Dial "L" for Life Sucks

I’m lucky to have a relatively comfortable office at work with a few windows and enough sunlight to grow a couple neglected plants. Whenever possible, I leave my door open so that co-workers can drift in with a friendly “hello,” a “quick question” or the occasional “did you jam the printer and walk away, again?”

The only real downside to my office – besides the daily deposits of mouse droppings on my keyboard – is its location. Just feet from my chair, the building’s reception desk rests directly outside my door. A constant din of ringing phones, buzzing doors and colliding delivery carts punctuates my workday. Add to that a steady flow of conversation and gossiping and it often feels like I’m working in the downtown bus terminal. Despite all this ruckus, our veteran receptionist has kept everything in the building running smoothly for nearly 32 years.

Our receptionist is a round, friendly woman in her 60s. She has a kind, patient demeanor and a subtle authority in her voice that politely alerts you she aint gonna take shit from nobody. For over three decades, she has been the first person everyone met when they came into the building and the last person they said goodbye to when they left. Because she was the company’s receptionist before the current offices were built, I’m convinced the masonry was erected around her. If people could be load-bearing walls, she’d be 12-inch cement block.

She has been a matriarch to many of us – inviting us to her home for holiday dinners, sharing advice on career and family and bringing in freshly baked cookies every Monday morning. She has always remembered everyone's birthday, selecting the perfect card and getting it signed by everyone in the office. And when you weren't looking, she has been there at her desk taking care of the little things that no one else bothered to notice.

She’s always been fully aware of everything and everyone in the building – seeing who came in late and who left early or intercepting calls from flirtatious interns trying to reach married executives. Watching the outside video monitor she has observed the kind of behavior that people only exhibit when they think they’re out of sight. In short, she has seen where all the bodies are buried. Her presence has been omniscient. That is until this past Friday.

At 4:30 on Friday afternoon, our loyal receptionist was called into the executive offices. She sat down and they informed her that layoffs were being implemented. As had been standard procedure in the past, she assumed they were about to inform her of the individuals that were being laid-off and that she should no longer buzz them in or transfer their calls.

Instead, they told her that in addition to the several positions being eliminated, she was also being let go. The company would go without a receptionist. (Ironically, without a receptionist absolutely no one can get buzzed in or have their calls transferred – not even the people that supposedly still work there.)

I can only imagine her shock. In 30-plus years she had undoubtedly seen countless rounds of layoffs. But she had dodged them all. Now, mere months from her retirement, she had become expendable.

She was asked to turn in her key and handset and told to leave the building immediately. A folding cardboard banker’s box was conveniently waiting at her desk when she returned. (Some folding and assembly was required. Those boxes are hard enough to put together as it is. Imagine trying to figure it out as your mind races, moments after losing your job.)

None of us saw this one coming. Before we could react to the news, she was gone.

The next day I came into work to see her cubicle was dark and her chair was empty. The phone rang unanswered. Taped to her window was a paper sign that read: “Welcome! Please use the phone to your right to call the party you are visiting.” There was a clipart graphic of a ringing phone and everything. It took someone at least two minutes to make it – ten if you count the time it took them to clear the paper jam I left in the printer.

Just one sheet of letter-size paper is all that was needed to replace an entire person – her self-worth and sense of purpose. It was a Hammermill tombstone to human dignity.

I can only assume that someday my career and personal dedication to the company will be conveniently replaced by a slip of paper taped to my door. Hopefully that’s a little further into the future. Maybe by then, we’ll be able to reduce people to just an index card. In the meantime, I can’t help but wonder what clipart they’d use for me.