At my place we’re having a major restructure. It’s one of those where we’re not only changing what we do, but the number of analysts at my band won’t fit into the number the organisation has decided it will need, by 15.
It’s dragged on for months, a bit like Lost in the sense that the decision makers seem not to know any more than the audience about where the story is going to go. Cue myriad “wave 1” meetings
I was going to Edinburgh on Friday morning, not back until Tuesday; our stuff was all getting moved on Monday. Obviously, I’d have to put all my stuff away so someone (probably also me) could move it to the new office.
Also on Monday, we were going to find out our fates: had we been successful in reapplying for our jobs, or would we be considered “at risk”? As I wouldn’t be in the office on results day, I asked them to email my personal account. I wasn’t about to log into my work emails while on holiday.
With that Damoclean sword dangling precariously over my noggin, there was a chilling finality as I cleared my desk. I knew I would be back, at least in the short term, but the sense of departure was in the air.
As it was, I was “successful”. To what end, I don’t know. I received a letter of congratulation, but unlike the usual missives of that type, there was no accompanying promotion or new role. “You will receive information of your new assignment in the new year”, it proclaimed. Forgive me if I don’t hold my breath. All I really know is this: I don’t get the payout, but I do have something in the way of security.
We’ll see if this was a positive result in the fullness of time.
* There will be three waves in all, in which the organisation expects to lose ~500 people.