As I approach my 30th year on this planet, I have created a bucket list of sorts. It’s not written down anywhere, just in my head – a list of things I would like to do before turning 30.
Not all are grand. My first visit to a tattoo convention was ticked off in May. I tried lobster for the first time in October – turns out I like that taste but can’t quite get over the close relationship between woodlice and our crustaceous friends, so it won’t be on my menu again any time soon. Learning to drive is on the list, but it’s looking less and less likely as time marches on and I remain without a car. Attending my first burlesque show lived up to expectations. Going on holiday alone I ticked off this month, with four nights in Edinburgh, booked last minute on the back of a particularly volatile break up (but that’s a story deserving of a whole other post).
One thing that got added to the bucket list yesterday, out of the blue, was getting fired. It’s never happened to me before, and it’s not something I set out to accomplish, but it’s a story that has already shown great anecdotal value down the pub, and as such deserves to be noted down in these digital chronicles.
I’ll admit it was not a huge surprise. I had struggled through the last three difficult months at my role, where I had to swim against the tide of ego and misinformation gushing forth from our senior management team, buoyed only by the reassurance of other student-facing colleagues that my ideas were valid, my actions had a positive impact, and that I was the sane one… no, really.
So when it became apparent that the institution I worked for was overspending by £500k pa on salaries, I was not surprised to suddenly come under the scrutiny of the napoleon who ran our organisation. A man who had previously been too busy to sit with me and discuss my plans for developing our student experience despite repeated requests; I didn’t hold out much hope for a positive outcome.
Within a couple of weeks, his ‘radical overhaul’ of my department left dozens of students without support overnight. Within a couple more I along with two other colleagues were dismissed due to a ‘re-structure’ that had never been announced nor consulted on.
And so to the point. Yesterday I received a letter of dismissal from this little dictator via our HR department. I did not need to attend the office during my notice period, nor work my notice. There would be no handover and no goodbyes. Could I arrange to return my company laptop and collect my personal belongings at a convenient time?
He implied that I had been underperforming, and had failed to meet with reasonable requests to provide information, stopping short of anything specific or substantial. He said that ultimately, due to the review, my role was deemed unnecessary in his new structure.
I read this letter once, twice, multiple times. I started a few different responses. I was really very happy with the one I finally sent this afternoon. I forwarded it on to a trusted colleague who described it as ‘marvellously professional and concise, whilst also sticking it to him’. This evening I got out of the shower and as I was drying my hair I realised with sadness that few people will know how bloody good that letter was.
In my absence I won’t be able to explain decisions I made, or hand over the projects I was working on, and my legacy will become a myth of woman who did half a job and even that not terribly well. This is how the ones who went before me were explained away to me, and so it will be again.
So that’s why I’m writing this. I can’t share the letter that deconstructed that little prick’s criticisms of me. It would be unprofessional to, and pointless as so much of it is context specific, but I can write down this thing that has occurred to me. This frustration of sorts, and share it, because I am also sure that I am not the only one to have had this thought and felt this feeling.
So this is for anyone who, whilst conceding a foregone defeat, has slung one last stone back at the goliath pursuing them, and somehow made it count. And it does count, even if no-one else was there to see it.
So the bucket list grows in unexpected ways. Starting a blog was another one on the list. Two birds, one stone.
gerbaldine 