When father-of-three David Joneslost his job in sales in January, it was the first time the 57-year-old had ever been unemployed. Here he describes the shattering experience and what it did to him

MORE THAN 35,000 Irish workers lost their jobs in January. I was one of those unfortunates. I’ve never been unemployed before. It’s a horrible, earth-shattering experience I wouldn’t wish on anyone.

It came as a complete shock when it happened to me. I knew things were bad in the company, where I had worked for 14 months, but I thought there was a plan in place to see us through this recession.

It was so quick, so sudden. I was a part of the sales force. I was let go with immediate effect. Half an hour after I was told my job was gone, I was on my way home – and I haven’t been back to work since. I didn’t get to say goodbye to friends and colleagues or to clear my desk properly.

It was all so clinical, so final. There was no help or advice offered. No information was given about coping, or about benefits and entitlements. “We’ll give you a good reference” was all they said.

Talk about a short sharp shock.

I was devastated to think I wasn’t wanted any more. The sense of rejection was awful and it seemed so unfair. I’d worked so hard, put in loads of extra hours, taken work home. All I could think of was: why me? Why now? Why do they have to be so ruthless?

I don’t think it truly sank in, not for a day or two anyway. I felt numb, confused, bewildered as I drove home. I tried to be positive. I tried talking to myself. “It’ll be okay, I’ll get through it – somehow.” I wasn’t convincing myself.

I remember telling the kids (aged between 17 and 22) on that first night. I don’t think they really understood. They certainly didn’t comprehend the impact it was going to have on them. How could they? They’d never known anything like this before.

I hadn’t worked with the company long enough (14 months) to get redundancy or compensation. I got a week’s pay in lieu of notice. I suppose you could say I was lucky to get that. If I was in the US, I might have got nothing. But I’m not in the US. I’m in Ireland, the land of the Celtic Tiger. A handful of months ago, Ireland was supposedly one of the wealthiest countries in Europe. Migrant workers were flocking here for jobs. What on earth has happened? Where did it all go wrong?

A week’s pay and a P45 – it’s not much, is it? Not when you’ve worked your butt off for a company.

My financial position would have been precarious at the best of times. I had an overdraft that was about 75 per cent used up, and maxed-out credit cards. They hadn’t been a problem when I was working and a regular salary cheque was coming in. They became a millstone around my neck the day I lost my job and my income suddenly stopped.

I know it could be a lot worse. I’m lucky not to have a big mortgage. My heart goes out to young families when unemployment knocks on their mortgaged doors.

I was paid my week’s notice with a cheque. I remember paying it into the bank and wondering where the next lodgement would be coming from. It’s amazing, when you’re in a corner, how quickly a kind of self-preservation mechanism kicks in. If I could get money into my pocket, I reasoned, I’d have some chance of retaining control over my day-to-day life. If, on the other hand, I left the money in my current account, and the bank found out I’d lost my job and pulled my overdraft, then I’d be in real trouble. I went to an ATM and withdrew cash up to my overdraft limit.

I now had cash in my pocket. It might not be much, but it gave me a temporary sense of security. Whereas if I’d left it in the bank, who knows what direct debits and standing orders would have gobbled it up?

I’m not saying what I did was right. I accept it was a form of panic, but wasn’t I entitled to panic? After all, I had just lost my job, hadn’t I?

I knew I’d have to face the bank at some stage, but that would be later. This was now. To survive, I needed flexibility, which meant I needed cash. Cash would allow me to do what I wanted with the little money I had. I could buy food and fuel, pay the important bills, and give the kids a few bob.

THE FIRST TIME I went shopping after losing my job was an experience. I’d never consciously thought about the price of anything before; I just bought what took my fancy. There was plenty of money to cover it all, and I could always rely on the credit card if I was stuck. Now, though, I found myself scrutinising everything. I didn’t make out a shopping list, I just looked for bargains. I limited myself to the supermarket’s own value brands, and I forgot all about the little luxuries I would normally have treated myself to.

I managed to get a week’s shopping for €40. Previously, I would have spent that in one night on my way home from work. I was pleased with myself.

“This unemployment’s not so bad,” I thought, with a false sense of triumph. “I can survive this.”

Then the snow arrived. That’s when the first reality hit me. Keeping warm is expensive, and when you don’t have a job, well, it can become a bit of a worry. Is it an extravagance or a necessity to heat the house? Is it better just to heat the room youre in, rather than the whole house? Is a hot-water bottle more economical than an electric blanket? Is coal cheaper than oil? Id never thought about these issues before; I’d never had to.

I stocked up on coal. I bought in bulk to save money, but it ate a hole in my precious cash reserve. I worried how long the cold spell would last. I’d never worried about anything like that before. I started feeling a bit depressed.

I thought about treating myself – nothing outlandish, just a book that cost €12.75. I needed cheering up – surely I deserved it?

For 20 minutes I stood outside Easons, debating with myself whether I could afford it. “Yes you can, no you can’t.” I couldn’t decide. I felt stupid, pathetic.

“Its a €12.75 book, for God’s sake, and youre dithering over buying it. Oh God, Im going mad!” I said to myself. “You wouldn’t have given it a second thought when you were working.

“But you’re not working any more, are you?” That blunt, nagging, miserable part of my mind stepped in with its doom-and-gloom attitude. “You’ve lost your job. You’re unemployed. You’ve no money.”

I bought the book in the end. If I hadn’t, then who knows when the misery in my head would have allowed me to buy anything ever again. I realise the whole thing was just a question of confidence. It was only €12.75, but it’s amazing how quickly your confidence goes when you’ve lost your job.

David Jones moved from London to Ireland in 1986 and lives in Co Meath. He has had a varied working career, including jobs as a factory manager, a building worker and a part-time counsellor. After he lost his job, he self-published a book, Oh No, I’ve Lost My Job – What Am I Going To Do?, which is available to buy on www.joblessandproud.com for €4.99. He is also a founder of www.jobseekersunion.com