Corporate Survivor

Impending layoffs make for great reality TV

What happens when people stop being polite and start getting real? Just take a job in corporate America and you'll find out real quickly.

That's because in the real real world, the working life isn't as glamorous as sharing an uber-posh pad with seven strangers/co-workers bickering over who gets to go in the hot tub. The real working world is sharing a made-for-two cubicle with a Milton-esque mole-man. The working world is bickering over who gets the better office parking spot in Lot ZZ. The working world is someone's twisted idea of reality TV.

Think of the office as a TV stage set. Or the island on Survivor. There are X amount of cubicles and workstations and X amount of employees. A good fit. But when the board of directors decides to play musical chairs with the various departments at your company, someone's gonna be left seatless when the music's over. The part-timers in accounting? Forget it, they'll find a way to make the numbers work. The fraternity known as the sales department? They'll make a pitch corporate can't refuse. The how-did-he-get-that-cushy-job executive with the $500K salary? Keep dreaming. The first seat to go will be yours -- whatever remaining department that may be in. Once the tribe has spoken, it's time to take that lonely walk to the unemployment line.

But perhaps you survive the initial slashes. It's on to week two of this show. And now is when it starts getting personal. After the first cuts, departments and colleagues start banding together, forming coalitions, establishing allies. But someone is the mole. Either laying low and listening intently to every rip made on upper management or urging the scorned to fight back. Be forewarned -- talking smack about the boss may come back to bite you in your soon-to-be unemployed ass. The tattletale almost always wins immunity.

Soon, the first round of practical cuts and second round of rabble-rouser evicting prove not to be enough. It's time to cut the fat. This is when you'll be thrilled to have that entry-level salary you've held preciously for the last five years. Some too-big-for-his-britches, big-headed, mid-level manager is about to walk the plank from his love cruise. Hopefully for you, it's your jackass boss.

Week four, and you're still around. Off in the background. You know your role. But perhaps it's time to step into the spotlight. To show you're no average Joe. Hold on there, champ. The next person who decides to shine in the void left by the middle management bozo is doomed. The spotlight is only going to bring to light the fact that there is actually a bigger ass at the company than the one that just got the boot. And to that person, the big wigs will be glad to say, "You're fired."

Onto week five, and the skeletal staff is tiring from longer hours, increased workload and playing hide-and-seek with the layoff legion of doom. It's time to energize. Time to load up on java, caffeine pills, speed. And time to practice up on buttering up to the remaining supervisors. Nothing quite like sounding chipper in a sea of Debby Downers. Just don't be too perky. Brown-nose too much and you'll begin to stink like ... On the flip side, don't get caught with your head resting on your silicon-filled mousepad in the midst of your team's crucial task. Sleep, lunch hours, bathroom breaks -- they're all time away from your work. Cave in to life's necessities and you'll quickly find out that the one with the weakest bladder is the weakest link. Goodbye.

Hiding in the bathroom half the day pretending you ate some bad sushi may have worked in the early rounds of this reality show, but now that you're a finalist, the cameras are going to follow you around every corner. Every email you write, scrutinized. Every phone call you make, taped. Every non-work-related web site you visit, flagged. Every quirky tie you wear, noted by the business casual fashion police. Do one thing to stray from the conformity of corporate culture -- from phrases you say to clothes you wear on wacky-tie day -- and you'll soon find out that for no good reason, you just don't fit in.

Sweeps week is upon the office, and you're officially cleaning up on this show. You've worked it out, and your boss even noted that "we've got a hot one tonight." Don't let the corporate culture shock fool you. That we're-smaller-but-closer mentality is just an illusion cast by some Gargamelian brainwasher of a CEO who's still earning his $1.6 million before annual bonus. Maybe you've even had some dialog with the chief executive recently. But the power trip could become a final destination to Laid-Offville if you get too chummy. A few hearty guffaws with the big cheese are swell; joking about her ex-husband is off limits. When it's time to go to that meeting of the few and brave survivors, once again, you'll see there aren't enough seats. You though, you in? Oh, you out.

For the season finale, all that's left at the company are senior executives, janitors and a tech guy -- oh, and you and your ferocious competitor battling it out for the position of junior assistant associate director of absolutely nothing. A giant task laid out in front of each of you -- restructuring the company budget so your salary can still be a line item -- and no one's left to hide behind or place blame on. Imagine that -- accountability in a corporate setting? Unfortunately, the accounting on your final task cashes you out a few bucks below your wily opponent. Though you may have the personality, he has the business savvy to earn the company some money by converting downsized employees' workstations into charge-by-the minute computer terminals for job seekers. So when they haul your ass into the boardroom and let you know you're fired, please don't ask, "Is that your final answer?"