So were sixty-two others.
There is something surreal about losing a job in a room where everybody else is losing theirs too.
No one knows who is allowed to cry.
Nobody knows whether to comfort the person beside them because you are equally terrified.
I spent the next several hours helping my employees.
Writing references.
Making introductions.
Giving people personal contact information.
One woman had worked for me for nine years.
She stared at the cardboard box in her arms and said:
“My husband just started chemo.”
I had no useful answer.
So I gave her the number of a recruiter I trusted and promised to call him myself.
By four-thirty, most desks were empty.
I sat in my office alone.
The company sign outside the glass wall still said Northcrest Solutions as if nothing had happened.
