On my second day in a new job as a tech support person, I started a download of OpenOffice.org, a free alternative to Microsoft Office. Midway through the process, the system administrator came up to me and asked what I was downloading. When I told him, he stated that “we use Microsoft Office. We sell software, and we support other software publishers.”

I’m not one to take dictation from anyone, and our disagreement became rather noisy and ugly. This was on a Tuesday. Two days later, my boss called me into a conference room and fired me. Why he didn’t fire me immediately? Because he sent an email asking me to talk with him to the wrong email address, and because he chose not to sacrifice a day working at home on the Wednesday.

This post was submitted by Tim Carmell.

It started about a year ago as I was getting ready to graduate from grad school, I received that dreaded call that my meager under-employment gig was letting me go. At the time, that notice hadn’t quite fully sank in. As they quoted, “if we get our clients back, we’ll be sure to call you.” How reassuring was that?

It just so happens to be that I live in Arizona, an area rocked with high unemployment and high foreclosures. No one is hiring and no one is returning your job prospecting calls. If you do get an interview from an employer, they call you in, meet with you for an hour, and then tell you that they’ll retain your resume for when they start hiring again. So comforting to know that you wasted your time to only find out that they don’t need you now!

After I lost my part time job, I decided to invest what I had left in savings (which wasn’t much) to start my own company. Little did I know, that too would dry up like the rest of Arizona. So, since I was underemployed with my previous gig, I don’t qualify for any assistance from the state or federal government. Now I’m out of options as my savings have dried up and no call backs from the hundreds of applications that I’ve submitted. The only option left is to enlist, an option that I would not make unless it meant putting food on the table and clothes on my back. I cry at the idea of feeling like you have no options left and the feeling of worthlessness. How do you even begin to look on the bright side of things, knowing that the promise land isn’t so promising…

This post was submitted by Stephanie.

I was an airline pilot at a regional airline based out of Newark, NJ. I flew a 50 seat regional jet, and was paid $19,800 per year.

In October of 2008, the company decided that as I hit my second year pay rate, myself and 350 of my co-workers cost too much to keep around.

Our second year pay rate is $30,800 per year.

I expect to be on the street for 3 years or longer.

Every regional jet first officer is paid a similar rate. If you are on an airplane that seats 34-86 people and has “Express,” “Connection,” or “Airlink” on the side, your first officer is being paid peanuts.

This post was submitted by Juan.

I worked for seven years as a copy editor and sportswriter at a smallish daily newspaper.

One night while I’m at the desk, my boss stops by my desk (on his way out to the casino or the bar, I’m sure) and asks me to come in to work an hour early the next day. No explanation why.

So, next day rolls around and I come in, put my coat around my chair, log on my computer and start building pages and opening copy to edit. About 20 minutes later, my boss walks up and tells me, “They need to see you in the executive conference room.” Uh oh.

The experience of walking from one end of the newsroom to the other, where the executive offices were located, was oddly exhilarating. Looking back, it must have been sort of like what the walk down the final mile to the electric chair must feel like for a death row inmate. On the way, I pass my boss (who had walked ahead of me) and the managing editor. Neither look at me, say a word to me. I see them around town. I’ve never said a word to them since.

In the conference room, there’s a guy I’ve never seen before and seven manila envelopes, face down, on the table. This is one of the newspaper’s lawyers. He takes one of the packets and goes through the spiel of laying me off. Or should I say, “guiding me through this reduction in force.” They offer me a choice: severance of what ends up being less than six months pay or unemployment. One or the other. No insurance extension. No help finding another job.

I’m in such shock that I just walk out, leaving my coat at my desk. The pink slip gives the day’s date as my final work day, so, a couple hours later, I drive back to the paper prepared to finish out my last day. At least I can close out my newspaper career with dignity.

I type in my door code. No dice. They’ve already wiped out my door access. I have to knock on the door to get someone to let me in the building. I go back to my desk and get back into work. I hear quiet discussion coming from the desks behind me, but I don’t pay attention. I’m focused on work, trying not to think about what has happened. A few minutes later, another editor, a guy I’ve known for literally 10 years walks up to my desk. He taps me on the shoulder and tells me, “You need to log out and go.” It was the coldest I’ve ever heard him sound and it was like a sucker punch. They weren’t even going to let me finish out the day.

I gave a short, defeated so long to the two other guys in the department that night, grabbed my coat, and walked out. I’ve never spoken to anyone from the paper again.

I’m back in graduate school, working for half my former salary while trying to establish myself in a new career.

This post was submitted by Eric Farquharsen.

I’ve known for over a year that I was getting laid off. Being a Recruiter in the Human Resources Department, you hear more and know more than you probably should. Defenitely more than the others, which is why you have to keep your mouth shut in HR.

My co-workers and I were the lucky crew who stuffed the severance packages for our employees while we hadn’t been officially informed of our own layoffs, only hearing about it from the business side.

Technically, I am still here. I have a week to go. I miss my ‘job’ because I haven’t hired anyone for a year.

This post was submitted by Laid Off Recruiter.