Used to work for.
Not long after the ebullient exchange of business cards at the panel’s end, I got word. At the end of the month, they were letting me go.
The chairing of the panel at the symposium, all the networking and positioning. Not billable. The new business brainstormings, mentoring and pitches. Not billable. The publication of the press release, the engineering of the research, the interviews with the media. Not billable. Not billable. Not billable. And the cracker account I had hoped would be my salvation? As it turned out, my fate had already been decided, irrelevant of the outcome. The corporate waters had closed over me, silently, relentlessly. Just as easily as Belle and I had been dis-invited from the pitch, I had been rendered invisible.
Over the coming days, there were intermittent communications detailing the ramifications of what Belle had referred to as “my reduction of hours.” But all I could do was picture myself, face down on the railroad tracks, seeing the end of employee-paid health coverage rushing inexorably towards me.
Chapter 17 from The Year I Saved My (downsized) Soul  by Carol Orsborn
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