So, up to a week before 31^st July, I was being assured by the human resources manager that I had nothing to worry about and would be recalled to the R. Allen Stanford newspaper company. Indeed a few months earlier, another manager had assured that my hard work had not gone unnoticed and should cuts to the features desk come- I would surely be the only one to survive. Back then, I’d chuckled inwardly and thought the most cynical things. Now, months later, I was being told, quite repeatedly, to stop fussing about receiving some written communication to verify management's promise.

But, the voice in my head, quite as repeatedly, kept reminding: “a promise is a comfort to a fool”.  Recent developments and past observances made me trust management as much as I would a hungry cat with a pet fish.  There are people you trust; if they asked you to run, you’d start running. Then, there are others you know better than to trust- even when they might be telling the truth. If they told you to run, you’d stick around to the very end, despite the carcasses piling up all around you.

July 31^st finally came and on that day managers were sheepish.  I learnt that the night before, at least two employees who had received repeated assurances by management that they’d be recalled had been dismissed.  One, I was told, had worked very late- down to the wire, then was given the marching papers at the end.  The other, reportedly, suffered a similar fate.

So that Friday, I approached the human resources manager asking for my “letter”. He gave some bumbling answer about another manager having said letter.  I was bemused and waited patiently.  It was an entirely beautiful day. When the other manager finally showed up, he too was bumbling. I was then beckoned by the pack into the managing director’s office.

I sat there- half in the room and half out of it. I kept a straight face throughout- much to my credit. (Or at least, I hope I kept a straight face throughout.) And, two years of near-faultless work (their words) and a triple award-winning career was neatly folded up in talk of “economic circumstances” and assurances that should they need a freelance writer or should the R. Allen Stanford newspaper company rise to prosperity, my re-employment would “actively” be considered.  I was also assured that I should expect severance pay within three months.

I was incredibly unsurprised and amused and when finally freed by the pack wanted to laugh most heartily (inwardly).   I remember one editor calling me shortly afterwards to express shock. I listened without saying much as this editor reported that at the last meeting, assurances had been given that the features desk would remain untouched.  It was all I could do not to laugh as I was asked: “what are you going to do now?”  I remember thinking: “well I certainly won’t die or cry”.

Working girls like me have learnt nothing if not that there are very few things in your professional and personal life worth tears or depression.  Delayed and brief resentment maybe, but tears or depression....never.

Coming Next Tuesday: #18 Freedom Trail