I'm retired. Fired once, downsized once. The firing was from my first job, because management (little newspaper in the South) wanted a hometown guy to be sports editor for less pay. My boss told me in the morning after I'd finished that afternoon's paper, but asked me if I could stay on for a month, as it was December and the new guy wanted to have the holiday season off before starting full-time. I had nothing better to do, so I agreed, even did some of my best work that month thinking I could change their minds. Nope. I was gone on Dec. 31, said my goodbyes to everyone and rode off. They tried to deny me unemployment benefits by making up some performance BS after I was safely back in New England, but I quickly gave an oral deposition that they didn't even bother challenging. The first check came a whole week late.
Second came the downsizing, after 32 years. The copy desk was being slashed, and because I was the least social media and technology savvy of the bunch, I was one of the five total newsroom employees to get the bad news. But, deja vu! The managing editor asked me to stay on for another month (July this time) because one of the copy desk survivors was going to be busy learning the new editing/layout software that was going to be installed on July 31 (for the next morning's paper). Again, I said yes. Dead man walking for a month, even watching from an "old" computer terminal a few feet away as my former desk had two new screens installed and my phone removed and replaced on that final day. That was great fun. So was the dog-and-pony show I was asked to endure that afternoon, when the editor and publisher both came into the newsroom and made a big deal about how it was time to say goodbye to five great employees. I even got to give a little speech, as the M.E. had confidence that I wouldn't go rogue. I didn't, until the very end. I had said all the right things, a few funny anecdotes, then wound up with, "You know, I don't want to leave, never have. I could say a lot more, but (agonizing dramatic pause here) ... I won't. Goodbye and thanks." The M.E. took me aside afterward and thanked me profusely for not saying what I wanted to say. Of course, I never intended to say any more, just wanted to make them squirm a little after they handed me my parting gifts of wine glasses inscribed with the paper's logo. I told him, "Thanks. But if you notice blood stains leading back to my desk, that's from how hard I was biting my lip just then." We are still on cordial terms. Well, at least I am because it's on his conscience, not mine. He doesn't understand why I still check in with him from time to time. It's because he's a good guy and I enjoyed talking with him on the job for years when he was a reporter working his way up the ladder.
There you go, my story and I'm stickin' to it. Was I initially stunned to be told I was no longer needed? Of course. But it only took a couple of hours to realize that it wasn't the end of the world and I might as well leave them with a positive impression.