"FIND OUT WHAT
IT MEANS TO ME"
Back to the night of my firing.
I tried to explain to him that the reason our all-important numbers were so low was because of the problem he'd known about all along: old equipment, inefficient database, too many cooks stirring the broth. I didn't get around to mentioning the fact that more than half of my crew had only been there less than two weeks and were still learning the ropes. It didn't matter in the end.
"Remember I told you that if their numbers didn't improve, I would have to make some hard decisions."
My firing had never come up in the past. Never. Just that vague non-threat. If I'd known my job was at risk, or even if I'd known of a deadline, I could have arranged some interviews and been prepared to move on. But he didn't even have the decency to give me a candid heads-up.
I vainly tried to point out that their work was getting better, and once the new computers he promised us (eight months before) were installed, the numbers would increase dramatically.
"What's this I hear about if anyone has any questions for you, they can go to Jacob instead?" He announced this with the smug look of someone who was privy to insider information.
I had no idea what he was talking about and I told him so. Jacob was an idiot man-child they had just hired with the last new crop of temp CSRs. He had been honorably discharged from the Navy, and he had a thin beard running along his jawline and chin, like an Amish elder, except he wasn't Amish--he was most likely a Baptist snake handler. He would talk loftily about the Dungeons & Dragons novel he was currently reading and how he was going to direct the movie version some day. He once followed one of my guys into the men's room and stood outside the stall asking if he would be done soon so they could go out for a smoke together. One night during his shift he got up from his chair 26 times; the guy doing the tally stopped counting after four hours. He subscribed to Maxim (perhaps because he didn't know what women looked like semi-nude).
Some doofus, presumably the computer trainer--a woman whose only qualification for the job was having been a head waitress at Applebee's--had told Jacob that he was to be my team leader. He thought that meant he could boss around people who had been on my shift much longer than him. They didn't listen to him, needless to say. I didn't trust him to operate the height lever on his chair. Why would I trust him to field technical questions from the rest of my crew?
"Okay, that may well be false," John replied, and dismissed the rumor he shouldn't have even brought up without proof. He did that a lot, for some reason. "The point is, you're not working with me. And if you're not working with me, you're working against me."
I started smiling.
I couldn't help it.
It was all so absurd.
He wasn't amused. "This is nothing to smile about."
But it was. It really was. He was firing me for no reason at all. Well, that's not entirely true. I had no respect for the man. My crew had no respect for him. And I had very little to do with the latter. He cried out for disrespect. It's in his looks and his nature and his professional manner, and it's nothing he can ever change. Mind you, we didn't DISOBEY him. We did everything we were supposed to. We all showed up on time, we all did our work, and we all followed the established procedures even when we were the only shift doing so. Double standards are the norm at Acme, and third shift routinely got the shit-end of the fairness stick. I fought for my people when things got too far out of hand, and I wasn't afraid to take him on when I knew I was right. It's for this reason that I think he was--dare I say it?--intimidated by me. I drew strength from the fact that my crew was squarely on my side--they knew I would protect them because I understood them. We were all in it together. Third shift is a brutal shift. Humans simply aren't built to stay up all night on a regular basis. We're not nocturnal beasts by nature. You never get used to the hours. That's the plain truth. There are people I know who worked overnights for 25 years and never got used to it. Me and my whole crew fought that battle five nights a week without complaint. But we also did it without praise, recognition, or even a simple pat on the back. There were no pizza parties for our shift paid for out of petty cash, or cubicles decorated on our birthdays with signs and streamers. Not once. A good manager knows that keeping morale high can only have a positive effect on job performance. John didn't get that. He couldn't be bothered by the human factor. That was one more reason for them to dislike him.
I don't know exactly when he realized what that other something was that he saw in my eyes months before, but he finally pegged it. My innate disrespect bothered him to the point where he finally decided to do something about it. He was setting an example to my crew by getting rid of me.
What a coward.
What a DICK.