David Jones writes about his initial reaction to losing his job...Over 35,000 Irish workers lost their job in January. That’s a lot of people when you think the population of Ireland probably isn’t much more than 3.5 million. I was one of those unfortunates; and like most of them, I’m a first timer. I’ve never been unemployed before. It’s a horrible, earth shattering experience. I wouldn’t wish on anyone.
It came as a complete shock when it happened to me. I wasn’t expecting it. I knew things were bad in the company, but I thought there was a plan in place to see us through this recession.
It was so quick, so sudden. I was a part of the sales force. They didn’t want me staying around and demoralising customers, so I was let go with immediate effect. Half an hour after I was told my job was gone, I was on my way home and I haven’t been back to work since. I was given no chance to say goodbye to friends and colleagues; no real opportunity to properly clear my desk.
“Sorry, you’re not needed anymore. Go home. Don’t come back. You are the weakest link. Goodbye!” They didn’t say it quite that way, but that’s the gist of what they meant; and that’s certainly what it felt like.
It was all so clinical, so brutal; so final. There was no help or advice offered. No information given about coping, or about benefits and entitlements.
“We’ll give you a good reference,” was all they said.
Talk about a short sharp shock.
I was devastated to think I wasn’t wanted anymore. The sense of rejection was awful. It seemed so unfair. I’d worked so hard, put in loads of extra hours, taken work home. All I could think of, was why? Why me? Why now? Why do they have to be so ruthless? Why are they being so heartless?
I don’t think it really sank in, not for a day or two anyway. I felt numb, confused, bewildered as I drove home. I tried to be positive. I tried talking to myself.
“It’ll be ok. I’ll get through it – somehow,” but I wasn’t convincing myself.
I remember telling the kids that first night as soon as I got home. I don’t think they really understood. They certainly didn’t comprehend the impact it was going to have on them. How could they? They’d never known anything like this before.
I hadn’t worked with the company long enough to get redundancy or compensation. I got a week’s pay in lieu of notice. I suppose you could say I was lucky to get that. If I was in America, I might have got nothing. But I’m not in America. I’m in Ireland; the land of the Celtic Tiger. A handful of months ago, Ireland was supposedly one of the wealthiest countries in Europe. Migrant workers were flocking here for jobs. What on earth has happened? Where did it all go wrong?
A week’s pay and a P45; it’s not much really is it? Not when you’ve worked your butt off for the company.
My financial position would have been precarious at the best of times. I had an overdraft that was about 75% used up, and maxed -out credit cards. They hadn’t been a problem when I was working and a regular salary cheque was coming in. They became a millstone around my neck though, the day I lost my job and my income suddenly stopped.
I know it could be a lot worse. I’m lucky not to have a big mortgage. My heart really goes out to young families when unemployment knocks on their mortgaged doors. It must be sheer hell to have to face even the remotest possibility that you might lose your home if things don’t improve.
They paid me my week’s notice with a cheque. I remember paying it into the bank and wondering where the next lodgement would be coming from? It’s amazing, when you’re in a corner, how quickly a kind of self preservation mechanism kicks in. In my own case, I suddenly got a sense that cash represented survival. If I could get money into my pocket, I reasoned, I’d have some chance of retaining control over my day to day life. If, on the other hand, I left the money in my current account, and the bank found out I’d lost my job and pulled my overdraft, then I’d be in real trouble. I went to an ATM and withdrew cash up to my overdraft limit.
I now had a thousand euro in my pocket. It might not be much, but it gave me a temporary sense of security. It obviously wouldn’t last forever; but it meant I could respond, at least for a while, to things that happened in my life. I could spend that €1,000 on what I deemed a priority. Whereas, if I’d left it in the bank, who knows what direct debits and standing orders would have gobbled it up?
I’m not saying what I did was right. I accept it was a form of panic; but wasn’t I entitled to panic? After all, I had just lost my job, hadn’t I?
Of course I knew I’d have to face the bank at some stage, but that would be later. This was now, and now was all that seemed to matter to me at that moment. To survive, I needed flexibility; that meant I needed cash. Cash would allow me to do what I wanted with the little money I had. I could buy food, fuel, pay the really important bills and give the kids a few bob.
The first time I went shopping after losing my job was an experience. I’d never consciously thought about the price of anything before. I just bought what took my fancy. There was always plenty of money about to cover it all; and I could always rely on the credit card if I was stuck. Now though, I found myself scrutinising everything. I didn’t make out a shopping list, I just looked for bargains. I limited myself to the supermarket’s own value brands, and I forgot all about the little luxuries I would normally have treated myself to.
I managed to get a week’s shopping for €40. Previously I would have spent that in one night on my way home from work. I was pleased with myself.
“This unemployment’s not so bad,” I thought with a false sense of triumph; “I can survive this.”
Then the snow arrived. Everywhere was covered in a beautiful blanket of white; and boy was it cold. That’s when the first reality hit me. Keeping warm is expensive, and when you don’t have a job, well it can become a bit of a worry. Is it an extravagance or a necessity to heat the house? Is it better just to heat the room you’re in, rather than the whole house? Is a hot water bottle more economical than an electric blanket? Is coal cheaper than oil? I’d never thought about these issues before; I’d never had to.
I stocked up on coal. I bought in bulk to save money; but it ate a hole in my precious cash reserve. I worried how long the cold spell would last. I’d never worried about anything like that before. I started feeling a bit depressed.
I thought about treating myself; nothing outlandish, just a book. A book that cost €12.75. I needed cheering up; surely I deserved it?
I thought a lot about buying that book. For 20 minutes I stood outside Easons, debating with myself as to whether I could afford it. I must have changed my mind a hundred times; “Yes you can, no you can’t”.
I couldn’t decide. I felt stupid, pathetic. “It’s a €12.75 book for god’s sake, and you’re dithering over buying it.”
I was actually having a conversation with myself as I stood on the pavement. “Oh God, I’m going mad!”
“You wouldn’t have given it a second thought when you were working,” I tried to cajole myself into thinking positively. Perhaps it was a form of denial.
“But you’re not working anymore are you?” that down to earth, blunt, nagging, miserable part of my mind stepped in with its doom and gloom attitude. “You’ve lost your job. You’re unemployed. You’ve no money.”
I bought the book in the end. I had to. If I hadn’t, then god only knows when the misery in my head would have allowed me to buy anything ever again. I know the whole thing was really just a question of confidence. It was only €12.75, but it’s amazing how quickly your confidence goes when you’ve lost your job.
Copyright © David Jones, 2009
