It's official... life sucks

After almost ten days of jacking us around, not telling us anything, we finally got the news: when the Clackamas campus closes on May 3, we all lose our jobs. Oh, except for the three program directors. And the dozen or so corporate people who lurk on the third floor. I guess when I say everyone, I mean all the people that matter. The faculty, the academic coordinator, and the receptionists. What the hell do they think they are going to be managing now, I wonder? The ship is sinking while they fight over cubicle space.

I know I sound angry. I am. Not for me, but for my colleagues, Sheryl and Mella. Sheryl is a few years from retirement. How easy do you think it will be for a 66-year-old woman with a stale Bachelor's in International Business to find another job? And Mella! Mella transferred from Wilsonville to Clackamas a few terms ago, even though she recently moved to be near Wilsonville. She demonstrated loyalty and commitment to the organization, and it lifted its leg and peed all over her. Sheryl and I have known for a long time that the company wasn't our friend. I think Mella was still hoping for a miracle. It's hard to accept that the company you gave your heart to has ripped it to shreds.

As I drove away from campus this afternoon, I saw Mella pacing the sidewalk. I pulled my car up next to her. She got in. Her chin was quivering.

“This totally sucks,” I said after a long, long moment of silence.

“Yes, this sucks,” she agreed.

We sat with that for awhile.

“How are we going to make it through the next few weeks?” I mused.

“Suck it up.”

We pondered that for a bit. Then she sighed and got out of the car. She went off to find food before night classes (did I mention she works four splits?), and I went home to take a nap, exit, stage right. On the drive home, I was a little numb, not fully present. I'm not sure how to feel. My eyes feel like they've been weeping, but I don't remember any tears. I'm not sure if I'm happy, sad, or just really, really, really scared.

Part of me is, like, you got what you asked for, Carol. Time to finish your dissertation, time to work on starting a business, time to clean up the Love Shack, time to sleep, time to read, time to rest. But at what cost? I don't want to be unemployed. No, let me be more clear. I don't want to not be earning money. That doesn't have to be the same thing as unemployed, right? Time and money are inverses for me: When I have one, I miss the other. I'm too old to do this again. It wasn't pretty the first time around. Moving in with my mother is not an option. Wreckage of the future! Aaaaagh!

The Director of Education flaked out, couldn't stick around to tell me to my face (I remember when you were an adjunct, Freep). Our boss—I'll call him Denny—(who is going to Wilsonville next term, and who is keeping his job title and pay rate, and who, by the way, is receiving training in online teaching tomorrow [I know, like, WTF!?]) gave me the news. I could tell he felt terrible. Survivor's guilt. The next three weeks will be interesting. He's on the lifeboat, floating further and further away. We three faculty are clinging to the rail, going down with the ship. We aren't bothering to bail, what's the point? (I am already saying cynical things about the organization to my students—we were discussing leadership in the management class today, and I likened our president to the Invisible Man. Har har.)

The next few weeks will be awkward. The chasm between those who are surviving and those who are sinking will grow daily. On that last Thursday, as we faculty sink out of sight, out of mind for the last time, poor old Denny can finally draw a deep breath of relief. Whew, that was hard, glad that's over. Dude. I don't blame you. I might even miss you. It's been fun. In parts. Sort of. A little.

What would be really fun would be to bring some spraypaint on that last day and do a little decoratin'.