"The Plight Of Print's Lucky Ones": I Hear You, Brother

Boy, if this doesn't sum it all up beautifully: "The Plight Of Print's Lucky Ones" from Gawker.

The anonymous poster, an unemployed New York journalist, writes, "...I haven't so much as sniffed an interview for a job that would put me back on track (does it even exist?) in over a year. Even those who 'made it' before the fall-out are bummed. A senior editor at a glossy Conde Nast fashion mag in his early 30s [told me], 'Who in their right mind would quit right now? And hopefully, I'm not gonna be fired. But honestly, a little part of me does sort of hope I'm next. At least that way, I'd be forced to explore other options.'

His attitude makes a perverted kind of sense. 'You should see this place,' he continues. 'There's absolutely no energy. We're all just resigned to slogging along. All these young kids still wet from college complaining about the lack of media jobs—at least they're young enough to figure something else out. It's the guys like me, who've been doing this shit for a decade and don't know how to do anything else, who are fucked.'"

Chuck here again: I recall in my last month in the workforce, after I'd been laid off, a number of my fellow staffers confided, "I think you're getting the better deal here. At least you can move on," as they shook in their sneakers, waiting for the axe to find them. Of course, no matter how dire the circumstances, no one would be daffy enough to leave a secure job—even as they now carry the added workload of all who have departed.

I asked one of my former co-workers if s/he felt like his/her workload had doubled. They laughed... "Doubled?" insisting that the majority of the remaining staff is so young and inexperienced that the few veterans left are carrying a triple load.