It took just hours to burst the bubble on years of Dungarvan glass-blowing, writes Paul Cullen.
Virtually all the 400 workers at the town's Waterford Crystal plant turned up in Lawlor's Hotel to hear the news that had already leaked into the morning newspapers. Sullen faces and tight lips told their own story; no one here was expecting any last-minute reprieve. The road from short-time working to no-time working was a short one.
With no management to assail, some of the workers relieved their anger by lashing out at media photographers, calling them "scum" and "vultures". But then Waterford Crystal executive John Foley arrived, the security guards threw the media out and the real business began.
As Mr Foley delivered the plant's death sentence, he got a tongue-lashing from the workforce.
"It's hot and heavy in there. A lot of fellas would like to see that lot hang," said one worker, who emerged for a smoke into the bright sunshine outside.
While the workers inside picked over the entrails of their likely redundancy package, Waterford Wedgwood was telling the financial world of its dreams of becoming the Ryanair of its sector, a "low-cost operator" in the "luxury lifestyle" sector. The price: 1,800 job cuts worldwide.
The meeting dragged on, punctuated by intermittent bursts of applause as workers vented their spleen on Mr Foley and his management team.
"Thirty years of blood, sweat and tears have gone into this plant," Shay Harty of Dungarvan chamber of commerce told reporters, "yet those workers have been taken for granted. We're in for some tough times."
Dungarvan has lost other industries: Glanbia and the local leather factory, for example. But the glass plant is the biggest loss so far, accounting for 400 workers out of a town population of 7-8,000, he pointed out.
"Angry" and "disgusted" were the choice words of reaction - the polite ones, at least - when the workers finally emerged.
"I feel disgusted and let down by an incompetent management team," said Éamonn Lambden, a shop steward. "It was like throwing money at a black hole. They're just useless."
David O'Riordan, one of three brothers who have now lost their jobs, echoed this theme. "They should be able to sell snow to the Eskimos, but they hadn't a clue."
The Dungarvan plant was profitable and produced better-quality goods than other factories, he insisted. (Asked about this later, Mr Foley declined to break down figures plant by plant.)
Brigid Mulcahy has worked in the plant for 23 years. "I've gone through a lot for them - the strike, the short-term, the years with no pay rises. We all put our lives on hold through all the difficult times. And now this!"
Three-quarters male, the workforce is largely middle-aged, and many have been working in the plant since they left school. No one seems to know what to do now, though surprisingly few express mortgage concerns.
"I am a glass-blower. The glass-blowing factory is closing down. What else am I qualified to do?" asks one man.
Inside the hotel, Mr Foley insists to reporters that the workers have not been "sold down the Suwannee", but outside the staff continue to claim they have been "shafted" by a company more interested in brand recognition and tourist visits to Waterford city than making crystal glass.
"If only we were called Dungarvan Crystal," says one, "this would never have happened."