If you missed Part 1, check that out here.
So, I walked into a conference room at a 4-star hotel in
central London to find four of our executives staring at me. Without an ounce
of formality, I was handed several pieces of paper (a severance agreement that
I didn’t sign), informed that the company was being restructured and if I
needed anything, I could email them.
Even though I saw it coming, I was completely taken aback.
So after a year of spending probably 70 hours a week pouring my heart and soul
into this company, I was just going to be unceremoniously dumped in London? I
had just spent an entire month running on four hours of sleep and caffeine so
that I could make the “Ludus experience” better for guests. This was my reward?
Me being me, of course, I couldn’t keep my opinion to
myself.
“So, do I not get an exit interview?” I asked.
“Do you want an exit interview?” one of the
administrators-who-will-remain-unnamed asked.
“Um, yeah,” I said. After all the shit I had seen my friends
and coworkers deal with in London, you can better believe that there was no way
in hell I was leaving without voicing my thoughts. And, despite the hellish way
everything ended (there’s a lot more details I’m just not going to spell out
here, but you’re welcome to ask me about them offline), I didn’t want the
people who remained with the company to ever have to deal with this again and I
wanted them to be better for this experience.
So, I spilled every last ounce of frustration I’d been
holding back and replacing with a smile for guests for weeks.
And when I was finished, no one said anything. By this
point, I was crying and probably looked like a hot mess. No one said a thing,
though. After waiting a few moments for a response, I took my papers and left.
The doorman at the hotel was the lone person to ask if I was
okay. He gave me a napkin to help with the tears. I was very grateful and very
thankful to see that even in a moment like that, people can surprise you with
their kindness.
I immediately called Karen, who was sitting in a park
outside of Buckingham Palace (just down the street), waiting for her “exit
interview.” After hearing where she was and beginning to make my way there, I
called my parents back in the States (no, not a cheap phone call).
It’s still funny to me that I walked to Buckingham Palace
after getting fired.
Karen and I chatted for a while, then she went off to her
“interview,” where she got the same spiel as me.
That night, there was a rather large group of us who had
been laid off and celebrated/mourned by downing several overpriced bottles of
wine from Tesco. They were all leaving bright and early in the morning; I was
moving hotels to spend a week enjoying a city I could no longer afford.
Fortunately, I managed to have a good (and somewhat cheap
for London) week and visited with the Listers, some old family friends, in
Bristol. Jon Lister, who is around my age, returned to London and partied it up
with me for my last night in the country.
The final part is coming tomorrow...my life update is kind of long.
