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.