Well, that’s it. Mike’s career with They-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has reached its official and very clinical end. Stockholders everywhere, rejoice. We wish you well.

Goodbyes said, the only thing left to do today was to ship his computer back to its somehow-more-efficient-now-they’ve-let-an-exceptional-employee-go-to-serve-their-slavish-devotion-to-some-made-up-bottom-line corporate sponsor.

Apologies for the semi-accidental spillage of editorial commentary. That was entirely my own vitriol, and I promise to act more grown up-ish in the future. When I can.

In the meantime, I took Mike’s computer up to our local pack-and-ship joint to, well, pack and ship it. I asked the man behind the counter if he would ship via FedEx using the company’s account number (relax, they approved the expense).

It came out, in the course of conversation, that Mike had been laid off and I was there to overnight the remains of a promising career. No big whoop, and it was not an emotional scene.

He packed the equipment and labeled the box. I took my wallet out to pay, but he shook his head and said, “No charge.”

“Oh, thank you,” I said, “but I can’t possibly accept that. You packed this box for me, and I want to pay you.”

“No. Look, I used old materials that I had sitting around.”

“Yeah, but—”

“The thing is,” he said, “I’ve been there too. That’s why I own my own store now. You can’t trust anybody else, and we got to stick together.”

I thanked him with whatever sincerity those two silly, overused words can convey, and he wished me a “better day”.

That was a small kindness, but so much appreciated for its inestimable personal value. That gentleman’s empathy gave me pause to recognize, again, why it is important to buy local (I could have gone to one of the box stores expecting to pay a lower price for packing) – but also why it is important to be a small business owner.

A telemarketing representative called the other day to glean my opinions on grocery store brands. Apparently, there’s another ‘Super*Cheap’o Mart’ coming to town. The opinion I gave was this: “I have recently come to the realization that cheap goods come at too high a price for me.”

And wasn’t I right? Because I just saved $15 and my faith in humanity by buying local!

That guy’s shop is called Copy Right, by the way: Timberwood Blvd., in Charlottesville (up there by Forest Lakes, next to Food Lion and Tuesday Morning). http://www.copyrightva.com/

He does good work.

Mike is dead man walking at his company. The They-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named global telecommunications empire he serves laid three working weeks between the “Mr. Watson, come here. I want you … to know you’re expendable,” message and his actual saved-spot on the unemployment line.

Ample notice, and we appreciate that. Ample time, as well, to transfer his workload and hard-earned contacts to overwhelmed co-workers; to write lists and clear, step-by-step instructions; and to field calls from supervisors, senior executives and other erstwhile decision-makers, in which they express their regrets. There was, apparently, nothing any of them could do. A random decision rolled down off the mountaintop, and Mike got in the way.

Three weeks. 15 working days, roughly 150 hours … 9000 individual moments which find Mike battling his inner playground mentality: the one that pulls back a slingshot band and shouts ‘Avenge me, you maties!’ in his ear.

Because, really, why should he help this company (a business he faithfully and tirelessly served) transition him out? Why soothe the aching consciences of still-employed managers? Or grit his teeth 9000 times to thank executives for this “opportunity” or that “experience”?

Because. That’s the way grown-ups do it.

Passive-aggressive vindication tactics are, apparently, the new trend in post-employee behavior. The two-week notice courtesy, for one, is out the door. Other niceties forsook. One can understand, perhaps even empathize: companies (especially large ones) have dehumanized their relationships with workers. There is no more stability; no more correlation between work and reward; no promises sacred enough to keep.

People are devalued, disenfranchised. Disgusted. And they want to strike back.

That’s understandable, but short-sighted. You see, we still need jobs. We need incomes. So we need to tell our ex-bosses that it’s okay for them to sleep well at night, that we’ll be alright and no harm’s done, anyway. Because we need their help to deliver us to the next opportunity (via recommendations, contacts, etc.).

Self-interest. Convince yourself of that, my friends, then move on up the high road – the only path that is paved with your enduring good reputation, and shaded by your own conscience at ease. What will resentment bring, but self-destruction? You can’t share your ulcers with an ex-boss, after all.

And the fact is, Mike did like his job. A lot. And it was a great opportunity: telecommuting allowed him to draw a big-city salary in our small-town community; he expanded his skill-set and made it to the table on time for dinner every evening. He met and worked with some really decent people. He received occasional performance bonuses. It was a great job, and it’s good for us to look past the layoff to remember that.

Yes. There’s got to be a way for us to reinstate the social contract; to remove the comfort of anonymity from corporate decision-making. We have to do that, because this environment we’re in is just plain old crap. None of us can thrive, and few survive, in it. So we must change it – leaving bitterness and vindication out of the discourse.

What is this mysterious way forward? I’m not sure. Maybe it’s small business. Maybe it’s that we business owners – how many of us felt forced, as I have, to regard entrepreneurship as a last stable career resort? – write a new contract of shared responsibility between ourselves, our customers and the people who work with us. Maybe we show the big guys how it’s really done: with dignity and humanity intact.

We’re 10 days past the layoff call, and still feeling, well, unruffled, I guess: relatively positive in the face of the fact that we need to grow our business a hardy 800% in – well, immediately – if we are to maintain the exciting and glamorous lifestyle to which we’ve become accustomed (we like it here in the shade, just under the middle class bough).

Mike did experience a moment yesterday, it coincided roughly with the breakdown of the clothes dryer, where he felt compelled to wonder aloud if we are being “picked on”.

Of course we’re not. We are, after all, the most happily blessed people we know: you should meet our kid. But I can’t blame Mike for the lapse. Unemployment, like a working elevator, is an up-and-down endeavor, and one’s mood is firmly attached. The best hope you have, emotionally, is that the key people in your life are riding a different car.

Last week, I determined (here, in public) that we require roughly $3000 a month to live. We plan to reduce those needs somewhat, using Mike’s severance payout to eliminate consumer debt and pay off the remainder of our tuition cost. And coupons. Lots of coupons. But let’s say, for the sake of simplicity, that $3000 p/month is our minimum target.

That requires a rapid growth scenario for our small business that borders on – Nay! It borders nothing, and we should rather describe it as being firmly afoot in the land of fictional delusion.

That’s okay. Part-time employment will pull those expectations back a bit; and so will hiring a sales executive to help us draw new business and market services that we’ve lazily shoved into the back of the closet (music beds for ad spots, anyone?).

We can still make it.

Unless (uh-oh, who pushed the down button on my elevator car?), you consider this: $3000 does not include health care coverage. The last time we were without coverage (seven years ago) we paid $1100 a month to minimally insure our family of three.

The president is helping us with a 65% reduction in COBRA premiums for nine months. Whew. But a severance period is deducted from those nine, leaving us with six months during which we will not visit our family doctor for fear of revealing a dreaded “existing condition”.

I’m plummeting down the shaft now, aren’t I? But as I cannot afford to hit bottom (broken bones being too costly a repair), I’ve done a bit of research and found that there are companies – yes, in America – that offer health benefits with part-time employment. Check them out.

We also have the advantage of living in a university town. Many universities, including the University of Virginia here in wonderful Charlottesville, Va., offer health benefits to part-time employees. Find yours.

And thus, our plan acquires new detail: support the transition from the high-salary/low-stability life of corporate unreward, to the scary-yet-potentially-safer world of small business ownership with part-time employment at targeted employers – health benefits being the rabbit to chase.

Supplemental to that will be our evermore urgent responsibility to support the cause of health care reform in this country. Blast the greedy lobbyists, insurance profiteers and agenda-hiding politicians: we (the people) all know this thing doesn’t work. Time to change it.

Link: http://whistlecorps.com/blog/

Alright. So, let’s recap: instability is a reality of modern working life. So too, right now anyway, is international economic failure. It’s not our fault, nor are we realistically empowered to affect the macrofactors – those are, say, the confluence of systemic failures in our economic and health care systems; transfer of political and economic power to market forces and an invisible, unaccountable elite; and the rise of self-interest at the cost of social morality (oh, let’s just say) – that are tossed down like routine thunderbolts from on high to randomly ruin the individual lives that happen to be napping beneath.

I’m not bitter. Okay, maybe just a little. But, basically, even though Mike was let go Friday – despite a long and productive (and award-winning) record of achievement at the They-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named multinational telecommunications behemoth – our emotional ducks are seated, beaks clapped shut by the holy bonds of “Serenity now!”, in a neat little row. Everyone here is sleeping at night.

Emotionally, we’re cool. Financially, we have a few decisions to make.

We started this business, as I mentioned before, for two reasons: (1) pay tuition at our daughter’s private school and (2) emergency contingency plan, the insurance we knew we’d need. You might read ‘private school’ and think we’re living a haughty and privileged life where the term “broke” is measured in six figures, rather than two; but understand this: private elementary school in Central Virginia is not, relatively speaking, an expensive affair. It’s one of the primary reasons why we moved here from the high-rolling ‘burbs of Washington, D.C. Also, where you may see your late model car and non-Salvation Army wardrobe as budgetary non-negotiables, we see those as luxuries and vow to lose our old cars, our used shirts and even our house before we give up our kid’s school. So, let’s not have the private school argument here.

Okay, so the business clears about $10k annually, after expenses. That’s it. (For the record, we spend the rest of our time doing pro bono work.) That was our target. We saved the ten-grand in cash every year, and Mike maxed his 401K investment.

We bought the house we’re in now about five years ago because it was cheaper to live in (being smaller, closer to town and out of an expensive homeowner’s association) than our last (much prettier) house, and because we poured cash equity in it to get a lower mortgage and paid off our consumer debt when we did so. We bought less house than the mortgage companies were willing us into at the time.

Smart enough?

Okay, well. The problem was: no cash cushion. We had no credit cards – we were consciously avoiding consumer debt, knowing it would complicate finances when Mike was inevitably laid off – but no cash to cover emergencies. And, as the owner of a recently and unplanned new-and-improved septic system, I can tell you one thing with certainty: shit happens. (I don’t know if cussing is allowed on blogs. People often do that silly “sh*t” thing, but I find I’m just not in the mood to dress up my invectives. They stand as is. If you’re underage or oversensitive, go away.)

That situation led to the home equity line. We used it a few times, but never abused it. I used it, in fact, as an idiot’s savings account: paying our Whistle Corps earnings (i.e. tuition money) into it. Then, three months before tuition came due in 2008, the bank sent a letter to the effect, “Congratulations. Your home value has plummeted by an impressive margin. We’ll take that equity line back now, and good luck with things. Call us if you want a credit card.”

We had a vacation planned. I set cash aside to pay for it; airline tickets were purchased long before. Now, we were in a situation where we had to raise $10k in three months and leave for the first vacation we’d ever had, which was now just one of the many we couldn’t afford in the first place.

That led to credit cards. In my defense, I purposely acquired low-balance accounts, familiar as I am with the aforementioned shit that happens and knowing those cards would be maxed in a matter of time. In the meantime, economic meltdown continued to visit our dilapidated door in the form of banks repossessing overdraft accounts, raising rates, inventing new fees and all manner of fiscal treachery.

When the stock market crashed, so did our savings. Our parents see retirement savings as sacred, for the long term. But can we afford a long term view on those accounts anymore, when our equity is gone, cash spent, job market vanished and 401K, therefore, our only resource in the event (the inevitable event) of layoff? My folks don’t understand it. They say, “Don’t even look at the market!” Meanwhile, I’m watching the dive down into the deep end and thinking, ‘Who the hell can afford to get old anymore?’

So, it leads to this: our consumer debt load (car and two credit cards) is less than $10k. Not good, not the worst thing ever. Our retirement savings, decimated as they are, amount to about one tight year’s expenses. His severance package, worth about $15k, after taxes. It costs us $3000 a month to live. Our business hums along like usual at the $10k p/year rate, except that 30% of the accounts receivable I have on the books right now are seriously, hopelessly overdue.

That’s not great prospects. But, get this: if They-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named offer Mike a new position in another department, we are inclined to turn it down. And, keep in mind, private school stays. Non-negotiable expense.

Are we insane?! And can you guess why we’d make what is, on the face of things, such a blame fool decision? (Seriously, I’m asking you to tell me why.)

I’m not a natural entrepreneur. There are things about owning a small business that I hate, outright and downright to the very elements of my cellular being. Let me list them for you here, in no particular order (because I hate without discrimination): happy talk, negotiations, the phrase “Let’s filter this”, off-site meetings, money, hosiery and, God help me, networking.

Technically, I’m not cut out for business ownership. But we find that the corporate economy isn’t doing us any favors, either: it has divested us of control, and put us at the mercy of those macrofactors and the macroegos that wield them. So, small business is our refuge: it is the swamp land we’ve been pushed into and high time I learned to love it.

Mike is still looking for a job. And there may yet come an offer we can’t refuse. An offer like that, let me tell you, will come gilded and polished, drawn by golden winged ponies whistling Beatles tunes. Finances are a challenge, yes; but freedom requires sacrifice … and a plan.

First, I contacted delinquent clients. Imagine how much I hate doing that. Now double your imaginings and spread a boiled artichoke paste on it. You’re getting close. My efforts haven’t resulted in collections, technically speaking, but I have at least thrust my toe into the pool of grown-up necessaries.

Second, we’re working out a logistics and compensation plan with someone we’ve known and loved for years. She’s an executive-level sales manager, a networking veteran and all-around people person. She completes me. Do we need a big cash salary offer to entice her? No! We’re working on creative ideas that’ll make her money and take me out of the customer loop. Far out to pasture, where I belong.

There are third, fourth and fifth phases to the plan, but I think you get the idea. The situation, undesirable as it is, has the effect of distilling away the distracting forces (yes, a big salary is one of those), leaving us comforted by the essentials: security and relationships.

I’ll let you know how it goes.