It is such a nasty stain, isn’t it? The ‘F’ word. Because once you have been f-f-fired, under any circumstance, it is a huge bruise to the ego. It is not exactly a tale that you go spreading. It is a wildfire that you want to dampen with your quiet footsteps.
Though quiet steps do not put out a raging storm. And this storm has been brooding in all industries, for far too long.
The reason why no one writes about being fired is because your name is forever etched to that memory.
Watch: Job Interviews - Translated. Post continues below.
My story starts when I had taken the route of accepting a role that was through one of my networks.
A friend’s friend, if you will. I thought I was in good hands; I'd been promised that this manager would “teach” me things, fill some of the gaps in my knowledge.
But the alarm bells should have gone off early on.
The manager who hired me went on a three-week holiday, exactly three days after I started. They gave me a list of things to complete, including a small course.
I had completed all of my tasks quite easily by the time the manager was back.
Our mutual friend even visited the office a few times after. On the times the friend would visit, the manager would act quite differently (a lot nicer).
This also made me feel uncomfortable on top of the immense pressure that was put on me for an entry-level role.
This manager would say odd things like, “I can picture it in my head, but I can’t explain it.” Which was of no use to me when I was trying to do my job. The role got stale pretty fast.
It all ended pretty abruptly one day. I had been feeling super anxious and the manager had to let me know that they “sensed” my anxiety (more like, sensed confusion caused by their lack of communication).
We worked in a small office, with not many people around but the manager had asked everyone to leave.
They sat near to tell me that it was not working out and that they had to reduce my hours.
I knew that this was their way of getting rid of me as they knew I wanted a full-time role.
Then the manager said: “You can tell me to go f*ck myself, if you like?”
I retorted, “That’s not my style.” At least, professionally anyway. And what good would that have done?