I have only done the walk of shame once. I know how unpleasant it can be and it’s not exactly something I want to do again. I suppose it was only made more embarrassing because it was entirely unexpected. I thought things were going great. We were getting along, I was really doing a magnificent job, I was getting great feedback, but in the end, well, it just wasn’t enough.
It all came down to money. I was supposed to get paid for putting out all this effort, but there was resistance on their end. Something about not having enough cash on hand, and that while I was well worth it, in the end, I just wasn’t going to get paid.
And with that started the process that is the walk of shame.
Sure, I was just a young pup, a bit of a gigolo, glomming on to anyone who was willing to keep me in the manner to which I had become accustomed. I had been this way since I was 21 years old. I think a lot of guys are “jigs,” doing the big nasty in exchange for the perks of the job, some coin in the old pockets and if we’re lucky, enough money left over to put into a 401(k).
I certainly was good at what I did. I guess I still am. Sure, I tried to get away from jigging for some years, even making my way down to Florida where it would have been easy to get back into the business side of things if the mood had hit me.
But the walk of shame really spun my head around. It is just so degrading and to this day, I am still saddened by the fact that Egghead gave me my marching orders that November morning in 1993 and laid me off.
The whole saga unfolded again for me a couple days ago. With the state’s government in transition, everyone is just a little wary of what is to come. The subject of the walk of shame came up in one of my cohort’s offices. He had also done the walk of shame at least once and had to send others on their way in a similar fashion.
This is the only time I have ever been laid off. Yes, I was fired once. And I quit another time. But even being fired doesn’t really feel like the walk of shame, because you had to do something pretty bad to get fired in the first place. The walk of shame is reserved for those moments where you’re doing a great job, but the other side needs to get rid of you quickly, usually through a side door.
That’s the way it was at Egghead. I was third in line that morning to get the “talk.” You know the one. “We really appreciate all the hard work you’ve been doing here, {Insert Name}, but we have to make some changes here and unfortunately, we have to let you go. Blah, blah, blah. Severance. Blah. {Insert Name} in HR will be happy to help you complete the transition.
And then {Insert Name} would walk with you to your office. There, under his or her guise, you would pack up all your personal possessions. In my case, that meant a lot of stuff, from the stuffed sheep I kept in the office to the treasure chest of fortune cookies that were left over from a recent event I managed.
While my friends who were also set to do the walk of shame weren’t even allowed to take a single disk of data with them until it could be checked to see if it wasn’t something proprietary, my HR girl was kind of new, so she wasn’t about to question anything I took along with me.
Outside of the treasure chest, everything was mine. I only took the chest because what were they going to do with it anyway? Besides, it was the pirate thing to do. I took my own sweet time packing. I wasn’t as upset as my coworkers, who came by, tears streaming from their eyes because they too were about to do the walk.
Me, I was OK with the whole thing. Well, the laid off part. Sh** happens in the working world and if a company isn’t making the numbers, they really have no choice but to deep six you. You are a cost, a red mark on the spreadsheet. It’s not personal, certainly not like being fired.
However, the walk of shame was very, very unpleasant, I must say. With my box in hand and my HR guard toting the bright red treasure chest, I made my way down the hall. Thankfully, my office was near the exit. My friends had to do a much longer walk, with all the survivors rising from the cubicles with as much stealth as they could to see who had been let go.
Down the stairs I went, out the door and to my car. I loaded my stuff into the Trooper II and took the chest from the HR chick. And then came that awkward moment in the walk of shame. We bid each other farewell, she took my keycard and I took my check for services rendered up until this day.
I was no longer an Egg. Yes, that’s what we employees were called. Instead, I was just a guy without a job who had just completed his very first and probably not last walk of shame.
For those of you who have had to endure the walk, you know what I’m talking about. One moment you’re making all these plans and the next moment your calendar is wide open, all because you went for a little walk in the morning.
In the Emerald City, still not a big fan of taking walks and feeling a bit shameful about it,
– Robb