A Day in the Life of a Layoff

By Sophie Tilhere

Thursday, 9:17 p.m. At work. Despite the general consensus that business at my firm has been ominously dead the past few months, I've been suckered into working on an idiot fire-drill deal, and I haven't left my office before midnight in days. I glance up and see Dennis, a senior

associate on the deal, standing in my doorway, looking ashen. This can only be bad.

"So ... you know, it's happening tomorrow," he says.

Oh, for the love of God. Again with the rumors.

"That's what they said last week."

"No, really." Dennis steps deeper into my office and closes the door. "I have it on ... good authority. I can't say who, but just ... check your email tomorrow at 6 a.m."

"It's happening over email?"

He shrugs his eyebrows and smiles wearily.

"How many?"

"Big."

"What, like, more than a hundred?"

"Big."

"For real this time?"

Dennis shoots me the same pained smile and turns to leave. "Just?just check your email at six." And then he's gone.

Friday, 6:13 a.m. Sitting in bed, squinting in the dark at my BlackBerry, reminding myself that any email from the firm that begins with "We announce with sincere regret ..." never ends well. This one is no exception. Apparently the firm will be implementing a massive layoff of lawyers and staff later today.

6:14 a.m. Mental note: Two points to Dennis.

7:13 a.m. Standing in my closet. I remember that I wore a sassy new suit on my first day at the firm a few years back. Do I wear something special today to mark the occasion, even though I'm not sure yet what the occasion is?

7:47 a.m. Stuck in traffic on the way to work?possibly for the last time. You know what, this is going to be OK. The closer I get to the office, the more I realize that I'm in a win-win situation here, right? I've been wanting to leave this parade-of-misery job almost since the day I started but haven't had the nerve. This might be the perfect opportunity to make the leap out of Big Law once and for all?with a few months' severance to cushion the landing. This could be good. I can handle this.

7:58 a.m. Just walked into the building. I can't handle this.

8:02 a.m. In the firm's hallway, I notice a huge mound of yellow industrial moving crates neatly stacked in the corner. Lovely. And so subtle.

8:07 a.m. Standing in my office, frozen, trying to absorb the sheer amount of crap I have in here. Closing sets, files, binders, degrees, that giant sleeping bag I keep under my desk?how is all this going to fit into one stupid yellow crate? It's not even nine and I need a drink.

8:16 a.m. Staring at the pounds of work waiting for me on my desk. Should I even bother?

8:41 a.m. The emails have started. Every two minutes I'm getting a new, panicked message from some associate or another, announcing the latest casualty. Apparently, the routine is that one or two partners come to your office and deliver the verdict either way. In and out in a few minutes. Fast and painless. Sort of.

9:23 a.m. Cal? Cal got laid off?? He's a double-Harvard third-year, and easily one of the brightest associates I know. Everyone loves him. How can they can Cal?! Oh Christ, I'm screwed.

9:33 a.m. Online. Check Above the Law for info. Nothing I don't already know. Dammit. Why haven't I heard anything yet?

9:36 a.m. Check Above the Law again.

9:42 a.m. Check Above the? Suddenly, there's a tentative knock on my door. It's Alice, a junior finance partner, poking her head into my office and raising her eyebrows as in "Can we talk?"

You've got to be kidding me. Alice? They sent Alice? On a good day, Alice comes off a few shades less personable than a lobotomized robot troll with a gun fetish. This is who they've dispatched to tell me whether I've been fired? Was Osama bin Hitler unavailable? She sits down and tries to look human and sympathetic. I try to look calm.

9:45 a.m. "So, I want to let you know that you are not included in today's reduction in force."

9:469:50 a.m. Mostly a blur. I do remember a few choice snippets about this being a "challenging time for the global economy." Also, something about a "survivors' meeting" at noon. Really? Are they really calling it a survivors' meeting?

12:03 p.m. Yes, they really are calling it a survivors' meeting. Everyone's feverishly avoiding eye contact?while trying to figure out who's not in the room. Why do we all look so guilty?

1:11 p.m. In the elevator on the way back from the meeting, I get staffed onto two deals. One partner tries to lighten the mood by joking that his deal must have been poison, because it killed his whole junior team. No one laughs.

2:09 p.m. I go check in with my secretary to see if she's OK. Her desk is totally cleared out. No note, no message, nothing. Huh. Well, that stings a little. Would a two-word good-bye note have been too much to ask for?

5:59 p.m. Heading back upstairs from a good-bye happy hour for Cal, to finish all the work I didn't do while I was busy not being laid off. Looks like the yellow crates are gone. Hell, you have to give them credit?almost twelve hours to the minute since the layoffs were announced, and you'd never know it happened.

9:19 p.m. Still at the office, on the phone with my parents, finally relaying the events of this surreal day. At the end of my rant, there's silence on the line. I can almost hear my mom's brows furrowing 3,000 miles away. Finally, after a beat: "Honey, I'm sorry, it's just?I just can't tell?are we supposed to be happy or sad that you didn't get laid off?"

11:44 p.m. Pulling into my driveway. I've never been so thrilled by the prospect of imminent unconsciousness as I am right now.

11:58 p.m. Finally, my head hits the pillow and I close my eyes. Without warning, though, my mom's question pops into my head: Are we supposed to be happy or sad that you didn't get laid off? My eyes crawl back open and I glance over at the BlackBerry nestled in the rumpled sheets like a slick, abusive boyfriend. It's already blinking red with a message from work?a message so pressing that it apparently couldn't wait until morning, when I'll be back at the office anyway, churning through work on a Saturday for some lunatic sadist partner I've never met who now, now half-resents, half-expects gratitude for the very fact that I still have a job.

So, which is it: Happy or sad?

I'll have to get back to you on that one.

"Sophie Tilhere" is a pseudonym for a mid-level associate at a large Southern California law firm. Send submissions to associateslife@dailyjournal.com.

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