Let Go or Be Dragged

It couldn't last forever...

Have I started a post that way a few times already?  It seems like it's been a common theme.  Stoughton...Charlotte...and now Salem.

Monday afternoon I was quietly summoned to the engineering manager's office and given the most positive layoff notice possible.  It wasn't performance...it was workload.  It was budget.  He was so sorry.  And there certainly wasn't enough of either to merit my staying.  Honestly, I said, I'm surprised I lasted this long.  I thanked Lou for his kindnesses, his unwillingness to pass along personal stresses to everyone around him.  He was a welcome calm in a stormy plant, and a great manager.  But after weeks with nothing to do, trying to self-entertain by creating spreadsheets and automatic calculations... all while being watched by Greg, my Jekyll/Hyde mentor, I was okay with being cut loose.  I just wish it had been a couple months from now.  (Greg, by the way, had told me I had about 6 months.  He was only off by 22 weeks.)


I can honestly say I had fun.  I learned a lot.  I learned to swear (boy did I), and I learned about big machines and steel and union workers.  I learned to spray obnoxious coworkers with Lysol until they left me alone (true story).  And it seems the plant will miss me, by the reactions of those coming by expressing sorrow and disbelief.  I will certainly miss them.  Kevin gave me a bottle of his homemade wine.  Fred gave me rice mixed with the hottest pepper in the world (stay tuned).  Dan donated generously to my fundraiser.  Pete was always ready with a tired smile.

My last day will be September 28.  On October 1st, I start my 120-mile round trip commute to the new office in Canton.  I plan to stick it out until I either (a) get a new job, (b) quit out of road rage/desperation or (c) move to Cambridge/Somerville.  I'd really rather not leave the north shore.

Salem Harbor on a stormy afternoon

Naturally, my coworkers are leveraging my removal as a reason to drink, and we're hoping we can have a "Depot Dinner" at a restaurant in Beverly, famous for good food, better drinks, and off-the-clock storytelling.  Until then, I have a couple more tricks up my sleeve.  I need to take more pictures of the guerrilla art around the plant and make a gallery.  I need to talk to people to get their stories and contact information.  I need to decide who gets the remote control to the fart generator I hid between Art and Neil's desks. 

You should have heard the arguing.  :)