I'm an hourly employee, not salaried. I punch a time clock.
Yesterday I punched out for the day, had my purse and gym bag slung over my shoulder and was walking out of the office. A coworker stopped me. "Can I ask you a quick question?" "I'm off the clock, now," I replied, heading toward the hallway. "Ok, I'll walk with you." And she did. And she asked me a work-related question as I headed toward the ladies room to change for the gym. She stopped short of walking into the ladies room with me. Her question was one that almost anyone else (still on the clock) could have answered. I found this rude and inconsiderate of my time. I had told her quite clearly that I was off the clock. When I punch out for the day, my head is instantly not in the work game anymore. I was in me mode. It was MY time. Her question, my answer, took maybe 30 seconds. No big deal, right? Wrong. Those 30 seconds were unpaid. Those 30 seconds, added to the current time I had put in for the day, might have rounded my work-time up to the next quarter hour, which might have been another $6 in pay. It's not a lot to some people. But it's something to me. It might pay for another 2 gallons of gas. And I look at it this way: If I'd been at home, she wouldn't have called to ask me the question (God, I hope she doesn't resort to that!) because she knows I'm OFF WORK. Besides, it was technically illegal for me to "work off the clock" to answer her question. I once went head-to-head with the director of our department at a big major retail headquarters where I worked when he tried to tell our entire department we had to all come in to work 15 minutes early for a meeting, without overtime pay. I told him this was illegal. He was dismissive, I went to employee relations. We got paid 15 minutes of overtime. He was livid, he yelled at me during a team meeting. I cried. I was right. He was wrong. We devote a huge portion of our lives to work. Some of us may love our jobs and are happy to work off the clock. I don't hate my job. But I value my time off work. That's my time. Even the 30 seconds it takes to walk down a hallway. I don't work for free and that's the bottom line.
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Note: This is not about feminism.
2nd note: This is about being an independent human/worker. 3rd note: This could be about "laziness", if we are searching for labels. I haven't decided yet. I know, possibly work with, a person - a woman - who is afflicted with what I like to call Damsel In Distress Syndrome. Henceforth, to be referred to as D.I.D.S. This person, despite having been fully trained on the functions of her role, continues to act confused about performing said functions. I've come to the conclusion, after repeatedly educating her on those functions, that she really just wants someone else to perform those tasks on her behalf. It's kind of like when you pretend you don't know how to properly load the dishwasher and you pile everything on the top shelf, nothing on the bottom and your partner sighs loudly and says, "Nevermind, I'll do it myself!" and edges you out of the way and you go plop happily on the sofa, switch the channel to YOUR favorite show, smugly content that you got out of that chore. Because you manipulated someone else to do it. I haven't decided if this woman with D.I.D.S. is that clever, but she is definitely practiced in playing the "helpless f*ck." Years of practice. Well, I'm not a D.I.D.S. enabler. I'm going to break her of it, somehow. I've already tried:
Of course, none of these have been effective enough to break decades-old habits, so I welcome suggestions. I dreamed my work desk was replaced by a student desk. This dream came after the director of our department showed my team the floor plan of our new work space. We've outgrown our current space and need more room for storage and design. But apparently mostly for design. My role is administrative. I handle the day-to-day financial and sales tasks. Nothing glamorous. There are three of us in this role. We primarily support sales staff, though we also assist designers. We are outnumbered 2-to-1 by designers on our team. It's become increasingly evident that the designers are revered by our director. She takes them out for special lunches and coffee. She touches base with them anytime she's in, while I can't get her to respond to most of my emails. She sits with them to chat. And they've been given about 75-80% of our new work space. I'm low in the office hierarchy and nowhere is it more apparent than on my team. I don't have a degree in interior design but I have years of administrative experience and skills that help keep our department functioning. I looked at the floor plan and saw our three desks relegated to a far corner of the new office space, away from the designers' realm. I saw our storage capacity was reduced by more than half. I felt the hot flare I always feel in my gut whenever faced with an unfair and unbalanced situation. I said nothing and tried to forget it. But I dreamed about the desk. In my dream we had moved to our new space and I went to sit in my new desk. All my file cabinets and storage systems were gone and I was faced with a simple student desk with a wire basket under the chair. I felt diminished and underappreciated. "Why do you care so, much about these things? It's just a J.O.B" a former coworker's voice echoes in my head. "Because it's not fair. It's not right." I know she'd roll her eyes and shrug. "It's just a job - a means for pay. Be grateful you have it." She's right, I know. It's just a J.O.B. Time, again, for me to stifle my silly ideals. I first met my friend, Jade, when I began working as a copywriter at a local company that managed promotions, coupons and rebate programs. Jade was an account executive, tasked with seeking out new customers. I accompanied her and my new manager, the director of marketing, to a site visit at a client's manufacturing plant. I could tell Jade was different than any coworker I've had before, not just because she had bright magenta hair and multiple piercings in her ear. She had a positive energy and was effervescent. She did not seem to possess any shyness, a trait I'm plagued with. When it soon became evident my new place of employment was a toxic environment where the owner/manager would go from being your best friend to a cruel, micromanaging dictator from one day to the next. There was often a dark pall permeating the offices. Whispers of discontent, gossip, bitterness were prevalent. But there was Jade, who not only made lemonade from lemons, but spiked it with rum. She lit up a room with her presence and her laughter eased the tension and made each day fun. There were so many times that I felt trapped in that job. I grew to hate it more every day and was always scared to make a mistake and draw the attention and wrath of the manager. Jade seemed to shake things off, and she spread cheer and showered those of us she liked with food, treats and funny gifts. She once bought me a superhero cape that read "Sooper Copiwrighter" as a joke. Jade was always a glowing warm light in the darkness of a terrible workplace. Then Jade left and I was stuck without a friend, without her laughter, without hope. For six months. I applied for dozens of jobs and interviewed for a handful. There seemed no way out. Always, Jade promised, "I will get you out of there." But my doubt grew. She was busy learning the ropes of her new job and raising her family. She'd forget me. But she didn't forget. A position opened at Jade's new company. She forwarded the job description, recommended me to the hiring manager and gave me tips for what to say during the interview. I was hired. Jade saved me from one of the worst companies I've ever worked. Though Jade moved on to another company, I still have the cape and my friendship with her. |
About Sally FarleyI'm a typical, hardworking Midwesterner, enduring (and sometimes participating in) the passive-aggressive complexities of life in Minnesota. ArchivesLinksAsk a Manager
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