Why Is This Man Smiling?

Because he is an idiot.

My "Career" ~ Part 12 ~ Loose Ends

Philip in Arlington needed help.

He was taking over the biz, and he was lost.  He had to hire people, first of all, and heaven forbid!  How do I do that?  Seriously, Philip?  Well, you've asked the right person!  I've hired one hundred and fifty people, so I kind of have a handle on the whole hiring aspect of your job.  Lucky for you!

Well, first, Philip, you probably want to have a test of some sort.  A "keying test" would be a good starting point.  Because your new department will be all about proficiency and accuracy.  Believe me, Philip, it will be advantageous for you to hire people who possess those attributes, if you actually need me to tell you that.

Oh, hold on a minute, Philip.  I see by my caller ID that Peter is calling.  Can you hold the phone?

What's that you say, Peter?  You need somebody, preferably me, to travel on down to Arlington, Texas to show Philip what's what?  Hey, no problemo!  I've got nothing, really, to do with my time.  I'm just marking off days on my calendar, after all.  Waiting for that September 30th (or "drop dead date") to roll around.

I'll take Coreen with me.  You, Peter, being the young single man that you are, have a hankering for Coreen (although, to be frank, she's too good for you), so I know you'll be all on board with Coreen flying down to TX with me.  Besides, Coreen has worked hard, and she's proven herself, and she deserves a working vacation; you know, before she has to find herself another occupation; thanks to you and your spanking new boss.

So, we'll just jet on down there and help Philip out.

Besides, my sister and her family live in Fort Worth, so I can have a nice family visit, and do a little remedial education for you, all on the company's dime.  Win win!

So, Coreen and I booked our flight to DFW, and once we landed, rented a car and meandered our way over the TX freeways to our La Quinta Suites in Arlington.  

We showed up at the Arlington office in the sweltering, perspiring heat, and schooled Philip in the ways of IKFI.

Meanwhile, back in Bismarck, some unfortunate soul, Laurel, no doubt, had to field the daily calls from Pat in Allentown, who, once again, just didn't understand.

Coreen and I sat with Philip in his sparkly new conference room, and explained to him everything that he would need to do to make a go of his new division.  And I sat beside him at his workstation and showed him how to monitor stats, and what to do when his different queues became overloaded with work, and how to disperse the work, and how to determine who could handle it.  Whew!  Crash course in patently obvious supervision.  And they called us rubes.

And then Coreen and I flew home.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, everything was chugging along as things tended to chug.  Michael, another of my up-and-comers, had fully blossomed, and had gone from a temp employee to someone who was directing others in their daily tasks.  I was proud of Michael.

There at home, however, things were in flux.

Everyone was worried about where they would go from here.  Would they have a job with the company?  Would they need to shine up their resumes and apply for non-existent jobs elsewhere?

Why did they have to take "tests" to be considered for internal positions?  Nobody else had to take a test.  Well, that was the nature of IKFI.  We were always considered the delinquent stepchildren of Acme Insurance Company, and we remained that way still.

Little by little, people starting breaking off from the group.  Laurel got an internal position, so we baked her a cake, and presented her with a "Grease" tee shirt as a going-away gift.  And everybody cried a little.

We did a lot of crying in the months between May and September, as we kept having to say goodbye.  And we ate a lot of cake.

As the end of September loomed upon us, some of the group decided that we needed to have a going-away party. A big blowout.  Let's go out with a bang; not a whimper.

Jokes began to be made about selling off the used office equipment.  We determined that our going-away party would be a "going out of business sale".  And, thus, a party theme was born.

Meanwhile, one warm night in July, my supes and I decided it was time to treat ourselves.  We hired a limo to take us to the local casino, and I worked things out with Peter, since two of my supervisors were in charge of the second shift, and dang!  They wouldn't be able to be at work that night!  Donna, another indispensable member of our team who never got a promotion like she should have, agreed to fill in for the supervisors that night.

We had the limo pull into the Acme parking lot, and there we all piled in, with our bottles of libations and our meager wads of cash for gambling.  And we kept fiddling around with the radio, finding just the right tunes to match our celebratory mood, and we traversed in style the 40 miles to the casino, and toasted each other along the way.  Here's to the girls who kicked ass the last three years.  And you're welcome.

Back in the cold light of day, loose ends still needed to be tied.

Acme was benevolent enough to hire most of our people for internal positions.  Gaby ended up in the mail room, which was a complete slap in the face, but she was grateful to just have a job, so who was I to quibble?

Meanwhile, Peg and I devised a diabolical plan.

Another area of the company had deigned to hire us as supervisors.  And yet, neither of us had any intention of staying.

But we attended their meetings, and pretended to be entranced by their plans and discussions.

We waited until September 15, exactly two weeks before our scheduled transition date, and then, each of us, separately, requested a meeting with the department head.  And that's when we handed him our resignations.

When one is powerless, one does whatever they can to feel a smidgeon of power.

Our party planning was coming along nicely.  Signs had been designed, to festoon the hall in which we would hold our blowout.  We hired a DJ.  For the requisite drunken dancing.

We polled our people on whether they wanted the chicken or the prime rib.   We even designed clever invitations, adhering to our "everything must go" theme.  I sent one to Peter.

I don't know if Peter accepted the invitation because he wanted one last chance to impress Coreen, or if he truly was feeling sentimental about his once-thriving department.  Regardless, he assured me that he would attend.  I put aside my giddy excitement, because I still had lots of things to finish up before our drop-dead date.

Peter managed to do two things before September 30 rolled around.

One, he wrote me a nice letter of recommendation, that I could Xerox and use for future job applications.  It was totally, completely useless to me, because he wrote it as a recommendation for a management position, and let me assure you, in the insurance world, nobody gets hired into a management position.  People are promoted from within.

Frankly, who is going to hire someone as a manager, who knows absolutely nothing about the company, or the corporate culture, and additionally, would need to be trained by someone who had applied for the position, but didn't get it, and thus, that person already hates you, so do you think they're going to give you accurate, comprehensive training?  Would you?

But it was a nice gesture, I guess.

The second little "gift" that Peter gave me, on my very last day, was an email he sent to all interested parties within the company, congratulating Pat in Allentown on being promoted to a manager position within IKFI.

I think, of all the indignities that I had suffered in the last four months, this one cut the deepest.

This hapless moron, who I had patiently tutored over and over and over again, and who still "didn't get it"; this clueless idiot whose daily phone calls made me recoil in horror; this semi-literate rube; was now a manager?  A title that Peter had bemoaned that he couldn't bestow upon me?

Thank you, Peter.  And I will never, ever forgive you.

This, of all indignities, on "blowout day".

But still we proceeded.

We had set up a podium in the meeting hall; I guess to rib people mercilessly.  To call them up to the front of the room and embarrass them.  That was kind of our calling card anyway.

I semi-recall that we presented some kind of gag gift to Peter that night.  Which was appropriate, because seeing him certainly made me gag.

And, to my embarrassment, a few people got up in the middle of the dinner, and gave speeches about me.  It was mortifying, and yet gratifying.  But I didn't cry.

The girls and boys had outdone themselves with the decor.  Dennis deserves the credit, really.  He did pretty much everything.

Peter and "us".  Note that I am wearing the same sweater that I wore on the night of our devastating restaurant dismissal.

I will admit, here and now, that I didn't hang around for most of the festivities.  I left.  

I later heard through the grapevine that Peter made a huge fool of himself that night with one of our temp employees.  Whatever.  I no longer had to deal with Peter.  This was all past tense for me now.

My office had already been packed up.  I had already hauled the boxes out to my car. 

I'd spent nine and half years (couldn't quite make it to 10!) with Acme Insurance Company.  

I didn't even cry the last time I drove out of the parking lot.  My crying had been done four months before.  The one and only time I had allowed myself to cry.

Life lay ahead.

A new, completely different life.




Next:

My "Career" ~ Epilogue


Previous Chapters:

My "Career" ~ Part 11 ~ Breaking the News

My "Career" ~ Part 10 ~ Thank You ~ Goodbye

My "Career" ~  Part 9 ~ A Cold Wind


My "Career" ~ Part 8 ~ "Everything's Great!"

My "Career" ~  Part 7 ~ Another New Boss?

My "Career" ~ Part 6 ~ "Who Do You Think You Are?"

My "Career" ~  Part 5 ~ Welcome to the I-Land


My "Career" ~ Part 4 ~ Phil

My "Career" ~  Part 3 ~ Karma

My "Career" ~ Part 2 ~ Evil Bosses

My "Career" ~  Chapter One

My "Career" ~ Part 11 ~ Breaking The News

I slept approximately one hour that night.

If that.

I had done everything right, and yet, everything had gone horribly wrong. 

My mind churned with questions; theories.  Had I offended someone irretrievably?  Was I perhaps too boastful about my department's achievements?  I knew I had never actually boasted, but maybe just our "being" had rubbed someone the wrong way.  Our success.  Maybe we'd shown up somebody who was wont to carry a grudge.

Why?  Why, when we had done so well, were we being scattered to the winds like this?

What about my people?  I'd seen the job ads in the newspaper.  They occupied about one inch's worth of print space. 

How were my folks going to react to the news?  How would I console them?  How would I reassure them?

I should have just stayed up that night.  I should have watched Letterman and then some late-night movie, and just stayed awake, and then, at 6:00 a.m., gotten ready for work. 

As it was, I tortured myself all night.  Until I drifted off, mere minutes before my alarm began beeping.

I had already determined that I was not going to attend the weekly strategy session.  Fire me!  Oh, that's right; you were going to do that anyway.

So, I showed up in my office at the usual time, and I just sat there.  I didn't know what to do.  Or why I should actually do anything.  So, I sat, and I mindlessly managed to complete my daily work chores.  And I sat.      

Peter strolled in around 8:00 a.m., and he gingerly eased into my visitor's chair and asked, "Why aren't you at the weekly meeting?"  And I said, "Why bother?"

He mumbled something about "appearances", and I just waved him off.  Like one would wave off a blithering idiot.

I was done with Peter now.  The tables had turned.  I understood that as long as my department remained in existence, I would have to play Peter's game, but I also realized that any consequences I would suffer would be non-binding.  What more could they do to me?

Instinctively, I understood that none of this was Peter's doing, but he was now my scapegoat, and I directed all my animus toward him.  If not him, then who?, was my attitude.  And, in the recesses of my mind, I harbored the thought that Peter could have stopped this, but he didn't.  Logically, I realized that he couldn't have stopped it, but damn, he could have gone to the mat for us, and as far as I knew, he didn't.  He looked out for number one, and as long as he still had a job, all was well in Peter World.

My day supes showed up for the start of their shifts, and I watched them as they settled into their cubes, put their heads down, avoided eye contact with their charges.  I understood exactly what they were feeling.  Soon, individually, they found their way into my office.

"What we're going to do is, we're going to be positive.  Supportive of the company's decision.  But encouraging.  We're going to be there for our folks."

"Prez and Petey can do the announcing and the explaining.  We're there for our people."

"We can do this."

I called Kristen into my office and filled her in on what was going down.  Kristen had been my assistant for three years, and she deserved to be a supervisor, but time had simply run out.  I hadn't chosen others over her; other existing supes had been moved over from Claims into my department.  I should have fought harder at the time, and now it was too late.  I knew I had let her down.

I told Kristen and my supes that we needed to be watchful of people's reactions, and we needed to be there immediately for them.  Be ready with a hug; a few words of encouragement.

It was going to be tough, but I knew my management team, and I knew they could carry through, if only I could set the tone.

And thus, the long announcements began.

I stood in the back of the cafeteria, my supervisors back there with me, and I did a lot of nodding in ascension to whatever blather the prez and Pete were dishing out.  And I watched my folks.  And I stood by the door as they exited out, and put my arm around some, and murmured reassuring words to all.

And then, we did it again.

And again.

And then, it was time to go home, finally.

And I slept soundly that night.  Because my mind and my body just finally gave up the fight.

My "Career" ~ Part 12 ~ Loose Ends

My "Career" ~ Epilogue


Previous Chapters:

My "Career" ~ Part 10 ~ Thank You ~ Goodbye


My "Career" ~ Part 9 ~ A Cold Wind


My "Career ~ Part 8 ~ "Everything's Great!"


My "Career ~ Part 7 ~ Another New Boss?


My "Career" ~ Part 6 ~ "Who Do You Think You Are?"


My "Career" ~ Part 5 ~ Welcome to the I-Land

My "Career" ~ Part 4 ~ Phil


My "Career" ~ Part 3 ~ Karma

My "Career" ~ Part 2 ~ Evil Bosses

My "Career" ~ Chapter One









    

My "Career" ~ Part 10 ~ Thank You ~ Goodbye

The morning after our impromptu dinner, I was scheduled to attend one of those weekly office strategy sessions.

Our new site manager, I'll call him "McCreepy", had sat in my office only the week before, and had said to me, flat out, "I don't know how I can justify your salary".

And I disdained McCreepy for his typical insecurity as a site lead.  Simply because I didn't report to him, he was feeling the need to throw his weight around with me.  I couldn't have cared less.

I wasn't even interested in attending his stupid strategy meetings, so he could include me, or dis-include me.  Whatever made him feel better about himself.  The two that I had attended had just made me angry.  The little small-minded department heads, including Linda, used up what little gumption they had jockeying for McCreepy's attention and approval (and for the prime seating spot at the table), and the one time I was actually asked a question, McC's minions snickered and snorted.  Ahhh, the room reeked of fake superiority.

"Justify my salary."  Asshole.  Oh yea, that's right, McCreepy.  I just sit in my oak-paneled office; interloper that I am, every day, and I do nothing.  Nothing.  I basically listen to the morning show on FM radio, lean back in my chair, stick my feet up on the desk, and call up the facilities guy to complain that my office is too cold.

Oh, wait.  That's you.

So, with McCreepy's immortal words ringing in my ears, I maneuvered my Taurus from the East Forty restaurant back to the office, pushing my sedan forward against that infernal, insistent wind.

Somebody flipped on the lights of the conference room up front, and there, we all took our places.

I  made a point of sitting as far away from Peter as I could.  It was a long conference table, and I sat on the opposite side, and well to the right.  In the darkest corner of the room.

I'd always liked Peter, but now I hated him.  I hated that he kept giving me beseeching looks, even though I refused to make eye contact with him.  And I thought, you weasel.  How dare you?  How dare you lead me on?  Tell me what a great job we were doing?  And now you've flown in on the company jet from PA, and you're going to sit there and let whatever happen, happen?

"The company has decided", the prez finally uttered, "that it would be more efficient (cheaper) to relocate the IKFI operation to Arlington, Texas."

With that, he shuffled some prettily-stapled handouts around to each of us at the table.  As I sat there, dazed.  My mind wasn't able to form any cohesive thoughts, other than, "don't look at anyone", and, "hold it together!"

I honestly remember little of what was said that night, in the dim light of the conference room, as I gazed out upon the nearly empty parking lot, and my sad car parked there in the front.

I have pictures in my mind, but few of the words remain.  Peter, trying fruitlessly to catch my gaze.  Laurel's hand on my arm.  Peg and Tracy and my other supes, eyes downcast. 

"Your department is the best division in the company."

Was it only a scant half hour ago that the prez had said that to us?  Had I imagined it?  Maybe I had wanted to hear that, but he never actually said it.  No, I wasn't delusional.  I wouldn't make up something like that.

Now, he was pointedly asking me, "How many of your people do you think would qualify for other jobs in the company?"

The one and only thing I remember saying that night was, "98 per cent of them!"  And I didn't mean to yell it, but I think I did.

Because I was hurt.  Hurt for my people.  One hundred and fifty people, and five supervisors; none of whom deserved this.
 
Then there was more paper shuffling, and talk of job testing and absorption of staff into other departments.  And I thought about Gaby, who was whip-smart, but was still struggling with the English language; trying hard to assimilate.  What about Gaby?  She had been my first official employee.  Was she going to get a shot at another job in the office, or would she be discarded, because of stupid language barriers?  Gaby had worked her butt off for our department.  Corporate drones can be so cold.

Somebody (Peter?) said that three meetings would be scheduled for the next day.  Meetings with the staff.  We'd pull them into the cafeteria and break the news.  We had two shifts, and limited meeting space, so the three meetings, I suppose, were justifiable.  Stupid, though.  As if the first group wasn't going to run back and tell the second group everything that had transpired.  Oh, sure, they would keep it a secret.  And the second group would not breathe a word to the third.  Because we told them not to.  That's how it works.  In dreamland.

That night, after everything was said that needed to be said, I strode out of that conference room, and I spoke to no one.  No long, loving farewells.  Piss off.  And leave me alone.

I fished around inside my purse for my car keys, unlocked the door, and slid in behind the wheel.

And for some unknown reason, I was paralyzed.

Until the sobs came.

There, in the driver's seat of my white 1987 Ford Taurus, I lay my head against the steering wheel, and sobbed.  Wracking, convulsing sobs.

The passenger door quietly opened, and Laurel slid silently inside.  "Are you okay?", she asked.

I don't know what I said, or if I said anything.  But, at that singular heartbreaking moment,  I was so glad to have a friend.


My "Career" ~ Part 11 ~ Breaking the News

My "Career" ~ Part 12 ~ Loose Ends 

My "Career" ~ Epilogue


Previous Chapters:

My "Career" ~ Part 9 ~ A Cold Wind


My "Career" ~ Part 8 ~ "Everything's Great!"


My "Career" ~ Part 7 ~ Another New Boss?


My "Career" ~ Part 6 ~ "Who Do You Think You Are?"


My "Career" ~ Part 5 ~ Welcome to the I-Land

My "Career" ~ Part 4 ~ Phil


My "Career" ~ Part 3 ~ Karma


My "Career" ~ Part 2 ~ Evil Bosses


My "Career" ~ Chapter One


  

My "Career" ~ Part 9 ~ A Cold Wind

It was one of those ominous days.

Instead of a nice ease-into-spring May day, the wind was howling at 60 miles an hour.  I'd never seen anything quite like it.

My main supervisor, Laurel, had one of her rare days off.  We pitched in and covered for her.  Everybody covered for anyone who had the opportunity to take a day off.  It was the least we could do.  Everyone worked damn hard.

Peter called.  But this time, he sounded strange.  "Hey, we're flying in today."

What?  Just like that?  Flying in today?  

"Can you make reservations at a restaurant?  And make sure all your supervisors are there....and Bonnie from HR."

"Laurel is off?  Well, can you call her at home?  Can she be there?  She really needs to be there."

I called my four supes in.  I told them that their presence was required at a "dinner".  I told them that Bonnie from HR would also be there.

We all glanced around the room at each other.  Somebody made a crack about, "do I have to update my resume?".  We laughed uncomfortably. 

I reached Laurel at home.  She asked what was up.  I said, I don't know, but it doesn't sound good.  Laurel said she'd be there.

I called the East Forty and made a reservation.  The East Forty was the most "upscale" restaurant in our little middle-of-the-prairie town.  Since the president of our division was flying out with Peter, I figured McDonald's drive through would probably not be conducive to whatever conversation was forthcoming (although, in hindsight, the image of the president and Peter in the back of my Ford Taurus, scrunched together with Peg, Cathy, Laurel, Tracy, Lynnette, and Tasha, with Bonnie from HR sitting on Peter's lap, all yelling out their orders of Big Macs and large fries, with a chocolate shake for the prez, makes me feel a whole lot better)

My staff and I were, naturally, the first to arrive at the bistro.  I wore a light spring sweater decorated with blue and yellow flowers.  When I'd purchased it, I thought it was lovely.  Now it seemed hideous.  We sat there in the anteroom, with the fireplace crackling, and we ordered drinks all around, because our mindset was, if this is bad news (which we all knew it was), why not be half slockered?

Again, like earlier in the day, uncomfortable black humor was tossed about.  "I wonder if Target is hiring", somebody said.  "Gee, I hope nothing happens to the plane.  It is pretty windy out there."

When Bonnie from HR showed up, she kind of took a seat unobtrusively, and waited quietly.  We knew that she probably knew something, so we basically gave her the cold shoulder.  Bonnie had always been one to throw her weight around, and make herself feel all warm and fuzzy in her perceived superiority, so we didn't even feel bad ignoring her. We felt entitled, under the circumstances.

Eventually, Peter and the prez alighted upon the lobby.  Peter would not meet my gaze, so I, at that point, just thought, you know what?  The hell with you.  The two drinks I'd had before had bolstered my bravado.  I made the decision then that I would henceforth ignore Peter.

So, there we all sat, at that long dinner table, and we placed our orders with the wait person, and we choked down our fish or prime rib, or whatever we'd blindly managed to order.  If anyone felt comfortable, it was not the six of us.  I think we managed to grunt a response here and there to snippets of awkward conversation.  Mostly, we just fidgeted in our chairs.

And the prez, after everyone had been fed and sated, cleared his throat and announced, "Your division is the best division in the company.  You have exceeded; no, well exceeded everyone's expectations.  Everyone looks to you as the gold standard.  I can't tell you how proud we all are of you and your department."

"Now, let's all go back to the office, shall we?  Let's continue the conversation there."

And the cold wind stirred the crackled leaves past our window.



To be continued.......... 

My "Career" ~ Part 10 ~  Thank You ~ Goodbye

My "Career" ~ Part 11 ~ Breaking the News

My "Career" ~ Part 12 ~ Loose Ends 

My "Career" ~ Epilogue


Previous Chapters:

My "Career" ~ Part  8 ~ "Everything's Great!"

My "Career" ~ Part 7 ~ Another New Boss?

My "Career" ~ Part 6 ~ "Who Do You Think You Are?"

My "Career" ~ Part 5 ~ Welcome to the I-Land

My "Career" ~ Part 4 ~ Phil

My "Career" ~ Part 3 ~ Karma

My "Career" ~ Part 2 ~ Evil Bosses

My "Career" ~ Chapter One









.

My "Career" ~ Part 8 ~ "Everything's Great"

Rumors started buzzing around, and none of us knew for sure, because nobody who was in a position to know would tell us, nor could they tell us, I guess.

I finally, one night, turned my TV to CNBC; the one and only time I ever watched that channel.  A couple of financial guys were speculating about the buyout of our company, but nothing was final yet.

The next morning, as I was getting ready for work, I again flipped on the TV, and there it was.  We were being bought out.  Bought by one of the big boys.

Everybody got a printed memo that day, announcing the merger, and promising that they were going to play by our rules.  That didn't make sense to me, since we were the buy-EES, and they were the buy-ERS.  But I chose to believe that they saw in our company a better way of doing business, and thus, they had seen the light, so to speak.

The first inkling that this was not the case was when our employee insurance coverage changed.  As employees of Acme Insurance Company, we'd had the best coverage ever.  A miniscule copay for any type of service; no deductible.  We could visit our doctor every day, if we'd wanted to, and it was all covered.  The premium was picked up by the company.

No more.  We had to start chipping in for our coverage, and the benefits were much worse.

Not only that, but our stock options were discontinued.  I was so enamored of my company that I'd invested a ton of my 401K dollars into company stock.  (DON'T EVER DO THAT!)

But, other than the insurance coverage, and the dissipation of stock options, our everyday business model didn't change.

Peter was still my boss, and he still was very supportive.  He apologized over and over again for not being able to promote me to manager, even though I was doing a manager's job, and even though I was overseeing five supervisors and more than 150 hourly staff.  And still supervising my own unit; albeit a "cream of the crop" unit; the best of the best.

Even though I was having daily telephone conversations with the gal at Kelly Temp Services; telling her what I needed.  Even though I was scheduling and conducting job interviews twice a week.  Even though I was tutoring my supervisors in the fine art of writing performance reviews.

Even though I was juggling my salary spreadsheet, and ranking employees on a one to five basis, in order to manage salary increases to the unworkable parameters that Peter had set.

Even though Peter damn well knew that I was able to retain staff with negligible turnover because my people liked and respected me, and they knew that I liked and respected them.

Even though I kept having the same conversation over and over with Pat in Allentown, trying to keep my impatience from bubbling over.  Telling myself that eventually she'll "get it".  If I just remain calm and repeat myself a lot, she'll catch on.  She has to.  Doesn't she?

And why in the world did Peter ever choose her in the first place?

Billy Joel kept running through my mind.  I started daydreaming that all the factories in Allentown were being shut down because Pat was running them.  And Pat was an imbecile.



And, despite all the dire news on the corporate front, I believed that everything was still okay.

Things were okay with IKFI.  We were humming and strumming along.  Our numbers, and our outlook, were great.

What could possibly go wrong?

Ominously, unforeseen, a  cold wind was about to blow in.


To be continued...........

My "Career" ~ Part 9 ~ A Cold Wind

My "Career" ~ Part 10 ~  Thank You ~ Goodbye

My "Career" ~ Part 11 ~ Breaking the News

My "Career" ~ Part 12 ~ Loose Ends 

My "Career" ~ Epilogue


Previous Chapters:

My "Career" ~ Part 7 ~ Another New Boss?

My "Career" ~ Part 6 ~ "Who Do You Think You Are?"

My "Career" ~ Part 5 ~ Welcome to the I-Land

My "Career" ~ Part 4 ~ Phil

My "Career" ~ Part 3 ~ Karma

My "Career" ~ Part 2 ~ Evil Bosses

My "Career" ~ Chapter One














 

My "Career" ~ Part 3 ~ Karma

Our Bismarck branch had performed so well that the powers-that-be, as much as they disdained us, realized that they needed to find more people just like us.

This entailed a building expansion.  Because where would they put us all?  All us groovy, hardworking, competent people.  We may have been rubes, but we were smart rubes, and we didn't try to screw the company, not to mention any names or geographical locations.

So, voila, a whole new wing was added to the building!  That meant a move for us old-timers, up a flight of stairs (the new wing had two floors!)

My new best friend, Connie, kidded me as all us supervisors did a walk-through of the new digs.  She made little joshing remarks about where she'd put me, and I laughed and laughed, and thought about where I'd like to put her.

Connie had a new, innovative (i.e., "stupid") plan for transforming our business model.  She determined that it would be a wonderful (her favorite word) idea to place examiners in units according to their abilities.  In essence, Unit 1 would be all the really stupid people, Unit 2 would be the only semi-stupid people, and on and on, upwards, until we got to the really smart ones.  This, apparently, had some unforeseen logic that only dogs could hear, but I publicly applauded Connie's boldness.  I would have handed her a calligraphed diploma, if that would have kept her on my side.

We were all gathered in the conference room that day, when she had the director of operations on speakerphone, announcing her plan, that she assured him we were all on board with.  Yay!  Go team!  Idiot.

He (Dave) audibly sighed and said something to the effect of, "Well, I don't think that's gonna work, but if you want to try it, knock yourself out."

So, Connie began her stupid-ass game of musical chairs, ranking people.  Seriously!  Well, this one is dumb; let's put her in Unit 1.  How insulting.

And once she was done with the rankings, she also ranked the supervisors, although she wasn't quite so frank about our abilities or lack thereof, since we were all sitting there in the room.  But the bottom line was, she assigned the stupidest supervisor to the stupid unit, and on and on like that.

I think I was probably around #5 out of 7.  Not bad, considering our history.  We'd come a long way, baby.

By now, of course, I'd been chastised into not rocking anybody's boat.  My aim was to keep being employed.  And I had long since stifled my competitive streak.  Translation:  Didn't really care a whole lot, with the exception of advancing my employees' skill sets, which I kept on doing; Connie be damned.

One thing that always stuck in my craw was that there were two highly competent assistant supervisors who never, ever got a chance to advance.  Most likely because they suffered from "Shelly Syndrome", and forgot that they needed to play the "Flatter Connie" game.  They were so much more qualified than the lackeys that Connie had placed in positions of authority, and yet their careers were stymied.  I just kept encouraging them, and hoping.

One sunny August day, out of the blue, our director of operations, Dave, hopped a flight out of Philadelphia and appeared, unannounced, in our office.

He commandeered a spare room, called in our regional VP (I forget his name, so I'll call him "Charles"), and the two of them consulted behind closed doors for about an hour, much to the curiosity of us supervisors, who kept sneaking peaks, wondering what the hell this all meant.

Then my extension rang, and it was Dave calling!

"Can you stop in?"

Okay, I hadn't pissed off Dave, that I was aware of.  I hardly knew him!  Why in God's name would he want to talk to me?  I was the good, subservient employee now.  It had been a couple of years since I was threatened with being fired, and I was holding to the straight and narrow.

I meekly walked in to the little room, and Dave told me to close the door.

He, and Charles, commenced to grilling me about how things were going in the office.  I don't know what they knew, or how they knew it.  But they knew something.

Their questions were pointed.

So, I thought, all bets are off now.  You guys are asking.  And I'm telling.

I don't remember that I said anything derogatory about Connie, but I must have.  It's all kind of a blur.  I did say that there were two people who deserved to be supervisors, but they never had gotten the chance, and Dave asked me their names, and I told him.

That's the part that stands out in my memory.

I don't know what Dave saw in me, or why.  He didn't know me; I didn't know him.  But for some reason, he trusted me.  

And then I scurried off, back to my glass-walled cubicle.

It was 5:00, and I was sitting in my car, about to drive out of the parking lot to go home.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a blonde head emerging from the exit, carrying a box of belongings.

It was Connie.

I slumped down in the seat of my car.

I watched her as she trundled out, emotionless, as if she had been expecting it all along.

I think I called my mentor, Carlene, that night, and told her what I'd seen.  Carlene had been the only supervisor besides me who had been threatened by Connie with the loss of her job.  We were quizzical.  We weren't celebrating or high-fiving.  We just didn't get it.

The next day, Connie's office was dark.  Connie wasn't coming back.

Dave called all the supes together into the conference room to announce that Connie was gone.

Dave held my gaze for a good long time as he was sharing the news.

He never explained it, nor should he have.  One doesn't do that.

But, damn!  I felt fine!

Sometimes you find a good guy in your professional life.  Dave was a good guy.  And he, for whatever reason, liked me, or saw something in me.

I had not heard the last from Dave.


To be continued............ 




My "Career" ~ Part 4 ~ Phil

My "Career" ~ Part 5 ~ Welcome to the I-Land

My "Career" ~ Part 6 ~ "Who Do You Think You Are?"

My "Career" ~ Part 7 ~ Another New Boss?

My "Career" ~ Part  8 ~ "Everything's Great!"

My "Career" ~ Part 9 ~ A Cold Wind

My "Career" ~ Part 10 ~  Thank You ~ Goodbye

My "Career" ~ Part 11 ~ Breaking the News

My "Career" ~ Part 12 ~ Loose Ends

My "Career" ~ Epilogue



Previous Chapters:

My "Career" ~ Part 2 ~ Evil Bosses

My "Career" ~ Chapter 1

My "Career" ~ Part 2 ~ Evil Bosses

Being the highly successful (and the stats proved it) supervisor that I had become, I was looking forward eagerly to my first performance review.

My unit had kicked everybody's ass, and we had a good time while doing it.  At Christmastime, somebody somewhere in the office had suggested a decorating contest, and one of my people thought it would be fun to wrap our cubicle walls in Christmas wrap, with bows and the whole bit.  It looked pretty.

My first inkling of things to come should have been the rap on my clear glass cubicle wall from the evil assistant formerly assistant manager (now the actual manager), CONNIE, announcing to me that the the branch VP considered our decorations tacky and unprofessional.  (Really, hasn't everybody done that bit by now in every office everywhere in the world?  It's become such a cliche that our little area rejects the idea every time it comes up.)

With the wisdom of hindsight, I realize that the VP never said that; the evil manager, CONNIE, did, and she was too cowardly to claim ownership of her own bitchiness.

Regardless, we had to tear it all down.

Then, one Saturday, when we had mandatory overtime (we always had mandatory overtime), I made the unforgivable mistake of bringing caramel rolls for my staff. 

The problem was that all the other supervisors, except one (my friend and mentor) didn't bring caramel rolls for their staff.  This one-upsmanship made them feel sad and inferior.

And they apparently complained about it, too.  How it made them look like fools.  Because they were too selfish and self-centered to think about their own people, and how dare I shine a spotlight on that!

But I didn't know all this at the time.  I found out about it at my performance review.

You see, CONNIE (I like to use all caps, to accentuate her own sense of self-importance) was the insecure type who loved (loved!) having people fawn over her.  And there were certainly enough kiss-asses in the office who were eager to do it!  We had our lunchroom, in which all the supes were expected to congregate around Connie every day at twelve noon, and tell her how pretty her hair was, and how, no, she didn't look like she'd gained weight!  Not at all!  And how smart she was; such a dynamic decision-maker!  I, admittedly, have always had a hell of a time faking things.  To my detriment.

Nevertheless, when that fateful September day rolled around, I was oblivious to the blindsiding that was coming.  My review began innocuously enough.  Connie recited my unit's stats, and mumbled something about them.  I had to strain my ears, but I think she gave me props for my unit's achievements.  Although it's all become sort of jumbled in my mind, in light of what was yet to come.

Then, after the formalities were over, Connie leaned back in her chair, behind her obscenely oversized oak desk, and gave me the real what's-what.

"You are trying to make all the other supervisors look bad."

 "You're trying to show everybody up."

"You don't stop in and say goodnight to me when you leave at the end of the day."

"I don't like you."

"If you can't become part of my team, I will replace the team."

 This, folks, is what one gets for contributing to the success of a company.  

Jaded?  Not at all, no. 

Here's the scoop, kids.  You can be the biggest screw-up on the face of the earth.  You can have absolutely no skills; no intelligence.  You can be semi-literate.  You don't even need to be able to walk upright.  All you need to do is kiss ass.  

I didn't kiss ass.  And I was threatened with being fired.  For doing a hell of a good job.

I cried.  I cried during my review.  I didn't want to!  I couldn't control it.

She wouldn't even offer me a Kleenex.

Connie was cold, and she was evil.  But I wasn't stupid.

After a sleepless night, I determined to stop into her stupid office every stupid day at 5:00, and say, "Goodnight, Connie!  Have a nice night!"

I needed that job.

I toned down any sort of motivational perks for my staff (okay, I just kept them on the down-low ~ I still did them).

I praised to the high heavens the stupid, incompetent other supervisors that I had the supreme misfortune of having to work with.  

I downplayed my group's superior stats, but my unit knew.  They were sort of my co-conspirators in the whole operation.  They knew how good they were, but they knew they couldn't say how good they were.  Not out loud.

I also did one more thing.  I created my own new mantra:

Karma is a bitch.

To be continued..........

My "Career" ~ Part 3 ~ Karma

My "Career" ~ Part 4 ~ Phil

My "Career" ~ Part 5 ~ Welcome to the I-Land

My "Career" ~ Part 6 ~ "Who Do You Think You Are?"

My "Career" ~ Part 7 ~ Another New Boss?

My "Career" ~ Part  8 ~ "Everything's Great!"

My "Career" ~ Part 9 ~ A Cold Wind

My "Career" ~ Part 10 ~ Thank You ~ Goodbye

My "Career ~ Part 11 ~ Breaking the News 

My "Career" ~ Part 12 ~ Loose Ends 

My "Career" ~ Epilogue


Previous Chapters:

My "Career" ~ Chapter One