We get an email which, after a little bit of jiggery-pokery with an attachment, reveals a list of "available jobs" within the remnants of the group, all of which are either not art-related, or will require selling up and moving to far-flung places in order (most probably) to get kicked to the kerb anyway after a few months, and suffering the (perhaps minor) humiliation of returning to a junior position after gaining (in my case) thirty-two years of experience.
WEDNESDAY 13TH NOVEMBER 2019
I take a roundabout route to the office via IKEA, failing to find the shelves we failed to find there the previous Saturday. Bedroom rearrangement plans remain on hold until I can find the shelves we want, but at least getting out and about filled some of a troubled weekend, as did several days of digging into my DVD collection. The diversion leads to me getting fretful as - despite leaving home stupidly early - the route from IKEA to the office is plagued with delays, and I suddenly start to worry that I will be late for my "Consultation Meeting" appointment at High Noon. The plus side, however, is that for the first time, I approach the office from a completely new direction, which adds some variety at least.
One of my colleagues is already indoors waiting for her own 11:30, and the Axe-Wielders are already in place upstairs and (possibly) already in conference with our former managers - although we later suspect that the shadowy shapes were just misinterpreted.
Her 11:30 comes and I am alone with a notebook. It doesn't take long and, as I'm already there, High Noon comes early.
As with my colleague there is little to say. I have no suggestions as to how the business might have been saved (I wasn't running it) and, as expected, none of the vacancies I am deemed suitable for. I ask a few questions about possibly salvaging some of the assets for my own use, and head downstairs, chatting to Carl - one of the former building managers - as I go.
He agrees the world seems bleak.
The programmer and our other artwork colleague both arrive presently and head off for their own meetings, whilst the two of us go over to the local cafe and buy lunch at the sort of daily rates that explain just why I took sandwiches for all those years.
Presently, we are joined by our other colleague, and time passes in doom-laden conversation until we drift away, and I take an hour out of my afternoon to visit the country park because, well, I can.
Days pass. Flaps about questions not asked by my colleagues, angry exchanges of iMessages, and other distractions fill the time, but I remain gloomy. A friend invites me out for a walk on the Friday which is nice and supportive, but my hopes remain low, even if, every now and again, I start to believe that perhaps I could make a living of sorts doing the things I enjoy doing "for fun" at the moment.
The Axe Falls.
A day earlier than expected when "The Announcement" happened, but it seems not in order to save them a day's salary.
I arrive stupidly early to the empty office and am able to clean mountains of forgotten rubbish from my desk and place it in the bin bag I brought along especially, which I hand to the office cleaner as we chat about what the fates have brought me.
The meeting is mercifully swift, and my keys and phone are handed over, money is discussed, and it's all over bar having to pop back to tell them my other colleague has already arrived, and a couple of further questions that struck me when I got downstairs - chiefly about the shredding of the documents piled on my desk.
The three members of the (now former) art department then cross the road to buy coffees, chat about life, the universe and everything, and promise to stay in touch, before heading our separate ways with an air of bleak finality.
WEDNESDAY 13TH NOVEMBER 2019
One of my colleagues is already indoors waiting for her own 11:30, and the Axe-Wielders are already in place upstairs and (possibly) already in conference with our former managers - although we later suspect that the shadowy shapes were just misinterpreted.
Her 11:30 comes and I am alone with a notebook. It doesn't take long and, as I'm already there, High Noon comes early.
As with my colleague there is little to say. I have no suggestions as to how the business might have been saved (I wasn't running it) and, as expected, none of the vacancies I am deemed suitable for. I ask a few questions about possibly salvaging some of the assets for my own use, and head downstairs, chatting to Carl - one of the former building managers - as I go.
He agrees the world seems bleak.
The programmer and our other artwork colleague both arrive presently and head off for their own meetings, whilst the two of us go over to the local cafe and buy lunch at the sort of daily rates that explain just why I took sandwiches for all those years.
Presently, we are joined by our other colleague, and time passes in doom-laden conversation until we drift away, and I take an hour out of my afternoon to visit the country park because, well, I can.
THURSDAY 14TH - MONDAY 18TH NOVEMBER 2019
TUESDAY 19TH NOVEMBER 2019
A day earlier than expected when "The Announcement" happened, but it seems not in order to save them a day's salary.
I arrive stupidly early to the empty office and am able to clean mountains of forgotten rubbish from my desk and place it in the bin bag I brought along especially, which I hand to the office cleaner as we chat about what the fates have brought me.
The meeting is mercifully swift, and my keys and phone are handed over, money is discussed, and it's all over bar having to pop back to tell them my other colleague has already arrived, and a couple of further questions that struck me when I got downstairs - chiefly about the shredding of the documents piled on my desk.
The three members of the (now former) art department then cross the road to buy coffees, chat about life, the universe and everything, and promise to stay in touch, before heading our separate ways with an air of bleak finality.
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