Teleworking - Week One!

I remember the days before computers existed, but that seems so much like ancient history it strains my cortexes to try to conjure the memories. I remember performing my job duties on an IBM Selectric typewriter. I remember when the only means of contacting a co-worker or a boss was by the telephone plugged into the wall. And if their line was in use, oh well; try again later. Answering machines? What? Call waiting? 

I never planned to work at home. Sure, I wanted to, but the nature of my job made that prospect impossible. Until now. Now anything goes. At least as of this week. 

This week everything we ever knew changed. I'm confined to home (unless I want to risk my life, which I don't). Monday, I brought home a hastily-configured work computer because My Old Trusty isn't exactly trustworthy and I couldn't afford to gamble that MOT would actually allow me to connect to my worksite. I spent an hour and a half unconnecting MOT and five minutes hooking up Work Computer (Why do home computers have so many moving parts and connections? Hello, PC companies!)

I'm used to working with two monitors, but alas only one of the monitors I brought home actually works. I'm not going to bitch about small annoyances; our IT Department had approximately four hundred employees to set up in three days. I'm keeping my mouth shut.

Using a strange computer, though, has its challenges. When I need to do my personal tasks, like banking, Work Computer doesn't know any of my logins. It took me far too long to locate and sign into SiriusXM, and when I did, I found that Work Computer's speaker (one speaker) is so tinny it was more annoying than soothing. I quickly signed out. So instead, I listen to cable news all day long, and hear the same stories about Coronavirus over and over; and because there is no new news, I tend to tune it out. It's simply background noise; something to mask the silence.

What have I learned about teleworking? There is good and there is not-so-good.

GOOD:

• I don't need to set an alarm. I get up early and sign in when the system allows me to. 
• I only wash my hair when I feel like it.
• My makeup drawer has not been pulled open all week.
• I don't have to pick out clothes in the morning. I wear the same combination of yoga pants and pullover every day.
• No commute! When my day is over, it's over. Look! I'm home already! 
• I'm more focused, because I have no one to chat with (see "bad").
• I'm saving money -- no frozen dinners; no gassing up the SUV.
• My laundry (and dishes) are done! Saturday laundry day is a relic of the past.

BAD:

• I need a better chair, seriously. My back and legs are killing me. I've tried several configurations of throw pillows and foot rests and still haven't gotten it right.
• Diet: I'm eating too much. And the wrong foods. I keep telling myself to get it together, but my only break is when I can grab a meal from the kitchen, and we're not healthily stocked.
• No fresh air. I will resolve this issue as soon as the weather and wind allow. I will take walks. I need to get out of this room!
• Social interaction withdrawal. Dang, I'm not even an extrovert, but I miss talking to people! I email them and they don't answer right away, and I don't understand why they're not as needy as I am.
• No dividing line. The workplace, at least, was a different environment.I didn't necessarily like going there, but it was different from home.

I will try to offer tips for surviving the work-at-home experience in my next post (hint: have plenty of caffeine on hand), but for now, this is where things stand with me. 

All in all, the pluses outweigh the minuses. But that's week one.  

I've got at least three more weeks to go.

Are You Ready To Work From Home?

Unexpectedly, just like that, I'm becoming a telecommuter (thanks, Corona!) I like to have some time to prepare for big life changes -- four months is ideal; one day isn't.

The good news is, I've calmed down a bit since yesterday. My heart palpitations have temporarily subsided.

When people imagine working from home, they assume the transition will be seamless. Working with computer systems over the years, I know better. Anything that can go wrong will.

My home computer is rather slow. It hasn't bothered me much; most of the stuff I do online does not require lightening-fast response time. If Firefox takes two minutes to load a web page, I take my dog outside or swipe through Twitter on my phone. All those computer fixes I procrastinated about have suddenly become crucial. My Windows 10 setup recalcitrantly refuses to install updates. Google tells me this is a "known issue". I've tried several suggestions with no luck. I'm not going down the road of restarting in safe mode and plucking random "host processes" or anything ending with .NET and willy-nilly deleting them in the misguided hope that something magical will happen (the only thing that'll happen is my PC will stop working all together).

I did manage to conduct some system cleanup. I'd forgotten about cccleaner, which I'd had and used on my previous setup. First of all, it's FREE, but most importantly it's efficient and moron-friendly. cccleaner took care of a bunch of unwanted stragglers. My anti-virus software is stunningly efficient. I use Malwarebytes, which is also FREE. I did purchase a subscription a while back, though, since I was so impressed with it. There are free anti-virus programs that also work well:  I've used AVG in the past. If you are looking for recommendations for any kind of program, go to CNET first.

Since I was panicking yesterday and felt that my failed Windows update was crucial, I impulse-purchased a program called RestorO -- big mistake. Not only did it fail to fix my problem, but it created many problems of its own. It was advertised for $27.99, which at the time seemed like a small price to pay for sweet deliverance. They charged my bank account $30.00, but what's a couple bucks here or there, right? Then my trusty Malwarebytes began signalling me every 30 seconds that RestorO was malicious and was causing PUPs, which sound cute, but aren't. Tired and wary of the constant alerts, I tried to delete RestorO -- it refused to leave. Thus I had to search for another free program for removing guests that wouldn't exit. CNET told me to try Revo Uninstaller. It did the trick! Again, FREE.

I've given up on installing that obdurate Windows update -- sometimes one has to know when to surrender. But I did do some needed purging.

On the non-computer side, I submitted an Amazon order for my favorite coffee, which will be delivered Tuesday. Had I known I'd be separated from fresh hot java, I would have been proactive. All my (many) Amazon packages have been previously delivered to my workplace, so finding something on my doorstep will be new.

I won't have my special pens and highlighters and file folders, but I suppose I will improvise. Truth be told, I'm not feeling this. I predict doom. But it has to be done. Either that or my two hundred hours of PTO time will dissipate in a flash.

All I can do is cross my fingers and pray that it all works. There might be upsides -- stay tuned for updates.

Changes

 

I don't know what it's like not to work. I will soon find out. My work life has been a meandering road. I endured some uncomfortable situations and experienced unexpected highs. I had a laissez faire attitude toward work in my early twenties, likely because I possessed no skills other than the ability to type and a quick mind. A job was a job. If I hated my current one, I'd find another. They all paid little above minimum wage, so my gauge was whether I could tolerate it and the people who worked there (the deal-breaker was usually the people). I tried retail (and liked it); I tried secretarial (and despised it). I lucked into a hospital position that last eight glorious years; all in all my favorite all-time job.

In 1990 I tried desperately to secure a position with a health insurance company that'd decided to expand its operations to the far-flung prairie; sat on a stool in my garage and smoked and practiced answering interview questions. I hated my current position and was desperate to escape it. My only calling card was a knowledge of medical terminology gained during my years at St. Alexius. I knew nothing about processing insurance claims. They only hired me because one of their initial choices dropped out and I was first runner-up. During the three weeks I waited for a phone call, after I'd grown despondent, I silently accepted my woeful lot in life as a farm records secretary. When the call finally came, Mister Sun beamed through my plate glass window. I didn't know nor care what claim processing entailed; just that I'd been delivered. Somehow I knew this was where I belonged.

Thirty years later, I'm still in the medical insurance game. I went from claims examiner to assistant supervisor to supervisor to manager, backsliding at my next company to examiner and then upticking to trainer. When I accepted the job with my current employer, I had a bit of a chip on my shoulder. I was punching below my weight. But being a manager, honestly, simply meant juggling balls in the air. I thought I was a phenom, when in fact I was just "capable".

I've been a trainer for seventeen years. As one ages, they settle and make the most of the tableau offered. I made the most of it. As an extreme introvert, I'm amazed at how I managed to mentor people. I still don't quite understand it, but maybe that's one of the little things we accept with humility and tuck in our pocket.

Soon all that will end. I'm not certain I want it to. Why am I ambivalent about retiring? Isn't this what all of us yearns for? I think maybe I'm afraid of what comes next. Will my brain wither and die? I don't feel old. Shoot, I'm still writing my novel! Will I grow fat and plop myself in front of the TV all day? I need a plan. A goal. Sixty-five-year-olds can still have goals, you know. I don't feel a day over sixty.

I will let you know as soon as I know.

Thus the story continues...

Winter On The High Plains

 Trying To Get Home From Work

 

It's no secret that I hate winter. What's to like? Ooh, the snow is so fun to play in! said no one. First of all, I don't play, unless one counts donning three layers of clothing, bundling up my dog and stealing down the icy front steps to do what it takes her all of five seconds to do as "play".

So why do I live in Minnesota? Why does anyone live anywhere? I don't have the means to take me wherever whimsy leads me; and I have a job. I grew up on the high plains (happily not in Minnesota), so I should be, and am, used to winter. I still haven't grown fond of it.

I surely don't want to move to tornado alley or hurricane-central, so everyone has their burdens to bear. It's just that winter is approximately six months long. When I was a kid I divided the twelve months of the year into four seasons. Kids are gullible. The truth is, spring and fall comprise one month each, summer is three months, tops. That leaves...yikes, actually seven months that are in actuality winter. So when October rolls around, I start watching the weather forecast, for all the good that does me, and laying out my winter wardrobe. It's always a smorgasbord of possibilities ~ snow, minus twenty-degree wind chills, ice, blustery gale-force winds; and generally a combination of one or two or three.

A typical work conversation goes like this:

"Has anyone seen an updated forecast?"

"I heard four to six inches."

"Really? Online, I saw six to ten!"

"I should ask for tomorrow off."

"I don't know. It should be okay driving in. I'm just worried about the drive home."

"You never know. It depends on what time it starts."

"I really should ask for tomorrow off."

I've had this exact same conversation approximately ten thousand two hundred and fifty-nine times.

If I have the luxury of requesting the day off, I take it. But that's not always possible. Sometimes I have actual responsibilities, believe it or not. A few years ago my husband drove me (or slid us) to work on ice-slickened roads because I had a training class of two people and what would they do if I didn't show up? Turns out both of my trainees called in due to weather, and we had risked death for no Godly reason.

And I submit that "weather forecasting" is a racket. Nobody wants to commit, because loathe as they are to admit it, they're just guessing. I did ask for today off, because my workplace is not in crisis mode, and the forecast calls for six to ten inches of snow. That means we'll maybe get three.

For an area that experiences multitudes of these events every winter, our TV weather people are oddly disinterested. Maybe they've been worn down by constantly being wrong; maybe "weather person" is the dregs of local news. Try to catch the latest forecast and one is greeted with what yesterday's temps and winds were. I'd respect them more if they simply shrugged and said, "Your guess is as good as mine."

The upside of a snowstorm is if one is able to anticipate it and gird for it, it can be relatively stress-free, snug, and excuse-ready (I can't do that. Don't you know there's a storm out there?) What one needs is plenty of comfort food, enough beverages of choice, a cozy blanket, cable or Netflix, a strong internet connection, a craft project or a good book. One must plan ahead. Just don't rely on your local meteorologist to forewarn you. They're too busy being hazed in the back office by the sports guy.

In the pantheon of songwriting, few songs have been penned about winter. The ones we're familiar with are mostly clinically depressing or are about cold graves. Winter is gloomy enough; I don't need to hear about someone gazing in the mirror as mascara-stained tears streak down their cheeks.

Leave it to Paul Simon, however, Here's one I actually like:



When I awake tomorrow morning, the snow will obscure my door stop. I'll pull on my snow boots, hat, down coat and gloves, velcro Josie's pink plaid coat around her tummy and head on out. When we return, I'll pour myself a cup of fresh-brewed Joe and anticipate a waffle-and-bacon breakfast; then pull the comforter around me and bless the fact that I'm warm and cozy inside, and that it's only Saturday. I have no place to be.

All in all, though, I'd trade a Minnesota winter for whatever you've got to offer.

Getting It Together

 

Humans are funny. They have an innate need for order, yet if they are like me they subjugate it until things get completely out of hand or a new year begins; whichever comes first.

As the world's ultimate procrastinator, my trigger is irritation. "Where the *#!! is that ____? I know I have it...somewhere. This is *@*#! ridiculous!" Then, "I need to get organized."

As 2019 drew to a close I began re-ordering my life. Now I'm on a mission. Beware: Once you start, you are incapable of stopping. Not only have I undertaken an overall tidying of my home, but it has extended to my little office cubicle. December at my workplace is so ridiculously busy that papers and notes scribbled on yellow legal pads get tossed into a pile, and I can barely concentrate on the current email question without mentally scanning the other fifty unread missives in my in-box. Actual cognitive thought is relegated to auto-pilot with double fingers crossed. Now that it's January and things have cooled, I've begun sifting through all my scribbles and categorizing them or jettisoning them, whichever seems appropriate at the time. Additionally, Clorox Wipes are awesome. Today I cleaned, rearranged, shredded, and categorized three months worth of detritus. Look at me now!

I want to preserve it for posterity! I wish I had "before" pictures.

For the remainder of the day, I was gleefully productive. Many things cause endorphins to be released -- exercise, alcohol (truly), chocolate, music (duh), even lavender. But I submit that organizing is a gigantic endorphin generator. I'm almost looking forward to returning to work on Monday simply to gaze at my handiwork.

Granted, it won't last, but I have seven months, tops, to maintain a semblance of neatness. After that, welcome to my cube, replacement!

The pending end of my work life is rather bittersweet. My first thought is, good luck; nobody will do my job better than me. My second thought is, do you appreciate me now? Funnily, I'll miss it, though. I'm feeling wistful. I'll get over it, no doubt.

Finally, getting it together is a wondrous feeling.

Sixty-Four

(Yes, I 64)

To be honest, I don't think about age much. Sometimes I forget how old I am and I have to mentally subtract the year I was born from the current year to arrive at the correct number. Oh, I know I'm sixty-something; it's just that I lose track. I'm keeping track better now because I'm a year away from the magic number. It's not exactly like the anticipation of turning eighteen ~ I get (now) that life has an expiration date. Still, I'm looking forward to finding out what life is like without my clock eep-eep-eeping at 4:30 each morning.

Old people always say they don't know where the time went. Guess what ~ it's true. I distinctly remember when I was giddy with excitement over my upcoming high school graduation. I had no plan, but I was pretty sure I'd have some kind of exciting career. Apparently by magic. My town held two institutes of higher learning, Mary College, which was private and out of the question financially; and Bismarck Junior College (which I'm sure is called something much more pretentious now). I got one of BJC's catalogs and perused it for about ten minutes. The journalism courses caught my eye, but then I thought, what the hell ~ that's never gonna happen ~ so I just looked for a job instead. No one in my family had gone to college and who was I to break the mold? Frankly, I depended on serendipity, which I learned was difficult to come by.

It's not that I was lazy (okay, I actually was). It was easier to surf through life and see what came of it. I assumed crappy jobs were a rite of passage. And in the recesses of my brain I was futilely chasing the dream of being a disc jockey, which would have been a stretch, considering my verbal skills were essentially non-existent. 

So, what did I do? What I knew how to do ~ type. State government jobs were handed out like candy, although one did have to take a merit exam to be considered. And I did have another skill in my back pocket ~ I knew shorthand. Strangely, no one ever asked me to "take a letter". Two years of instruction wasted. The whole time I worked at the Capitol building (a year) I was looking for a plausible means of escape. If one searches out the definition of "drudgery", it says "North Dakota State government". 

I was sadly a classic under-achiever. In my defense, nobody in the early seventies was looking for someone with my singular skills. After zipping down those eighteen floors for the final time, I returned to my other skill, operating a cash register. I didn't even realize how pitiful I actually was.

Then I got married, as all we seventies girls were expected to do; and then I became a mom, which was essentially the only thing I managed to do right. I stayed home until our bank account cried out in anguish, and subsequently returned to operating a cash register. I no longer needed a career; just a steady paycheck.

Around 1980 my working life became more interesting when I answered an ad for a ward clerk at our local hospital. I had no clue what a "ward clerk" was, but it did require typing skills, which I still possessed. I absorbed the inner workings of life on a nursing floor, and found it fascinating. I liked learning things that had some correlation to actual life. I functioned as a de facto nurse's aide when staffing was short, and liked doing it. I acquired something I'd never once possessed ~ self-confidence. When I took the job working second shift, it was for practical reasons; but honestly, that time of night fit me like a glove. Everything, however, is mercurial. After eight years, my impulsive mind told me it was time to move on.

For a couple of years, I drifted from one secretarial job to another and suffered the inherent indignities. Strangely, no one wanted me to leave when I gave notice ("I was going to give you a raise!" "Oh, we were ready to offer you a full-time position."), but had the powers-that-be acted like they wanted me to stay before I took matters into my own hands, I never would have resigned in the first place. I tucked that little fact in my pocket and never forgot it.

Desperate to get away from my icy boss, a classic 1920's stern school marm, at the farm tax planning/prep business, I scoured the classified ads, all three or four of them (it was a small town). A large health insurance company headquartered in Blue Bell, Pennsylvania had the novel idea of expanding into a relatively rural area, where people had a work ethic and would be happy with paltry pay ~ right up my alley! I knew absolutely nothing about health insurance and frankly it sounded boring as hell, but I did possess a knowledge of medical terminology, so I hoped, hoped. I actually practiced interviewing at home in my garage ~ practiced selling myself and answering any question I could conceive. Interview day turned out to be a cacophonous assembly line ~ move to the next queue, answer a question, move along, answer another. My carefully rehearsed talking points never had the chance to escape my lips.

I went back to work and waited. And waited. After two weeks of hearing nothing, I knew I'd blown it. I was despondent. And my chilly boss was there every morning, offering a peeved "good morning" through pursed lips.

Three weeks on, I got a call and an offer. The woman on the phone didn't tell me I was a second choice and that an original hiree had dropped out. I learned that later. I truly despised Mrs. Frostbite, but when the opportunity arose to tell her exactly why I was leaving, I lied and said my new position paid twenty-five cents more per hour (it paid exactly the same). She seemed genuinely disappointed and apologized for not being able to offer me more money. (What??)

I began my new insurance training in a rented office with twenty-nine other women, some of whom actually knew what a "claim" was. The corporation didn't want to over-tax our faculties, so they taught us how to process eye exams. Eventually we all graduated and moved into our brand-spankin' new building.

Fast forward....I earned a promotion to assistant supervisor after less than a year, and then, when the company realized it hadn't been folly to open for business on the God-forsaken prairie, they expanded and I was promoted again, this time to supervisor. Only then did I become fully acquainted with The Devil Herself ~ my new manager. She rarely spoke to me, so I went on my merry way, chalking up success after success (thanks to my people and to that thing I'd tucked inside my pocket a couple of years before ~ tell people you value them before it's too late). Thus I was confident heading into my yearly performance review. My team had outperformed everyone. I was going to receive so many kudos, I worried that my head may not fit through the door on my way out of her office.

I don't know if it was the shock of realizing I'd entered bizzaro world or the cruel slash of her words, but I was gobsmacked. "You're making the other supervisors look bad. You brought donuts for your people last Saturday." "You never stop by and say goodnight to me when you leave for the day." "If you can't be part of my team, I'll replace the team."

What I'd assumed would be well-earned acclaim turned out to be the threat of being fired. Tears started flowing ~ and The Devil Herself wouldn't even offer me a Kleenex. I couldn't afford to be unemployed. I went home and sobbed through the night...and then I swallowed my pride and kowtowed to Satan. Eventually she began including me in group conversations (her soliloquies) and even started kidding me in front of the other supervisors. I was happy and relieved and I loved her...she was awesome...she took us out on her boat one evening and we all laughed and laughed...

I'm not sure what The Devil Herself did that displeased management back east, but apparently she did something. One day a couple of big honchos showed up unexpectedly and commandeered an empty office and asked the supervisors, one by one, to stop by for a talk. Gosh, what could I possibly say about this amazing woman? Everything. I told them EVERYTHING. At five o'clock that afternoon, I headed out to my car in the lot and turned the key in the ignition. Before I backed out of my space, something unusual caught my eye. The blonde-headed demon was exiting the building with a couple of large paper grocery bags. I came back to work the next morning, but she didn't.

All you have to do is treat people right. And guess what? If you don't, we never forget.

Life went on smoothly. We got a new boss eventually who was a moron, but harmless. He seemed like a complete dolt, but one day he offered me a new position. I don't think it was his idea. The big honchos back east maybe admired my pluck. Maybe they wanted somebody who wouldn't take any shit. I didn't want the job ~ it seemed like a demotion. He said, "Sure, you can think about it overnight and then come back and say 'yes'." I did.

I eventually became a manager of a 150-person staff. "Manager" in name only. I got a corner office. My new young manager was off-site, far away in Pennsylvania, just the way I liked it. I cherished my people and they hit it out of the park. We took an idea that existed only in somebody's head and turned it into a high-performance part of the operation. We became so good that....they eventually out-sourced us.

The morning after the big-wigs took my supervisors and me out for a fancy dinner and sprang it on us, I showed up for work red-eyed from a sleepless night. My young manager, who I'd assumed was on my side, dropped by my office and asked why I hadn't attended the management meeting that morning. "What's the point?" I asked. My time at the company was done; that much I'd decided somewhere around two o'clock in the morning. And it stuck like a burr that he'd never pulled the trigger and promoted me to manager, even though that's exactly what I'd been for the past three years. The next day, after he'd jetted home to PA, he sent out an email naming a simpleton in Allentown who'd I'd torn my hair out trying to train, as a manager. Just a nice little parting gift to me.

The lasting lesson from all my working years is, no good performance goes unpunished.

I will celebrate twenty years at my current job in December. I've lowered my expectations. I have no delusions. I like where I am; it's comfortable. I will drift off into retirement in a year having accomplished little that I can flout, but I've done my job. Career accomplishments don't amount to a hill of beans anyway.

My parting advice is not to do your best ~ do your best ~ but don't expect rewards. And prepare to be blindsided. Always be prepared.

I have to do this. Everyone who turns sixty-four does it.

Don't get me wrong ~ my life is not defined by work.

There's music.

More to come...

1996 ~ Country Music ~ And Work

When Evil Manager Connie was shepherded out of the building in 1994, I finally felt like I could be myself; not a simpering lackey dutifully following behind her big fat ass as she conducted a tour of our new office wing.

I had swallowed my meager pride and forced myself to genuflect before her eminence in a last-ditch attempt to hold onto my job, which was the best-paying job I'd ever had and would ever have in Bismarck, North Dakota -- a city bereft of presentable positions. My deceit worked -- Evil Connie wasn't too perceptive. In actuality, she was such a megalomaniac, she believed that I'd suddenly fallen in love with her. She, in turn, came to see me as one of her dutiful soldiers. I was ON BOARD! In truth, I hated -- despised -- her very existence.

I played that painful game for three long (l-o-n-g) years, before I got my chance; a chance I didn't seek out, but one that fell in my lap. One I hadn't planned for; an opportunity that was thrust upon me.

I didn't waste it.

I take pride (and credit) for getting that miserable piece of human existence fired. (All you other USHC supervisors -- you're welcome. Except for you, LeeAnn and Linda, because you were the ultimate ass-kissers and you two will just need to live with yourselves.)

Nearly a quarter of a century later, corporate culture has progressed to the point at which managers can no longer abuse their subordinates with impunity. Human Resource departments are eager to justify their value, and they cherish nothing more than culling the herd. In '94, the little people needed to simply shut up. Like I said, I didn't seek out the opportunity to spill my guts. Somebody asked me and I didn't waste the opportunity. I had three years of vile hatred choking my intestines.

Once Savior Replacement Manager had moved on to brighter vistas or soothing retirement, our VP, Dave Kolton, recruited a guy he'd worked with at Mutual of Omaha in Lincoln, Nebraska, to make the slippery move to Bismarck and be in charge.

Phil was an easy mark. We all pegged him immediately as a lazy guy who'd much rather page through the local phone book than actually manage. I was surprised I didn't pop into his office one day and catch him clipping his toenails.

My unit was situated right outside Phil's office, so he focused on me preternaturally. I didn't purposefully dress provocatively -- short skirts were the order of the day -- but Phil wasn't shy about commenting on the fact that he saw my legs "all the way up" as I was bending over, peering at my employee's CRT, helping her with her question.

Phil was a pervert.

A lackadaisical pervert.

Phil and I had our go-rounds. He was an Aries to my Taurus.

One day, as I was erasing words from my whiteboard, during one of our "Goal and Go" days, he sauntered up and said, "Your unit is always the first to leave." I whirled around, fuzzy eraser in hand and hissed, "My people do more than their share and YOU KNOW IT."  Little Phil skulked away and for a second I thought, "You've blown it...again".

I thought I'd have to begin scouring the want-ads once more, and I beat myself up the entire weekend I'd ridden Evil Connie from our existence, and now I'd overplayed my hand. But damn, my people didn't deserve the flick of his hand!

(You would find me somewhere behind the sign, near those windows, smoking.)

A funny thing happened, though: Bespectacled Phil was actually cowed. He avoided me for about a week. Eventually he and I came to an unspoken understanding. He would no longer make half-assed comments and I would address him with a modicum of respect. Sometimes he'd stop into my glass-encased "office" and plop down in my second chair, shoot the breeze; try to be funny. I always laughed. I wanted detente. I wanted to keep my job. I'd experienced much worse managers. So Phil was a lazy sloth; at least he did little harm. In hindsight, I think he was supremely insecure and puffed himself up to mitigate his vulnerability. That's the difference between men and women. Women castigate themselves for failures. Men over-compensate.

My unit was comprised of over-achievers. No claims unit in the history of US Healthcare had ever achieved 100% quality for a full month. It was unheard of. Until my unit came along and smashed it; not just once, but over and over again. I had some really smart employees -- really smart. Take care of your people and they'll make you look good. My people made me look good. That would lead to something completely unexpected the next year; something I was sure I didn't want, but that Good Ol' Phil told me to "think about and then come back and say yes".

However, before that day arrived, there was music. Maybe small towns breed homogeneity. Maybe we're supposed to disdain that; but maybe we like having people around us who share our tastes. We all liked country in 1996. Those who didn't rarely brought it up in conversation. There was the rare Mariah Carey fan, and I was okay with that, although I admit I tried to steer that wayward wanderer toward George Strait -- as a public service.

My theory is that the music that resonates with us is from a time when we felt good. I've had those eras. I felt good in the mid-eighties, when I had two shining, growing boys and I really liked my hospital job. I felt good in the mid-sixties, when music was new and glistening and life held endless potential. I felt pretty good in the mid-nineties. I'd discovered that I had a voice and I could use it and I wouldn't necessarily get fired.

This music made me feel good:

 
There was this new girl. I wasn't completely sold on her. Female country artists had a certain protocol they needed to follow, plus she didn't sound like or present herself like any female country artists I knew. The thing was, one couldn't ignore her. I secretly loved her, but publicly dismissed her. I was a rather rigid music aficionado then:

I was never on board the Garth Brooks train. I thought his songs were mostly maudlin and frankly, not country. I think Garth might admit as much. I never understood the Garth Mania, but I guess he was a cross-over and that meant...something. I bought approximately four Garth Brooks CD's and was able to winnow out two...three at the most...decent songs. I did like this one, though, but alas, Garth didn't see fit to film an official video for it. I guess if you don't have a piano and red splotches of blood, it's just not worth one's time:

Clearly, the best country song of 1996 was one that Patsy could have recorded in the sixties. My old DJ friend Bill Mack (not an actual friend, but a lion of country radio who I cherished) wrote this song. Too bad LeAnn Rimes apparently couldn't live up to her hype. She is a phenomenal singer, but she chose to go a different way, which is okay. She'll always have this:

Speaking of Cheyenne, here's George again:

1996 will always be mine and George's year. Professionally speaking.

It would not be long before country became sewer waste and my life would be turned upside down. Music and I soon would take a break.

But it was sublime while it lasted.

1994 ~ Country Music ~ And Work

My new career path of "being in charge" became exponentially better in 1994, once Evil Boss From Hell was canned. Connie, as I detailed in my previous post, had committed an error many in the corporate world make; becoming drunk with power. It's silly when you think about it -- a company only wants you around as long as you are useful to them. The corporate bosses don't care how high an opinion you have of yourself.

Our little office being a far-western outpost of the East Coast Insurance Corridor, we'd had little oversight. As long as our numbers were good (really good), as far as our overseers were concerned, everything in Bismarck, North Dakota was peachy. They didn't know, and probably didn't care that Evil Connie had created her own little fiefdom on the prairie. The office dynamic was much like all offices; underlings who gushed over her, their red lipstick prints imprinted on her butt. The rebels, who either didn't know any better (me) or just said "F it". A couple of us thought our charge was to produce results and to treat our employees like "people". Ha. I was desperately naive, but this was my first time being "in charge", so I operated on instinct.

I stepped confidently into Evil Connie's office for my annual review. My unit's numbers were superb. I was expecting a few kudos and a decent bump in salary. Instead, I was accused of "making the other supervisors look bad". I'd brought caramel rolls for my staff one overtime Saturday morning. "LeeAnn didn't bring caramel rolls!" she charged, jamming her bony finger at me.

I was upbraided for not stopping in to say goodnight to Evil Connie on a daily basis.  As the haranguing continued, I began to cry. The evil woman refused to even reach behind her to grab a Kleenex out of the box to quench the ugly snot that was now dripping from my nose.

Evil Connie's parting words to me were, "Either you become part of my team or I'll replace the team."

The only person I ever told (I didn't even tell the person I was married to -- I was too mortified and ashamed for jeopardizing our family's well-being) was my mentor; my fellow supervisor, who I called that evening. She'd endured the exact same diatribe the same day. Carlene was maybe the rebel of the bunch, but not really. She simply had conducted herself the same way I had -- with a modicum of respect toward her employees. It was maybe a bit better to know I wasn't alone, but I still scoured the newspaper want ads that night. It was clear my days at US Healthcare were limited. I would stop in every evening from that point forward and say goodnight to Evil Connie, and hold onto my job as long as I could, or until I could find another source of income. Our town was tiny and open positions were nearly non-existent. I stepped inside my glass-enclosed cubicle at the front of my unit every morning and tried not to break down in sobs.

(FYI -- #metoo isn't just about sexual harassment. Abuse comes in many forms.)

The Philadelphia honchos generally showed up once a year, if they couldn't find a way to get out of it. To us, they were voices over the phone; I barely recognized their faces when they appeared in the office. I'd see strange men tramping through the corridor and it would dawn on me that these were "the bosses". One was named Dave and I don't remember the other man's name. They showed up unexpectedly in the summer of '93 and sequestered themselves in an unused office. We supervisors gaggled about, speculated. This wasn't a scheduled visit. Eventually, around 1:00 p.m. my phone rang and I was summoned. Dave and Other Guy asked me questions about Evil Connie. I have no recollection what I spilled. I do remember telling them that Peg and Inez deserved to become supervisors (they had languished as assistants for far, far too long and they were smart). I must have said things about Evil Woman, but I don't remember. I do remember wondering why, of all the supervisors, I was the one they zeroed in on.

That was the day I sat in my car at 5:00 and watched, before I shifted into reverse, Evil Connie exit the building with two paper grocery bags and a potted plant. I slumped down in my seat and stared. It seemed like she was leaving forever, but I was disoriented; flummoxed.

I will never know how it happened that Dave and Other Guy homed in on me. Carlene was the only one who knew and she professed innocence and I believe her. She had her own story to tell -- she didn't need to use me as a surrogate. Am I sorry I helped to get Evil Woman fired? No. I've learned that karma doesn't always work, but sometimes it does. After all these years, do I feel sorry for Evil Connie? No. I will say that she taught me one thing, though -- always watch your back. There are always more people who'd rather shoot you than shake your hand. And it's all based on their insecurities; their shortcomings. Their inherent flaws.

(Shortly thereafter, both Peg and Inez secured supervisor positions. It remains one of the few times in my life I ever felt listened to.)

Once Evil Bitch was gone forever, some poor decent, capable, professional man got shipped in to take over.

I don't remember his name (alas), but someone back in the home office must have been jealous of him; wanted to get rid of him, so they gave him the least desirous post they could find on the map. New Manager was a good company man, so he (no doubt reluctantly) acceded to his new post (I would soon enough find out how that whole scheme worked).

This man was completely hands-off, which is how a manager should have been. But he did understand that we were all winging it, and he brought in professionals to teach us how to be supervisors. We all met at lunchtime in a conference room and were schooled in management theory. Our new manager passed out paperback copies of "Leadership Secrets of Attila The Hun" and sent us home to read and absorb. This man is now long retired, but as professionally distant as he was toward us, I will never forget what he did for me. I didn't need to get up close and personal with him; I didn't need to shed tears in his office. I needed him to manage and mentor, and that's exactly what he did.

As the soul-crushing cloud of Evil Woman dissipated, life at US Healthcare became sweet. Somebody came up with a "get to know you" game, in which we devised ten questions for each person to answer, and we had to find someone whose answer matched the one on the card in our hand. It was a free-for-all of everyone milling about, trying to notch ten correct responses so we'd win. It was a game without a prize, but that wasn't the point. I remember one of us supervisors came up with, "What kind of car do you drive?" and our aloof manager had answered, "Infiniti", a make of car of which I'd never heard, but I realized this guy had money, and why not? He had a thankless job in a rustic wilderness. He deserved some kind of reward.

Me, being me, devised the question, "What's your favorite song?" That was fun. I soon learned that, out of the one hundred and fifty-or-so of us, one hundred and forty-nine loved country music. That warmed my heart, because country deserved to be loved in 1994. Diamond Rio, Collin Raye, Mark Chesnutt, Dwight Yoakam, Vince Gill, Joe Diffie, Little Texas, George, Pam Tillis, Clay Walker, Alan Jackson. It was a country music renaissance in '94.

Life was suddenly good and we had music like this:

Sorry, no live performance video of this one, but come on:

My man:

I confess; I love this song:

I saw Diamond Rio in concert once, in an intimate casino setting, and I also saw the mandolin player, Gene Johnson, eat a steak and baked potato in front of me, bothered by autograph-seeking fans, but while I was seated behind him, I gave him his space. Anything else would have been disrespectful, but I did and do love Diamond Rio:

They used to make heartbreak songs:

Alan Jackson's flame had turned into more of a smolder already by '94 -- he was settling into a real career that would eventually land him in the Country Music Hall of Fame. That doesn't mean he wasn't still making good records; they just weren't Oh Wow! records. I like this one:

This recording did sound familiar, but I didn't know (or had forgotten) that it was a Jackie DeShannon song. In my defense, it had been the B side of another track, and it was released in1963, when all I cared about was Top Forty (though I had no idea what Top Forty actually was). Regardless, Pam Tillis did Jackie DeShannon proud:

I could include tons more hits from 1994, but suffice it to say that it was the tail end of the golden age of country. I was thirty-nine years old and on my way to horizons and heartbreaks I couldn't even conjure.

1994, however, was the last time music played a huge part in my little life story.

My "Career" ~ Lessons Learned

Given the way things ended, am I sorry that I once had a career, rather than a job?

Not at all.

And please don't say, "teachable moment", Oprah.  I hate that phrase!  First of all, it would be more correct to say "learned moment", but even that would be false.

Life lessons are not learned in "moments".

Many years have passed since those career days, and with lots of time, age, and distance, I am able to own certain truths and discard the fallacies.

Here is my list of corporate life lessons:

• First, just put your head down and work.  Career advancement doesn't come easily, and sometimes it doesn't come at all, but for people who are authentic (like you and me), kissing butt isn't going to work for us.  We have to show them that we can do the job, whatever that entails.  And that we are willing to do the job.

• Sometimes, someone comes along who recognizes your value.  Often, you won't even realize that this person is observing you.  Don't waste time worrying about it.  That person may or may not even exist in your corporate culture, and if he or she does, you have no control over their opinions.  But sometimes, just sometimes, somebody notices something.

• If you need your job, and most of us do, you might have to swallow your pride sometimes.  If your boss is an arrogant, narcissistic jerk, you may just have to appease him or her, even though every fiber of your being is screaming in pain, and even though your jaw is mightily sore from all the teeth gnashing.

• If you have been granted authority over others, treat them right.  It seems so simple, and yet, so many managers can't grasp the concept.  Before you interact with someone in your charge, ask yourself, how would I like to be approached?  Approach them like that.  Nobody would treat themselves as shabbily as some managers treat their employees.  People are not automatons; they're people. 

• If you catch somebody doing something right, or well, or above expectations, tell them!  Do you want to be recognized?  Of course you do.  So does everybody else.

• Be inclusive.  Let people know that you value their opinions, and that you want their feedback.  Don't just mouth the words.  Mean them.

• Jealousy is rampant in the corporate world.  Those who can't, envy the ones who can.  And they will snipe at you behind your back.  Accept that it happens.  But don't waste time trying to appease them.  As long as you obtained your position through legitimate means, you have nothing to apologize or feel bad for.

• Always, always do your best.  The (invisible) contract that you signed with your employer comes with certain expectations.  The number one expectation is that you will do your job, and they will pay you for doing it.  Knock whatever chip you may have on your shoulder right off, and understand that you work for them; they don't work for you.

• Everybody; I mean, everybody, is expendable.  Sure, the person who takes over for you might not do things exactly the same way you did them, but the things are still going to get done.  If you are aware of your expendability, you just might adjust your outlook.

• There is no such thing as corporate loyalty.   It's a business.  Things happen; circumstances change.  Your vice president is not your mommy.  Sure, they might feel bad for a day when they have to lay you off.  But they will quickly get over it.  Everybody on the corporate ladder is only looking out for their own jobs.  They're insecure.  They will do whatever they need to do to stay employed.  They may not even agree with what they have to do, but they'll still do it.

• Your job is not your life.  Your job is your job.  Treat it with the respect that it demands, but have a life!  Turn off the company button when you go home at 5:00.  Don't live for your job, because your job just might disappear tomorrow. Nobody is maintaining a spreadsheet, marking the hours that you spend at home obsessing over your job. Don't give every waking moment over to your company.  They really don't care, and meanwhile, you have missed out on your life.

• If there are certain injustices that you just can't seem to let go, at least learn from them.  Today, thirteen years after the fact, the one grudge that I still hold is that Peter never gave me the title of "manager", and yet, he bestowed it upon the one person who I knew was a mere grunt; a woman who was lucky to even hold a job in any capacity.  A person for whom I had to steel my patience to tutor over and over and over again.  And she hadn't earned it.  It was just given to her.  It was a slap in the face to me.  

• So, what did I learn from this?  Well, I learned that life is rarely fair.  I learned that sometimes things happen the way they happen.  I can choose to let those things cloud my life, or I can realize that my life has value, apart from the titles and the kudos.  

• The other thing I learned?  Well, I don't know if I learned it, or if I always knew it.  It's simple, but life lessons often are.

• I learned, trust in yourself.

 

 

My "Career" ~ Epilogue

I left Acme Insurance Company at the end of September, 1999.....by my choice.

It's important that I say that....my choice.  They may have wished I would leave, but they never told me to leave.  The powers-that-be offered to make accommodations for me.  They were willing to "slot me in" to a job; willing to brush the dust off a neglected desk in a dark corner of the room.   I would be welcome to sit in on their planning sessions.  And speak only when spoken to.

I guess I should have been grateful.  They could have kicked me out the door.  My department no longer existed, at least, not there.

Maybe it was hubris on my part, but I sensed that they were being forced to accept me.  As if they felt I had little to nothing to offer, but they didn't want it on their conscience that another Acme employee was now standing in line at the unemployment office.

And the truth is, I didn't want to stay.  In that respect, they and I were simpatico.  When that cold wind blew in on a desolate day in May, I knew that it was time to move on.  All that remained for me, those last four months, was to sweep out the ashes, and make sure everything was in pristine order when I at last flicked off the light on September 30.

My life had changed, too, in more important ways.  My marriage was over.  My youngest son was moving away to college.  I had no marriage, an empty nest, and a job offer that made me queasy with dread.

It was time to go.

The new man in my life couldn't understand why I had to wait until that very last day.   If I hadn't been responsible for all those people, maybe I wouldn't have stayed.  But I was responsible.  It was a matter of honor.  I wasn't going to leave them, bail out on them.  We all needed to see it through together, to the end.

And then I loaded up the moving truck and I drove away, to a new life, in a new state.

I obviously needed to find work, so I searched my new hometown newspaper, and I applied for some secretarial positions.  I had always hated, hated being a secretary, but I didn't really know what else I was good for.

An early job interview seemed to go well, until the very end, when I stood up to shake hands with the boss.  I said something like, "It was nice meeting you, Bob", and I saw him flinch.  I had apparently made the faux pas of calling the man by his first name.  I knew then that I would not get a callback, and I didn't.  I did not actually want the job, but it still puzzles me why the guy was so offended at being addressed by his first name.  Did all the employees there have to address him as Mister?  That's just a bit too eerie for me.  He wasn't from an older generation; he was probably younger than me.  This is probably not a guy anyone would want to work for.  No wonder there was a job opening.

After about a month, I landed a job interview at an insurance company.  Much more relevant!  The building was about six blocks from where I lived, so it all seemed too good to be true.  I interviewed in a small alcove adjacent to the brightly-lit, plant-festooned lobby.  It seemed like a neat place!  And I got the job!

When I showed up for work on the following Monday, I found that the only area of the entire building that was modern, up-to-date, was the lobby itself.  I was shepherded into my new work space, which consisted of a dark, drab office with three broken-down, dusty desks, a telephone, and a green-tinged CRT.  No computer; just a CRT.  And I also was given a calculator and a pen.

The hallways were littered with boxes of files, each file representing a lost and alone client, who hoped that one day some kind soul might find them and treat them with a little loving care.  Alas, client files were consistently lost and unaccounted for.  Possibly due to the eighteenth century "filing system" that the company employed.

I was given the list of company rules that first day.  Number one, if I needed any type of office supply, I would need to requisition the supervisor, who would deliberate, and make a determination as to whether I really needed a new pen.  If she answered in the affirmative, she would then rifle through her chain of keys to find the one that would unlock the super-secret supply closet.   And, thus, I would get my new pen!

Number two, I needed to punch out for my ten-minute break.  Now, I'm not an attorney, but I think that is actually illegal.  I do believe, at least in my state, that employees are entitled to two fifteen-minute paid breaks per eight hours worked.

No wonder the people with whom I came in contact at the Superlative Insurance Company all seemed to be the dregs of the earth.  Many of them didn't seem to even bother to bathe or to change clothes more than once a week.  Who else would put up with this nonsense?

I worked at SIC for approximately one month.  That entire month, I sat and stared at my green CRT screen (I had received absolutely no training for my so-called job).  I sometimes punched random numbers into my calculator.  I scribbled some gibberish onto a legal pad.  I was going insane.

The only saving grace for me was the want ads.  I applied for any and every insurance opening that i could find.

When the call came to be interviewed for a claims position at an actual, real insurance company, I was jubilant.   The interview went well, and, in fact, the HR person called me only two hours later to offer me the job.  I took it!

I then called SIC and said, sorry, I'm not coming back.  This was the one and only time in my life that I did not extend the courtesy of giving a two-week notice.  They actually called me back a couple of times, begging me to reconsider.  And I'm thinking, if I am so valuable, and I haven't done one single thing for the full month I worked there, how bad do the other employees have to be?

I have a wonderful job now.  It's been 13 years, and I couldn't be happier.  And the boss I have now, believe it or not, worked at Acme Insurance Company in my hometown back in 1990, the same year I started there.  We worked in different departments, but I had met her, and I was flabbergasted at the way life circles around.

As for my former Acme fellows......

Well, time and miles can play havoc with friendships.  I haven't spoken to my "main supervisor", Laurel, in many years.  We tried to stay in touch, but it just didn't take.

My compadre, Peg, who began as my assistant, and ended up as a comrade in arms ~ we still email maybe once a year.  It's difficult to maintain a relationship, when one never sees the other.  Life passes by.

I'm friends with a few fellow veterans on Facebook........my assistant, Kristen, who never got the promotion she deserved.  She's married now, and lives in Denver.  She's a new mom.  Carissa, who was goofy and fun (and a bit immature then) is married, too, and has a one-year-old.  She's a Montessori teacher.  Kelly, who was the most nervous interviewee I ever met in my life.....Laurel and I debated and debated about whether to hire her, and we ultimately went with someone else, who didn't work out.  So, I called Kelly back, after a month or so, and offered her the job.  She turned out to be sublime!  Lesson learned.  Kelly was our cheerleader in the Grease extravaganza.

Dennis, who always had my back, and who videotaped all our stupid adventures, and who was the main planner for the IKFI picnic and for the "going out of business" party, and was a real sport about dancing in the Grease skit, is a Facebook friend.  He doesn't work for Acme.  Props for that!

Gaby, my first official and unofficial employee, is my friend, too.  She, of course, doesn't realize the impact she made on the IKFI department, from the start, but she was indispensable.

And my mentor, Carlene.  She still works for Acme, after all these years!  Carlene never posts on Facebook, but we reconnected there, and we've had a couple of laughs about the whole "trunk" episode.  Some events can never be forgotten.

The other players?

Well, I did Google them.

Peter apparently lives in Denver now, and I take it, no longer works for Acme.  I actually, way back when I first joined Facebook, sent him a friend request, and he ignored it.  I don't even know why I wanted to be his friend, except maybe I was ready to let bygones be bygones.  He either had absolutely no idea who I was, or did know who I was, and wasn't interested in rekindling a time that both of us would be better off forgetting.  I have no hurt feelings over that. 

Phil, if Google is up-to-date, still lives in Fresno, although, apparently, he has moved on from Acme, and is now a manager of some sort with a different insurance company.  I bet the employees there get real tired of hearing him boast about how much better things are, since he took over.

Dave, the guy who saw something in me, is on Linkedin, and is tagged as an "investment adviser".   Guess he left Acme, too.  Life is probably a lot simpler now.

The lovely Linda, who was always a persnickety pain in the ass, still works for Acme!  She has the title of head of Claim Cost Management and Quality Improvement.  I guess somebody finally realized that she had no business managing anybody, and they tucked her away somewhere far, far away from actual people, where she can punch numbers into her calculator all the live-long day, and smile to herself in the mirror, giving an imperceptible nod to the wonders of her glorious self.

I don't know if Brenda (who I pulled a "Shelly" on) still works for Acme.  Her Facebook page lists no employer.  If she was smart, and I know she was, she high-tailed it out of that hell-hole, and now lives an actual life.  I hope so.  She was always fair and decent with me.  And she forgave my indiscretions.

The evil boss, Connie, the woman who threatened my livelihood, has absolutely no web presence.  I'm puzzled by that.  I would assume she has friends, right?  Or, at the very least, family.  Almost everybody joins Facebook.  I would hope that she is not still suffering from abject humiliation, after all this time.  And is thus keeping a low profile.  We, as human beings, learn and we grow.  Heck, I'd even "friend" her, if she was there, on FB.  Probably more out of curiosity that anything, but, too, I guess I wouldn't mind having a dialogue with her. 

What seems really crappy one day, or one year, eventually fades from our consciousness.  And we're left with only the good times.  Even those I struggle to remember. 

I learned a lot about life, and about human nature, in those nine years.  I also learned a lot about myself.

Oh, and the data entry thing?  I hear they've since outsourced it all to India.  I wonder what the equivalent to "Grease" is there.......


Previous Chapters:

My "Career" ~ Part 12 ~ Loose Ends


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 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