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So. I have worked in this company for 17 years. Or at least it would have been 17 years had I made it to 7th July, but let’s not split hairs. And yesterday was my last day. I came back to work last November after being on maternity leave, and I was told that my job didn’t exist any more and I’d be better off working in a different area of the company. This was a new, exciting part of the company, and it meant I’d be working with a good friend. What’s not to like? Okay, so I had to take a bit of a demotion in job title, but I sucked it up and decided that life was great because I was being given the chance to work in a smashing shiny part of the company, and they were allowing me to work three days a week. What could possibly go wrong? Three months later we were told that our lovely department was being closed – immediately.

My colleagues and I were made redundant and, in a brand new policy, were made to work our notice periods even though the department no longer existed. Those of us who hadn’t found new jobs elsewhere in the company were then pushed into various inappropriate job roles while we waited for our notice periods to finish. My notice period was 12 weeks, so there was quite a wait. For a while I worked with a part of the company I’d worked in just before the shiny new job. This was nice. I knew the people, they were sympathetic, and it was right at the start of my notice period – it felt like there was everything to hope for.

After a few weeks, I was moved into a part of the company that – although I knew it (after all I’ve been there for 17 YEARS) – I wasn’t entirely familiar with. I worked with this team for the last seven or eight weeks. They were lovely people.

And then it came to my last day. Which was yesterday, in case you haven’t been following. On my last day at the company, after 17 years (I realise I’m repeating myself here, but it’s not without good reason), I said goodbye to the team and walked out of the building. And that was it.

No carriage clock, no speech, no mocked up magazine cover, no flowers, no card, no nothing*.

Okay, so what do I expect? The rest of the company is tied up in all sorts of stuff right now, and a ton of my ex-colleagues are now facing redundancy along with me. They’ve all got enough on their plates, and it’s a very worrying time.

But this blog is about ME not THEM. I’m the important one. And the combined factors of:

  1. Going on maternity leave, and coming back after more than six months – thereby forfeiting my previous role.
  2. Joining a small department that was then closed after three months of me being there.
  3. Having a ridiculously huge notice period.
  4. No-one quite knowing what to do with an Operations Director Without Portfolio.

Has all added up to one, single, sad little fact: I didn’t get a send-off. After 17 years**.

I’m a bit upset about this, and right now that’s the one thing I’m thinking of. I’m not thinking about how to earn a crust over the next few months until mini-me appears, I’m not thinking about the illustrious new career I could be forging, I’m not even thinking about all this wonderful time I’ll get to spend with Teddy.

So I hate them, every one of them – despite not being at all sure who to vent my hatred at. I just hate them. They’ve made me sad and so bitter I can taste it.

No punchline today. Because I’m RAGING.

* Not strictly nothing – an ex-colleague from the lovely new department that was closed down bought me a packet of chocolate fingers. She – and I hope she’s reading this – made my day. In fact, she made my month. Thank you, B. You are glorious.

** I keep on saying 17 years, because I joined in July 1997. If we’re going to be precise about it, I did leave in 2001 for six months, but then I came back. I choose to ignore this section of my career, and you would be wise to as well. Especially for the purposes of this article where I’m trying to wring as much sympathy from you as possible.