Laid Off And Undercover

A layoff is hard not to take personally. Some are so embarrassed by not having a job that they fake it, like in this extreme example illustrated by the Washington Post: For weeks after he was laid off, Clinton Cole would rise at the usual time, shower, shave, don one of his Jos. A. Bank suits and head out the door of his Vienna home -- to a job that no longer existed. He was careful to stay away until 5 p.m., whiling away the hours at the library or on a park bench in a wireless Internet hot spot. If he had to stay home, he stashed the car in the garage. "In this area, in the shadow of our nation's capital, so much is about appearances," said Cole, a carefully spoken man of medium height with thinning brown hair and tortoise-shell glasses, which he removes for photographs. "There was fear that other kids wouldn't play with your kids. You won't be invited to parties or be ostracized. Or that others would distance themselves from you because you might need help they won't be able to provide. All those thoughts race through your mind." He kept up the charade for two months. Yikes. Others are going out with friends and pretending they're not hungry, then filling up on Lean Cuisine afterwards. Another woman, when she walks her dog through the neighborhood, tells neighbors she's just telecommuting. But keeping quiet is not just stressful, but counterproductive: as we've talked about on this blog, most of your jobs are found through networking, and telling friends and neighbors that you're in the market just widens your net. Cole himself, after opening up to his network, has been on 12 interviews. He'd been on none before. Consider this a bit of a PSA. Don't suffer in silence. It's stressful, it's not helpful, and if you have to wolf down Lean Cuisine for dinner, you might as well not have to do it in secret.

Fishbowl

Laid Off And Undercover

Rachel Kaufman

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Rachel Kaufman