Fool me twice, shame on...

So, a bit of history: Back in 2006, there was this ugly time in the company's history when revenue was down, we had (ostensibly) over-hired, (certainly) overspent, and additionally taken a massive loss on a project because of scope creep and poor client management. We were stuck. Most everyone was in the dark about this, until a miserable Wednesday in December when we had an impromptu company meeting and learned that we had to let a few folks go. "A few" in that case was defined as three; of note here is that one of them was a close friend, Chris, that I had recommended for a position four months earlier. The remainder of us went on a reduced salary for a period that was not to exceed three months. At the time, I felt like this was reasonable; I'm more than willing to stretch a little for the sake of a group that is my second home. I said nothing about what was happening.

A month later, we were still strapped for cash. We weren't profitable, nothing new had come in, and we had to let five more people go. In a month, a 16-person company had dropped to a 6-person company (the remaining two departures were voluntary resignations). I was one of the developers that was retained, probably due to having current knowledge on our only active project. I sat in an "island" of sorts; we had four folding tables that were arranged in a rectangle; everyone else who sat on the island was let go. For two weeks, until I rearranged the desks, I sat in front of four folding tables, alone. Still I said nothing; I quietly dealt with it--for the majority of the stint, other than those within the company, only Elli knew what was going on or any of my feelings on the matter, and I buried most of it deeper still when she had something of a crisis and I didn't want to burden her with anything else (the right decision, in retrospect).

But these things happen. We didn't see it coming, and we would learn from our mistakes. I remember Andy, tears in eyes, saying he would never do this again.

Eventually, business came back, we went back to full salaries (over a month after the three months that weren't to be exceeded, but I excused that easily enough), and we re-hired Daniel, who wasn't content at his new job at nFusion and came back. We had a great contract from Time Warner and another great contract from World Vision, and were set. Over the course of the next few months, my confidence returned. I recommended another friend, Erin, to come temp while our hosting guru was out, and encouraged her to stay on when she was given the opportunity.

As those projects began to near their end, there was trouble getting them tied off. We began to get new projects that weren't being handled very well, with clients that were making unreasonable demands (scope creep) and not being managed properly. I realized this for what it was, and started pointing it out. "Hey, this is scope creep; we need to tell them no!" "We're doing this for free; this is a really bad idea!" "We need to get this under control; this project is three times over budget!" After awhile, I felt like I was placing signs in the road: "Warning!" "Warning!". But they were heeded about as much as the yellow advisory speed signs for hills and bends in Texas (read: not at all). Quite the contrary, our project manager was forbidden from ever telling a client no.

At the same time, I watched as our company changed its focus. We were going to be a product company. Of course, we didn't have any products, nor were we (as we discovered) going to spend any money on R&D to make products. I guess they were supposed to grow on trees. I began to say that focusing on being a product company made no sense if we weren't going to make any products.

A month later, we were going to be a marketing company. Andy had found a girl that was going to be a marketing advisor. We were going to get in and be like the interactive marketing agencies, I guess. Honestly, I never figured out how this business model was supposed to function...which was a good indicator to me that it was a bad one. (Timeline note: In the middle of this, as projects were going badly and losing money, I began to seek other opportunities.)

A month and a half later, the new word of the game was DLM. Actually, DLM isn't a word, it's an acronym, which stands for Digital Landscape Management. What this means in plain English is that we're going to be a consulting company. We were going to advise all of our non-existent consulting clientele on how to manage their presence on the Internet (basically). We had a huge 12-node map thingie in a Keynote (the Apple clone of PowerPoint) presentation to prove it! I mentioned, as usual, that several aspects of this strategy made no sense, and that I didn't think the business model would make us any money. (Timeline note: I put in notice a week after this meeting.)

Three weeks later (yesterday), we were to be a product company again, and drop our DLM efforts to focus on the creation of a hosted CMS, Bloom. Nobody has the right to tell me "Acorn" was the bad pun or a bad framework name ever again. We had 80 hours to build a proof of concept...of course, there wasn't time in the schedule to schedule that 80 hours anytime soon...

And today, we no longer had the money to support keeping some of our employees; yet again, we had to let some people go. In fact, without severance. They're on their own; we'll give them a nice reference if they ask. Somehow, that's seen as enough.

The difference is, last time we didn't realize what was happening. This time, everyone realized what was happening, warned that we were being foolish, were unheeded, and it happened again in spite of our best efforts. Hell, to top off the irony, just two days earlier, Stephanie (who today is on her own looking for work) commented that she was concerned about the planned unbillable time in an upcoming project, because it negatively impacted both her performance and her continued employment prospect.

So much for "never again"...

And so, today I spent the day e-mailing friends, clients, parents, anyone I thought might have a job opening, trying to find a place for my departed and departing friends to go.

My time at Live Oak wasn't supposed to end this way. It didn't need to end this way; hell, it didn't need to end at all. This is the epitome of not the way things were supposed to be, and I'm sitting back in my chair, far from wondering what the hell happened, knowing exactly what the hell happened. Hindsight is 20/20, but in this case, foresight was too.

I've spent a year making excuses and trying to be understanding. I argued with friends (mostly one friend) defending what was happening and giving the benefit of the doubt while being told that something was amiss. I spent two months in grief realizing that I needed to leave, but not wanting to do so because of people I loved and cared for.

Finally today, the last excuse went through the (figurative) paper shredder. I have absolutely none left. My only feelings left are anguish for my friends, and an odd and perhaps selfish sense of gratitude to God for giving me the wisdom to jump off of the sinking Titanic just in the nick of time, instead of sticking around to polish the brass. I feel both like someone I love has died, and like someone I love has betrayed me.

My last day is tomorrow, and it can't be over soon enough. This wasn't the way this era of my life was supposed to end.