February 19, 2007
The Thinly-Veiled Ultimatum
(Yes, I know this has been a long time coming. I've been distracted by sublime contentment.)
Know what else makes me special? The kind and helpful way I answer the phone with my sultry-yet-professional voice. I mean, that's the only reason I can think of for the G.M. to keep insisting that I do switchboard every morning, to the exclusion of every other secretary in the company.
Special! It oozes through the phone, my specialness!
I can't even put into words how fed-up and frustrated I was at this point. And, against my better judgement, I went to H.B. with the offer of a compromise. Compromise is good, right? Fair and mature. So I offered G.M. every other day. I would consent to do switchboard every other morning until The Big Switchboard Meeting of '07 had settled the bullshit once and for all.
But G.M. was not in the mood for compromise, fairness or maturity. Not when he could smell blood in the water! Not when his ego was on the line! My offer was rejected. I got called into H.B.'s office for the billionth time and was told that G.M. had given me "No option." Literally. Direct quote.
That's when I decided to call in The Big Guns. I.e., the H.R. person. It's their job to make sure employees are treated fairly and not harassed, right? It's their job to see that the workplace remains professional and not an arena for petty grudges, right?
So I spoke with H.R., and after answering many objective questions with honest answers, I got the impression that they, too, felt I was being treated unfairly. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking on my part. Either way, they agreed to go talk to G.M., and for the first time in weeks, I felt a tiny bit of weight lift from my shoulders.
Which didn't last long. I was called into H.B.'s office, with H.R. present, for what turned out to be the last time. I was told that I had to do Switchboard... or else. Or else what, H.B.? I'm fired? Welllllllll, H.B. didn't want to say that... but it was clearly implied. I got the message. Enter The Thinly-Veiled Ultimatum.
Just so I was clear, I said something to the effect of, "So you're asking me to give in to his harassment and do Switchboard every morning, knowing that there's no guarantee it will change even after The Big Switchboard Meeting at the end of February?"
Yes.
I looked H.B. in the eye. "Would you do it?"
"Well, yes, but I'm of a different generation."
"I'm not of a different generation," said H.R. "And I'd do it."
More than I want to know who killed Kennedy; more than I want to know what happened in Area 51; more than I want to know what Britney ever saw in K-Fed -- I want to know what the fuck went on in G.M.'s office.
What is it that made H.R. change their tune? What is it that made H.B. bow to a man who had no official authority over either of us? What the hell did G.M. say that was so goddamn convincing, when both H.R. and H.B. knew I was right and he was wrong???
Meh. I'll never know.
I think I left saying something brilliant like, "Fine, I'll do it. But I won't like it." And cried all the way to my desk.
I felt so dirty. Like I had just compromised everything I feel is important about myself. I'm nobody's bitch, and I felt in my soul that, having caved to their demands, things were only going to get worse for me there.
When Husband got home that night, I was a mess. On the verge of tears, nauseous, boiling mad. I said, "You have to do my rational thinking right now because I am just too emotional about this."
See, I wanted to quit. I wanted them all to go fuck themselves. But since that would mean loss of income, I knew that wasn't a decision I should make by myself in the heat of the moment.
After a brief discussion, Husband surprised me by saying exactly what I wanted to hear, "Quit. Just quit. That place is a joke. Here, I'll help you write your resignation letter."
And as good as it would have felt, at the moment The Thinly-Veiled Ultimatum was issued, to have quit on the spot, it felt even better to do it the next morning. After they knew I had slept on it. After they knew I'd had time to give it much thought. After they knew I had discussed the whole thing with my husband.
It felt great demonstrating, not a hasty resignation that might be regretted later, but one that was made thoughtfully and with complete confidence. I had that paper waiting for H.B. on his desk when he got in the next morning. Signed, sealed, delivered, I'm not yours.
And that, my friends, is how Wenchie got her groove back.
Comments
I'm definitely thrilled for you that you got out of a bad job situation. And the first thing I thought about you as we were getting ready to meet is, "Wow, she does great phone-voice", so your specialness is widely recognized. *hugs*
Posted by: Mickey at February 20, 2007 03:00 AM
Good job waiting until the next day. I am far too short-tempered for that, although I do know that my fiance would pass out if I quit my job without consulting him (our mortgage would eat us!!). Perhaps now that you're out of there you can do a little reconnaisance and find out why H.B. and H.R. bowed down to G.M.
Incidentally, while reading your post I came up with some little names that G.M. could stand for (instead of General Manager, of course). Here goes:
Green Meanie
Goober Monster
Great Manipulator
Grease Monkey
Grendel's Mom (from Beowulf)
Grandiose Moron
Gamey Meathead
Gut Maimer
Gurgle Muffin
Congrats on moving on!
Posted by: Numerica at February 20, 2007 02:39 PM