I've been box-walked.

Whoever invented such a humiliating concept should be hung by a very vulnerable part of his or her body.

I was called in to a meeting with the publisher and the HR director this afternoon and told that my job was being eliminated as a cost-cutting measure.

"It's nothing you've done," the publisher hissed said. "You've done a terrific job. We're just going in a different direction with the Web site."

The HR director told me just to take my purse and coat and that they'd ship my "personal items" to me. I told her no, I'd take them with me. She said no, no, don't worry about it, they'd send them. I informed her with some emphasis that I would be taking my personal items with me.

The publisher slithered walked up the stairs behind me; I had time only to stick my head in my best pal's office and tell him my job had been eliminated. The publisher lurked outside my cube while I filled up a box. My computer had been shut down; the entire editorial staff was gone (I found out later they'd been called into a conference room and given the news while I was being axed).

The best thing: I no longer have to pretend to care about industrial fabrics. I no longer have to deal with the startlingly big assortment of clueless people who make up the staff.

The worst thing: I'll miss some of the other inmates employees.