Chicago had the St. Valentine's Day Massacre. Wall Street had Black Monday. And today marked the implementing of guerrilla warfare of the hostile corporate variety.

Upon coming into work this morning I was immediately accosted by my boss who was asking me rapid-fire questions before I even had time to set my bagel down and take off my coat. The scoop was that I had just missed an impromptu meeting called by the head honchos of my department to inform us of major changes put into effect and I needed to check my e-mail. Pronto.

In that instant, logging into Lotus Notes seemed to take an eternity. Cryptic messages only serve as an invitation for even more premature grey hairs to spring forth and I didn't have time to thoroughly scan my in box when my boss came over to my desk again with urgency written all over his face. What the hell was going on?

Did you get an e-mail?
Yes, I got one. What's the problem?

His forehead lines smoothed to a less weathered crease and exhaled a sigh of relief. This in a nutshell was code for still being on the payroll as many others weren't so lucky this Thursday. In total the ax fell on 65 employees and with a quota of 135 spots to be vacated, the carnage wouldn't be over yet.

Among the casualties was one of my closest colleagues whose wife just lost a loved one two days before. Talk about being caught between a rock and a hard place.

The cold, harsh impersonality of white-collar careers always rubbed me the wrong way because just as quickly as you grow accustomed to going through the motions is as equally jarring when the rug's pulled out from underneath your footing without warning. I don't intend to stick around for the other shoe to drop. The rumors, innuendos and constant watchdog atmosphere is enough to make me stark raving mad. After dragging ass for months on putting the wheels into motion to blow this joint, I have no more excuses for a back burner anymore. I just hope I reach the finish line before the powers that be do.