A RAGE-A-THON REDUX

I decided to take down an older post, in which I badmouthed where I used to work, Dahan & Nowick, LLP. It seemed too mean-spirited. Also, I spent way too much time making fun of my ex-manager’s facial clenches/tics (Although, jeez, any more and she’d need a flea collar).

For a while there, I was determined to put an ugly chapter of my life behind me. Luckily, I stumbled upon an old e-mail I sent K., the evening after I had been relieved of my job. I think it conveys my outrage better, and in a rawer way. The luxury of ironic distance hadn’t been available yet. Anyway, I thought I’d reprint it.


“Hey, honey-mammal. How was the ballet?

Today was an awfully interesting day. I got into a verbal argument with Crazy Office Manager, aka Deb. It started because Yolanda, one of the secretaries, had to call in sick. This meant that Brenda, the other secretary, had to pick up some of the slack, office work-wise, and I had to cover the front desk all day. This delayed me from being able to run down to the bank to make a deposit for Deb.

In Deb’s opinion, Robert, our temp from Monday through Thursday, shouldn’t have been sent home, even though he refused to work in the mailroom. Robert, when last we saw him, had invoked his job description, which said he was only to answer phones. So what if this forced me to stay in the mailroom all day, and actually created more work since I had to wait until Robert went home to enter lawyers’ time into the database?

So what if Deb failed to give an appropriate job description to the temp agency in the first place, in effect creating this mess? What’s important is, Robert was good on phones, while Antoine (his
replacement) was not. And it was my fault, for being so selfish, and putting my own needs ahead of the firm’s, that I was the only one who could answer phones today, and could not make the Friday deposit when requested.

Putting aside the fact that Deb implicitly told me last Tuesday, when I first mentioned that Robert was hesitant to do mailroom chores, to take a hard line stance, and tell him, “Either you do this, or we’ll find someone who does.” Putting aside the fact that Deb told me from the very beginning that mailroom and front desk had to be split between office workers 50/50, and that included temps. But to call me selfish! I helpfully reminded Deb that selfish people don’t put up with the unpredictable mood swings of their fellow employees and/or bosses. I helpfully reminded her that selfish people don’t continue working diligently for less money than they were promised…

That’s when the issue of my hourly wage came up. I helpfully reminded Deb that I was initially promised $14.25 an hour, and didn’t find out until two weeks into the job that I would only be paid $14. Sure, it’s only twenty-five cents less an hour, but if you were to add up all those extra quarters since I started working at the firm, you’d have over thirty dollars after taxes. That’s a new pair of sneakers, a week-and-a-half of Metrocard use, more than half my cell phone bill. Not exactly chump change.

Deb was shocked that the wage issue still stung me. “Really, Phil,” she said, “I think we’ve been more than fair to you as far as money goes. Sure, you only make fourteen an hour, but the overtime we give you more than makes up for it.”

“Wait, let me be clear on this,” I replied. “You cut my salary, but you made up for it by letting me work longer hours?” By now, my trademark sarcasm was starting to reassert itself. “How can you possibly make that argument, Deb? First of all, I get overtime hours because the firm tells me to work from 9 am to 5:45 pm. If I could just work from 9:45 to 5:45, I would. But if I told that to Mr. Nowick, I’m certain I would no longer have a job.

“Secondly, I get time-and-a-half for every hour I work past forty each week, not because the firm is generous, but because that’s THE LAW. Any extra money I make, I earn. If I made $14.25 an hour, and worked forty-three hours a week, I would still expect time-and-a-half for every hour past forty. Again, because that’s THE LAW.

“You can’t argue that my working an extra hour every day makes up for the fact that the firm is stiffing me twenty-five cents an hour. I still have to work for that extra hour of pay. What I’m talking about is the base compensation I was promised for every hour I agreed to work. Simply put, you told me one number, then you changed it to a lesser one.”

At my most audacious, I accused her of misrepresentation. Deb became so hyper-defensive it was actually scary. “I made a simple mistake when I told you $14.25,” she said. “I was thinking in my head, ‘Matt makes $14, Zoe makes $13.25.’ I got the figures mixed up. How dare you accuse me, and this firm, of misrepresentation.”

The arguing went on and on. We tried coming up with solutions. Strangely enough, the idea of compensating me for money I was promised, and wasn’t paid, came up only briefly, before being dropped like a hot potato. Ultimately, I said that the situation was probably unreconcilable, that the damage to my relationship with the firm was done the moment I got my first pay stub.

Alas, who knows how unreconcilable the situation really was? If I made any miscalculation in my arguments today, it was admitting to Deb that I was actively thinking about quitting, and looking for a new job elsewhere. A short time before the end of the day, Deb called me and told me that she had found a replacement for me, that I didn’t have to come back on Monday. I probably should have seen that coming. After all, on my first day at the firm, I was introduced to the person I had been hired to replace… about thirty seconds before she was fired. So it goes.

Anyway, like I said earlier, how was the ballet?

Phil”

-God, what a bitch my ex-manager was. Hopefully, she'll be dead before I am.