors sat, but nobody was there. I started panicking, a little unsure of what was happening.
Just then, Martin, one of the other ADs came around the corner with a sullen look on his face and a large manilla envelope in his hand, followed by the maintenance supervisor pulling a cart with empty boxes.
My eyes grew even wider, and I asked, “What happened?”
“I just got laid off!”
“Holy shit!” I exclaimed again while Sandy scoffed (she didn’t like when I cursed). It occurred to me right then that I missed my exit interview. I wasn’t sure what to do next, so I went by my managing editor’s office, but he wasn’t there. I resigned myself to walking upstairs to the VPs office to get the inevitable over with, but as I approached, the door was closed, and nobody wasfz inside.
“What the hell is going on?” I thought and headed back to my desk. Martin was still packing his stuff into boxes, and I asked if he was going to the meeting. He shook his head and continued his accumulation of shame.
Back at my desk, everyone asked what I found out. I shared that I wasn’t sure, but Martin got laid off. It was 9:50, and the meeting was starting soon. I grabbed my coffee and headed out to the garage, now filled with dozens of employees alongside performance vehicles and auto parts. I looked around the room and was the only art director there.
Forty-five minutes later, we knew that our group had been partitioned off from the company and sold to a competitor. They were keeping the entire editorial and sales staff, and everyone else was getting an exit package.
Gossip and conjecture filled the room as we left the garage and headed back to our desks. I wasn’t at mine for more than ten minutes before the VPs assistant called and asked me to visit his office.
When I got there, he greeted me warmly but gave nothing away (not that he needed to) and walked me to the HR manager’s office.
Twenty minutes later, I had my manila envelope filled with an assortment of documents and a severance check for my 9.9 years of service. I say it like that because I was two weeks away from my tenth anniversary, but they only paid me severance on the completed years.
I returned to my desk, and Lisa saw me first, “Did you get fired?”
“Laid off, but yeah.”
“Oh my Gawd! What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know yet,” I smirked pensively.
“Why are you smiling?”
“Remember when I said I didn’t want to be here? I think I manifested this.”
The maintenance supervisor was soon at my desk with another set of boxes. I had already started to collect my things, but he stuck around while I packed everything away. After backing up my portfolio of projects on my personal drive, I shut down my computer one last time, hugged the ladies, and headed out the side door with a single box in hand.
I saw some colleagues outside who worked in a different group. They waved like nothing weird was happening inside the building. Maybe they didn’t know. More likely, they didn’t want to acknowledge the possibility that they might catch a pink slip of their own by talking to me.
I remembered that my carpool buddy was still at the office. He worked in a different group and was safe from HR's wrath. I called him and told him what had happened. I asked if he wanted me to wait for him to finish work, but he waved that idea off and said he’d find another way home.
I started my car and drove off the lot but didn’t head home immediately. I called my wife and told her what happened. She had also experienced a layoff recently, and after some roadside commiseration, I told her I’d be home in a few hours.
I drove to a nearby Starbucks to collect myself in a new environment. Then, I logged into a private Facebook group for early entrepreneurs and freelancers. I shared the day’s events and asked for advice on the next steps. Within seconds, I received dozens of replies from other members with condolences, well wishes, encouragement, and solidarity.
One person said I should write about the experience while it was fresh in my mind, and I agreed. I closed Facebook and opened Google Docs to write my new manifesto, The Color of the Day is Pink. Feverishly etching my plans for world domination, I noted everything I wanted to do with my creative career going forward.
I had already planned on leaving my job by the end of that year to focus on my own business. This new situation and a healthy severance check gave me the breathing room I needed to take action. Once I finished that story, I posted it to my blog and then shared it with the Facebook group.
The outpouring of support and encouragement was tremendous, and the bonus was the response from several people who were inspired by the article to act on their plans for world domination rather than wait for the proverbial chopping block.
There was a lot of talk of dominating worlds in that group, and it helped me become significantly better at what I now consider my career. I wish I still had access to it, but since I don’t, I created my own. However, Insidr isn’t the Dave Show (although I have a section called DaveTV, that’s a different story).
The real heroes of Insidr are the members, and though I appreciate the intimate and supportive group we have now, I want to make it more diverse and rich with experiences from all sorts of creative people.
With the decline of social media interaction and engagement, I’m spending way more time in the community with people who love to share and support each other. Starting next week, we’re adding accountability calls and more live training to the mix.
Want to improve your newsletter open rates? We can talk about that.
Want to learn how to tell better stories that sell? We got you.
Want to get insight from industry pros who have their strategies on lock? Let’s go then!
There’s a lot planned for the Insidr community, and there will never be a better time to get in than now. You can test drive being an Insidr free for 14 days. In that period, if you don’t enjoy your time with other creatives who come together to help each other grow, cancel with no hard feelings.
My guess is, though, that you’ll stick around because you enjoy the space too much to miss out.
