i never wanted to cause mr. a any problems and i certainly didn't want to have a meeting with him in which we discussed the problems i've caused. no. it was the other manager-- my main manager and his peer-- i had an issue with. for censor's sake, we'll call him mr. poopants.
mr. poopants is the one who caused the tux; he is the one who ignored all my emails requesting a schedule change; the one who asked me to come in on my days off; the one who, due to coincidence, is the on-duty manager four out of five of my working days.
the one with which i declared war. he's the one i knew i couldn't trust.
"yeah i know," i said, "i didn't come to work for two days and they have to write me up. mr. a called me to a meeting already, but i really want to be written up by mr. poopants-- i want him to have to face me."
"well," d laughed, "mr. poopants is over there trying to convince any other manager to deal with you because he's too scared. and everyone is like, 'he's your guy, you've got to deal with him.' so you may get your wish."
and sure enough, d was right. mr. poopants did call me to meeting-- via company chat, rather than walking over to my desk and just talking. he asked i meet him in the conference room, which i've always liked because the acoustics make everything you say sound so much more meaningful.
"yeah," i said, "remember? we talked about that yesterday. i took the days off."
"did you call in?" he asked, full-well knowing i had not.
"nah," i said.
"any reason?" he asked, while writing "no call, no show" twice on a piece of legal pad for absolutely no reason outside of giving himself a reason to avoid eye contact.
"well," i said, "there isn't much point in calling to say i'm not coming in if i don't have any reason for missing work other than simply not feeling up to it. i wasn't going to lie and say i was sick."
"but you could've still called to let us know," he urged.
"no because you would've just talked me into coming anyway," i said, "besides, i figured you'd all put it together by about 4pm."
"you are aware that this is severely unacceptable?"
the best part is the other managers mr. poopants had tried to coerce into speaking with me had all agreed that they wouldn't have called in either. he was alone on this one. i had overheard them all debating with mr. poopants saying there wouldn't been no point in calling in just to say i wasn't coming-- especially because weekends are so dead.
"if this job makes you so unhappy," mr. poopants started, "why don't you just quit?"
"you keep suggesting that," i said, "and, like i've been saying, if you need me to leave you'll have to fire me."
"but why don't you just quit?"
"curiosity i suppose? and i've got rent to pay."
"and you don't worry that by not showing up two days you won't be able to pay rent?" he asked.
"no," i said, "because i have pto hours that cover my absence. my paycheck will be exactly the same."
"i mean if you were to be fired, you wouldn't be able to pay rent," he insisted.
"mr. poopants," i said, "that would only be true if this were the only job out there."
"so," he urged, "if there are other jobs, why don't you try to get one of those and just call it quits here?"
"why is your only solution to an upset employee that they quit?"
"because," he snapped, "i can't manage you!"
"well," i laughed, "that is too bad considering you're a manager."
mr. poopants just stared directly into my eyes for about fifteen seconds straight. i could feel his temper brewing and i wanted so badly to finally see him snap and act like a human for once-- i wanted him to admit that he needed me to leave because he has always been the only manager anyone has had an issue with and it's been getting worse each day.
"it's not so much that i don't like my job," i corrected him, "it's that i don't like my hours or my manager."
he froze and glared again-- this time with flickering, nervous, eyes.
"you're going to have me fired then?"
"it is up to h.r."
"but you want to have me fired."
"i'm just telling them what has happened."
"and when this sort of thing happens," i said, "what generally is the outcome?"
"it depends on a lot of variables," he said.
"variables like you telling them you think i hate the job?"
"i'm sending this to h.r." he said again, "we'll see what they say. do you have any other questions for me?"
"yes," i said, "if it turns out you do get me fired, can you send me an email or call me so i don't go and dry-clean my shirts and show up here wearing fancy clothes just to pick up my nerf gun and 72 packets of ketchup before going home?"
"no, i will not do that."
"why?" i asked, "is it illegal?"
"it's just not right. i'll follow up with you once i hear from h.r."
"okay," i said, "but i hope this follow up doesn't take a month and three emails."
"we're done here."
i still remember waking up one tuesday, absolutely dreading going to work, and thinking i was losing myself in the way i had always declared i would not-- when you're depressed about going to work on your friday, there is a problem.
that morning was the morning i'd started the idea of nerf wars with my colleagues.
the company chatted amongst themselves and their social committee discussing what could be done about the extremely low morale of the company during such important times of growth.
and then they banned nerf wars.
then came the fred astaire tuxedo, the meeting, the impromptu weekend.
"i'm sorry you feel that way, mr. poopants."
"you think this entire thing is a joke and that bothers me."
"well, it is a little bit funny."
"no, it's not funny."
"it's a little bit funny."
No comments:
Post a Comment