The Decline and (Hopefully Not) Fall of the Roman Empire

Last week was a little heavy again.

*

On Tuesday, three goodbye emails arrived in the course of the day, explaining to us that three members of the same team were marking their last hours in the company.

I'd written a note to the product owner of another team, wanting to tell her goodbye because of my own departure. She wrote back that morning saying that she'd be leaving in a couple of hours and that we should chat on LinkedIn instead. (Which I did.)

One of the emails was written by a Russian colleague, and I think Russians generally have a gift for making everything sound ironical. But I think he was being sincere and not sarcastic when he quoted Monty Python in his last line: "Always look on the bright side of life."

*

We were stunned by the mass departures — although I always feel hypocritical because I too am rushing for the exit. I've never watched Game of Thrones, but it felt a little like the Red Wedding. Tuesday was weird altogether.

That evening I wasn't sure if I wanted to go to choir practice, because the day had knocked the stuffing out of me. But if I make excuses now, I thought, it's setting a bad precedent and it'll only go downhill from there.

So I cycled off, and found that I'd made the right decision. It is very wholesome and healing to sing "Dancing Queen" by Abba with people who adore it. And even the "Im Walde" by Schumann that had depressed the hell out of the choir when our choir director made us rehearse it on Valentine's Day (of all days) — it's a foreboding song about a forced marriage in a German forest — has very pleasant harmonies.

***

Back to work:

On Wednesday, perhaps, M. wrote in the team chat in the morning:

'Nobody has left the company yet.'

Another teammate:

'Give it a couple of hours.'

I wrote that it felt likelier that people would leave the company at the end of a month, like on February 28th, rather than at the beginning of a new one. But that I didn't want to jinx it.

Within a couple of hours, we received an email from a Front End developer who was working his last day.

A third teammate went back and found our conversation again, and bluntly added underneath the thread, 'This conversation hasn't aged well.'

***

On Thursday, two other former colleagues (not amongst the five whom I already mentioned above) had organized goodbye drinks at a bar that was perhaps twenty or thirty minutes from the office. It was after 8 p.m. when I arrived.

One of the colleagues whom we were saying goodbye to was standing outside, smoking a cigarette with a circle of other colleagues. The circle included our managing director (who, clearly hungry, was wolfing down a healthy-looking thin-crust pizza). I thought there'd be food within, but in retrospect he probably took it along from the office.

I gave her a hug, not dissolving into tears and sobbing all over her as I'd kind of feared before heading to the bar, then headed in.

*

Tumbled in a cozy, barely lighted room — blue velvet banquettes and footstools, and exposed brick walls behind heating coils — were colleagues, puffer jackets, various other appurtenances; and coffee tables, topped with metal tumblers filled with pretzel sticks, tea lights, and lots of drink glasses. A few coasters were outnumbered by the condensation rings on the table surfaces.

I went to order a cocktail, and then began to wake up out of my work-related apathy and begin to chat.

It felt awkward at first that part of the room knew I was leaving, and part of it didn't.

But I had a lively conversation about scientific biographies and politics with a colleague, then when they went out to smoke, a colleague leaned forward and asked me about my studies.

Another colleague listened to us for a while, then asked with energy, "You're quitting? ... Congratulations!!"

We didn't just talk about controversial subjects, but also about vacations, cycling, electric scooters, and how diligent or not we'd been at university the first time around.

*

I also half-eavesdropped on another conversation.

'I know of three more people who are leaving the company,' a colleague was saying.

'Oh, I know of two,' said another. '... This is awkward. I don't know if we're thinking of the same people.'

The first colleague proposed something — maybe that the people leaving just want to move on to other projects — and the second insisted, 'No, it's burnout. It's burnout.'

*

The ex-colleague who'd gone out for a smoke came back in.

I'd worried that it would be tactless to wear a hoodie with the old company logo to the event. So I was wearing a different one. It turned out that there was no need to worry.

She'd laid off her coat, to reveal that she was wearing a sweatshirt branded with the logo of our parent company... the one that had unceremoniously fired her. I chuckled inwardly at her bravado, and the phrase 'Augmented Reality' on the hoodie, but said nothing.

Eventually she asked me whether I was taking all my vacation days. I answered hesitatingly, 'Well... there's not much purpose now. I'll be leaving at the end of March.'

Like one or two other colleagues, her mouth dropped open. Then she closed it and asked whether this was a happy or a sad thing.

'Well, I had a lot of stress for a while. But now that I've made the decision I feel like I'm ... blossoming.'

Then the conversation became fairly normal again.

*

Long after 10 p.m., I went outdoors again and said my goodbyes to the former colleague. She gave me a long, long hug and told me that I'd given a lot to the company. — Which amazed me, as I'd spent at least a year or two being a thorn in her side, even if we'd cleared the air and gotten along very well later. — One of the higher-up colleagues was looking a little anxiously at us, so I wondered what was going on. Maybe I'll investigate next week.

The second colleague and I had also had the chance to say goodbye before, and he'd been highly concentrated speaking to other colleagues. But as I started to walk off homeward alongside T., he exclaimed, 'Don't be like that!', and came over for a hug and for another goodbye.

*

I was happy that I'd come, but I can hardly emphasize enough how weird it is to work at my company right now. I've been with it for almost seven years and have never seen a situation anywhere near this one.

***

On Friday I sent around another spate of goodbye messages.

One of them could not be sent because the work account of the recipient had been deactivated. I asked three colleagues who'd been working more closely with the recipient than I had, if he'd indeed left; they'd had no idea of his departure but in the end no further confirmation was needed anyway, as the evidence was strong enough.