“The world is round and the place which may seem like the end may also be the beginning.” – Ivy Baker Priest

I never in a million years thought it would happen. Orders had gone up. We were working 40 hour weeks again. Things seemed to be going well on the factory floor and we were busy. That’s why it was so hard for me to believe what I was hearing.

The plant I had worked in for over 20 years was being closed.

I glanced nervously around the crowded break room. Some people had literally turned white. A woman in the back had tears in her eyes. I felt sick.

Standing near a screen at the front of the room, a guy from corporate gestured with his laser pointer. “We’re going to merge your factory with another.” He said, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. “We plan to shut this facility down by the end of December.”

My mind raced. The recession had finally caught up with me. I’d been hoping and praying that despite all the bad economic news in recent months, somehow my little job in my little factory would survive. Now I was a statistic.

I started working at Benco Manufacturing when I was only 18 years old. My big plan at the time was to work there briefly, get myself on my feet, and then move on to bigger and better things. But, like for so many people who start working in factories, time has a way of flying by.

I got comfortable. I bought a house and raised my daughter. Truth be told, I built myself a good life with the money I earned while working there. Now that life is in jeopardy.

Despite the 20 years, I never thought factory work was the perfect job for me. I don’t know if anybody really does. It can be hard work. It can be mind numbingly boring. I’ve had good days and awfully bad ones. In fact, I’ve always thought of my job as the perfect example of the type you love to hate. And in good economic times, it’s the type of job that can be taken easily for granted.

As I write this column, it’s been a couple of weeks since I got the bad news of the closing. I still don’t know if I’ll have a job after the merger takes place. The stress is making it difficult for me to sleep at night. When I’m at work I have an inescapable feeling of hopelessness— like I’m rearranging deck furniture on the Titanic. At the same time I have good reasons to be optimistic. I recently got engaged and I’m contemplating going back to college. Maybe this is my big chance to move on to the bigger and better things I dreamed about when I was still a teenager.

A co-worker asked me recently if I had any post-Benco plans. Sighing, I looked out across the factory floor. With all the activity and commotion it was difficult for me to imagine it all going away in a few short months. A fork truck sped by. Loud machinery was in operation every direction I looked. People were busy coming and going. For the past 20 years these were the people I worked with, laughed with, and sometimes even argued with. In the coming weeks and months I might find myself crying with them. I shook my head and said I don’t know yet.

I just don’t know.