“Don’t Say You’re Sorry”: Advice On Firing People From Time & J. Crew

Time Inc., like so many companies in America and around the world, has decided to denude itself of some no longer necessary domestic employees. As the New York Post reports, Time has not taken the most tactful possible route.

Time Inc. apparently does not want managers telling workers here in the US that they are sorry the jobs are being shipped off.

Media Ink obtained a confidential internal memo from Erynn Petersen, a senior executive in the IT department, who issued a talking-points memo to managers to tell how to lay off tech staffers in Seattle and New York. …

“Tips on Handling Employee [sic] who Become Upset in the Moment” contained this advice to managers who had to fire workers:

• “Remain calm.
• Don’t debate.
• Don’t say you’re sorry.
• Give them their space.
• Be concise with message
• If needed, security can be reached at ext: XXXX (this is rare).”

It’s usually awkward when the news reports that your corporation is putting profits over people and outsourcing American union jobs to Manilla. It’s even more awkward when you’re caught telling your managers to refuse to apologize or, as in the case of J. Crew, having guards escort newly axed employees from the building.

I mean, Jesus, J. Crew:

It’s believed cuts are being made across all divisions, including Madewell. Dismissed staffers are being asked to leave immediately and security guards are on hand to escort them out of the building.

What harm does it do to act with the smallest amount of we’re-all-people compassion? Really, so what if a manager tells an employee, “We’re sorry about this,” as she is letting him go? She probably is sorry! If the employee has done nothing wrong and yet his life is about to be upended, she should be sorry, at least in a general, sympathetic way. What’s wrong with letting her acknowledge that sometimes life sucks? It’s a small moment of human connection, not an admission of fault that the terminated employee is going to take to court.

I have faced the firing squad. Twice, even: once, in December, after six months as the receptionist / office manager of the casting office where I was responsible for everything from letting delivery guys flirt with me to taking out the garbage; and once, in January, after eleven months at a start up that was written about in the New York Times Magazine before beginning its sharp descent into turmoil and oblivion. Memories!

That second disaster job — which I’ve covered at length in a personal essay for The Morning News — is where Mike and I met, at which we bonded over the strangeness of having a CEO who spent after hours time looking at porn at employees’ computers*, and from which we were laid off together with the other editors at the end of a Friday afternoon.

Did anyone at either gig apologize to me before kicking me out into the snow with no warning, no severance, and no more than a plastic bag to hold my belongings? Hell no. Would it have made a difference in how I felt? Maybe. Especially the first time around, at the casting office: they let me go during the famous New York City transit strike, when it was 25 degrees outside and there was no way to get back to Brooklyn except to walk for an hour and a half with tears of embarrassment freezing on my cheeks.

I had been so proud of myself for making it into work on time that morning and holding down the fort as everyone else gradually trickled in, cursing and shivering. And they cut me loose anyway so as to save money on bringing me to that evening’s holiday party — though only after I had worked the full day and taken out the office trash. I was still holding the Hefty bags when the boss, who had never bothered to learn how to spell my name, approached me with her “bad news” face and fake smile.

Yeah, I wouldn’t have minded hearing “I’m sorry,” even if she didn’t mean it. It would have made me feel slightly less like garbage myself.

* In Mike’s story, he calls me “Elisabeth.”

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