Three years with two wonderful supervisors who:
- Cared About Their Employees
- Made sure that Christmas and Thanksgiving parties were a blast
- Randomly bought lunch and/or dinner in for the crew
- Could go to them and get a loan for any reason, interest free, taken out of your paycheck in convenient bi-weekly deductions.
Laid back. Jeans atmosphere. Most of us shared the same spiritual background, beliefs and principles.
All was well in the world, and a good time had by all.
Until the Big Move.
We moved into a building that was twice the size of our former building, complete with a state of the art breakroom, (really - I mean leather couches, mounted televisions, the whole nine). All the principles had their 8 ball in the corner pocket offices. Life was good. But the mortgage was not. It had doubled.
Sidebar: I did not participate in the weekend company move, because I, too was in the process of moving from one location to the other, the same weekend, so I was given a free pass.
So, when I came back from the move, I attributed the fact that I wasn't able to locate my desk to fatigue from my own move.
Perhaps I didn't look hard enough. Perhaps, in the disarray of the move, some of the desks were not assembled yet. I chalked it up to that.
Until I went into the receptionist area. In the lobby. With all of the phones.
And there were my boxes. And my nameplate.
((INSERT BLANK STARE))
WTF? Click on this link to view the EXACT desk, company, and location (I was on the right hand side).
According to the principles, I was to answer the phone for the receptionist if it went over three rings (the receptionist by the way was a lazy son of a *&$#% who never came to work on time, and totally took her time answering the phones)
I was supposed to do the marketing for the company (I designed the silver sign you see), put out the company newsletter, plan special events, pull data queries and reports, analyze data, AND answer the phone saying "Welcome to Nelson & Associates, your source for PVC Pipes" on the third emma effen ring? AND sit with my back to all the Mr. Charlie's that come in the office. Um, Hell no. Strike One.
Second incident: I am nodding in the breakroom (Not laying out on the couch, feet up like Rick James on a Dave Chappelle Episode), but just sitting down on the couch, with my elbow on the arm of the couch. One of the principles came in here and said "No sleeping in the break room" I was like "On the couch?" He was like "No, in the breakroom".
He might as well told me No Parking on the Dance Floor. Strike Two.
Final Call: I was at my desk, helping the file clerk (who reported to me, who sat in the left chair) do something mundane, and in the process of it all, I was trying to take some adhesive off the back of a magnet. The principle passed by me, saw me picking at something and then called me in his office.
He asked me was I filing my nails.
At that point I could care less. I actually moved around to the side of his desk, and told him "You thought I was filing my nails? You thought I was filing my NAILS? I have worked here three years, never call out sick, always on time, and you are harassing me like I'm on parole. Why would you say something like that to me. AND anyway, I have acrylics, I don't have to file my nails." :P
He turned beet red. Strike Three.
But he wasn't mad as me. We moved in there in April, 2000. By August, I made the big move my own self; with 10K more to boot. I myself was raising the bar. I attributed the fact that their mortgage doubled could have attributed to the stress and/or weird behavior, but I don't have to partake in that.
Have you moved on, or are looking to make that big move? And tell us why!