Company Policy
by Angelina Reed
In the summer of 1995, looking to utilize my education, broaden my horizons, redirect my attentions, and to somehow lessen the pain of being dumped, I took a job at Eggshell Pre-press House*, a small, well-known business run by husband and wife, Fred and Peggy Sue. I joined the ranks of three other employees: Allen, the scanner operator, who had worked there for many years; John, who did the more traditional pre-press work; and Crystal, who attended the front counter. My job was to use the computers to run film from the electronic files that the graphic arts customers provided.
It was during my first week there that I got my first glimpse of the erratic behavior of the owners, and although I don't remember the specifics of the initial outburst, I do know that they only became more frequent and worse. Fred and Peggy Sue yelled at Crystal at least a couple of times a week, always leaving her in tears. John and I were often reprimanded for not being busy enough.
“If there are no jobs in the shop, you can always clean. This place is filthy,” Fred would grump, running his finger along the various ledges around the office. “Look at all this dust. Can you see it? I bet this hasn’t been cleaned in ten years. Just listen,” he’d say, running his finger along the ledge again. “I can HEAR the dust.”
So, when there were no job tickets to be completed, which was often, I would spend my days with Simple Green and the fine little droid-like unit, a 1960s compact model vacuum bought brand new by Fred and Peggy Sue when they first married. I vacuumed every surface in every room, careful to clean everything thoroughly and completely. I calculated a good pace, not too fast nor too slow, as I knew that I definitely didn’t want to get caught cleaning the same room twice in the same day, but knowing full well that I would be cleaning it again next week. I even spit-shined the vacuum when time permitted.
Making the days there even longer, we were forced to listen to K-BAY, which John and I lovingly referred to as K-GAY or GAY-BAY. Of course, there was a radio in every room.
My training and instruction was to be administered by Fred, who expressly forbade me to ever seek help or ask advice from either Allen or John. Fred’s lessons were a challenge for me, and not because they were difficult. I could barely keep my composure through his “How to Make a Laminate Proof” demonstration. As if his deathly foul breath wasn’t enough, he had long, rough fingernails, of which he took particular pride in the extra length of his crackled, yellowed right thumb nail, touting it as being extremely useful for picking apart sheets of film, and also apparently for keeping some extra food tidbits in for snacking on later. For my computer training, I was handed an early model personal cassette player with foam headphones and directed to the “Learn QuarkXpress” tapes in the back room. Although I disliked listening to these dull cassettes, the air was fresher.
By this time, I had witnessed an intense screaming match between Fred and Allen, where they seemingly took turns swinging their arms up and down, pumping out the angry words from their mouths, their faces wrinkled and colored an oxygen-deprived deep red. This was the first time I saw Allen walk out on the job, although I soon learned that he had done it many times before and had always been graciously called and asked to come back, as if nothing had happened. Allen was the only one there who could pull such an act, as Fred actually needed his services, most of the business being for Allen’s beautiful scans. But Allen wasn’t the only one to incur Fred’s wrath, just the only one to engage with it and dish it back, for I had seen John yelled at numerous times and I, too, had been scolded for my mistakes.
“See this?” Fred would bellow holding the unsaleable film or proof between his forefinger and his crusty nailed thumb. “Now you tell me. Who’s going to pay for this?! The customer?! Me?! Why should I have to pay for this?! Tell me, who should pay for YOUR mistakes?!“ From then on I hid my mistakes by secretly tossing them into my backpack, taking them away from the office and safely disposing of any further evidence against me, fearful that I would somehow be made to pay for it.
We got a new time clock, and a new phone system which gave Fred and Peggy Sue the ability to monitor the other rooms. Unbeknownst to them, John and I knew exactly when they were listening in, as a beep announced their presence and a flashing red light indicated their stay. We would stop talking mid-sentence and point energetically at the phone; we were not supposed to talk, work related or not. Within the next week, Fred had scheduled an office meeting with Allen, John, and I. Crystal, who was considered to be in a different department than us, and under the strict control of closet-smoker Peggy Sue, had been forced to secretly type the handout for the meeting.
As feared, the meeting was long and tedious. We were made to stand as Fred read each item aloud and then continued to elaborate with several personal observances. Although Allen was in attendance, Fred’s stories left no doubt that these items were directed at John and I. As my eyes stared blankly down at the paper before me, I felt like I had quietly left my body there as the clock ticked away.
…And I felt nothing.
NON PRODUCTIVE / COUNTER PRODUCTIVE ACTIONS OBSERVED THAT ARE NOT CONDUCIVE TO A TEAM EFFORT AT EGGSHELL:
• Unattended equipment or items that are “Not my responsibility” left on or running without regard to cost.
• Abuse of time spent on billable jobs just to show how fast they were done or how much we know about the subject rather than real time.
• “Instructions” or advice on how jobs should be handled without proper knowledge or responsibility.
• Breaks or time away from building for more than ten minutes without punching out.
• Deliberatley not following a set time procedures for hours, lunches, etc. on a daily basis.
• Stretching less than a days work into a full days work by lagging on jobs, and re-doing maintenence and cleaning chores (going thru the motions of completeing) rather than just punching out.
• “Passing the Buck” on who said what, or what was to be done, to cover up for responsibilites not followed thru. Not reading information on job tickets.
• Lack of knowledge of work to perform and refusal to take notes or read documentation, follow directions or ask proper questions in order to conceal the fact that you do not have the training nor understanding of the task completely and for which you are being paid.
• Needless waste of time and materials just to “get the job done” without proper understanding of the task; or taking the time to concentrate on the job before floundering ahead, thus producing bad films, proofs, or other unsaleable items.
•
…
I was certain that I was doing a terrible job, and although all of these incredible happenings made for amusing stories amongst my friends, many of whom believed that I was spinning fictional tales, I was beginning to tire and feel disconnected. My first review, marking the end of my three-month probationary period, was near. I figured that they were going to let me go, that I just wasn’t working out, and that I would graciously concede, secretly glad it was over. Or so I thought. As luck would have it my review was full of praise, a few odd criticisms, and a raise! I was so shocked, I couldn’t even sputter the words that I‘d practiced in front of the mirror, “This really isn’t working out for me, either.”
Crystal finally couldn’t take it anymore and quit to travel Europe. Fred and Peggy Sue went through three front-counter people within the next two weeks.
Alone in the back room one day, in a fit of utter rebellion and uncaring deviousness, I changed the radio station. When Fred found out, he freaked out, and while nervously re-tuning the radio, he lectured me on the many reasons the office is tuned-in to K-BAY. I knew then that I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to leave.
My dear, best friend Shelly asked me to join her, her mom, and her mom’s friend on a trip England, and that was all the reason I needed to go. I gave Fred and Peggy Sue less than two-weeks notice for my almost four month stint. On my last day they wished me well, and told me that I was always welcome to come back to work for them. As if I ever wanted to.
* All names have been changed to protect the innocent… and the insane.
It was during my first week there that I got my first glimpse of the erratic behavior of the owners, and although I don't remember the specifics of the initial outburst, I do know that they only became more frequent and worse. Fred and Peggy Sue yelled at Crystal at least a couple of times a week, always leaving her in tears. John and I were often reprimanded for not being busy enough.
“If there are no jobs in the shop, you can always clean. This place is filthy,” Fred would grump, running his finger along the various ledges around the office. “Look at all this dust. Can you see it? I bet this hasn’t been cleaned in ten years. Just listen,” he’d say, running his finger along the ledge again. “I can HEAR the dust.”
So, when there were no job tickets to be completed, which was often, I would spend my days with Simple Green and the fine little droid-like unit, a 1960s compact model vacuum bought brand new by Fred and Peggy Sue when they first married. I vacuumed every surface in every room, careful to clean everything thoroughly and completely. I calculated a good pace, not too fast nor too slow, as I knew that I definitely didn’t want to get caught cleaning the same room twice in the same day, but knowing full well that I would be cleaning it again next week. I even spit-shined the vacuum when time permitted.
Making the days there even longer, we were forced to listen to K-BAY, which John and I lovingly referred to as K-GAY or GAY-BAY. Of course, there was a radio in every room.
My training and instruction was to be administered by Fred, who expressly forbade me to ever seek help or ask advice from either Allen or John. Fred’s lessons were a challenge for me, and not because they were difficult. I could barely keep my composure through his “How to Make a Laminate Proof” demonstration. As if his deathly foul breath wasn’t enough, he had long, rough fingernails, of which he took particular pride in the extra length of his crackled, yellowed right thumb nail, touting it as being extremely useful for picking apart sheets of film, and also apparently for keeping some extra food tidbits in for snacking on later. For my computer training, I was handed an early model personal cassette player with foam headphones and directed to the “Learn QuarkXpress” tapes in the back room. Although I disliked listening to these dull cassettes, the air was fresher.
By this time, I had witnessed an intense screaming match between Fred and Allen, where they seemingly took turns swinging their arms up and down, pumping out the angry words from their mouths, their faces wrinkled and colored an oxygen-deprived deep red. This was the first time I saw Allen walk out on the job, although I soon learned that he had done it many times before and had always been graciously called and asked to come back, as if nothing had happened. Allen was the only one there who could pull such an act, as Fred actually needed his services, most of the business being for Allen’s beautiful scans. But Allen wasn’t the only one to incur Fred’s wrath, just the only one to engage with it and dish it back, for I had seen John yelled at numerous times and I, too, had been scolded for my mistakes.
“See this?” Fred would bellow holding the unsaleable film or proof between his forefinger and his crusty nailed thumb. “Now you tell me. Who’s going to pay for this?! The customer?! Me?! Why should I have to pay for this?! Tell me, who should pay for YOUR mistakes?!“ From then on I hid my mistakes by secretly tossing them into my backpack, taking them away from the office and safely disposing of any further evidence against me, fearful that I would somehow be made to pay for it.
We got a new time clock, and a new phone system which gave Fred and Peggy Sue the ability to monitor the other rooms. Unbeknownst to them, John and I knew exactly when they were listening in, as a beep announced their presence and a flashing red light indicated their stay. We would stop talking mid-sentence and point energetically at the phone; we were not supposed to talk, work related or not. Within the next week, Fred had scheduled an office meeting with Allen, John, and I. Crystal, who was considered to be in a different department than us, and under the strict control of closet-smoker Peggy Sue, had been forced to secretly type the handout for the meeting.
As feared, the meeting was long and tedious. We were made to stand as Fred read each item aloud and then continued to elaborate with several personal observances. Although Allen was in attendance, Fred’s stories left no doubt that these items were directed at John and I. As my eyes stared blankly down at the paper before me, I felt like I had quietly left my body there as the clock ticked away.
…And I felt nothing.
NON PRODUCTIVE / COUNTER PRODUCTIVE ACTIONS OBSERVED THAT ARE NOT CONDUCIVE TO A TEAM EFFORT AT EGGSHELL:
• Unattended equipment or items that are “Not my responsibility” left on or running without regard to cost.
• Abuse of time spent on billable jobs just to show how fast they were done or how much we know about the subject rather than real time.
• “Instructions” or advice on how jobs should be handled without proper knowledge or responsibility.
• Breaks or time away from building for more than ten minutes without punching out.
• Deliberatley not following a set time procedures for hours, lunches, etc. on a daily basis.
• Stretching less than a days work into a full days work by lagging on jobs, and re-doing maintenence and cleaning chores (going thru the motions of completeing) rather than just punching out.
• “Passing the Buck” on who said what, or what was to be done, to cover up for responsibilites not followed thru. Not reading information on job tickets.
• Lack of knowledge of work to perform and refusal to take notes or read documentation, follow directions or ask proper questions in order to conceal the fact that you do not have the training nor understanding of the task completely and for which you are being paid.
• Needless waste of time and materials just to “get the job done” without proper understanding of the task; or taking the time to concentrate on the job before floundering ahead, thus producing bad films, proofs, or other unsaleable items.
•
…
I was certain that I was doing a terrible job, and although all of these incredible happenings made for amusing stories amongst my friends, many of whom believed that I was spinning fictional tales, I was beginning to tire and feel disconnected. My first review, marking the end of my three-month probationary period, was near. I figured that they were going to let me go, that I just wasn’t working out, and that I would graciously concede, secretly glad it was over. Or so I thought. As luck would have it my review was full of praise, a few odd criticisms, and a raise! I was so shocked, I couldn’t even sputter the words that I‘d practiced in front of the mirror, “This really isn’t working out for me, either.”
Crystal finally couldn’t take it anymore and quit to travel Europe. Fred and Peggy Sue went through three front-counter people within the next two weeks.
Alone in the back room one day, in a fit of utter rebellion and uncaring deviousness, I changed the radio station. When Fred found out, he freaked out, and while nervously re-tuning the radio, he lectured me on the many reasons the office is tuned-in to K-BAY. I knew then that I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to leave.
My dear, best friend Shelly asked me to join her, her mom, and her mom’s friend on a trip England, and that was all the reason I needed to go. I gave Fred and Peggy Sue less than two-weeks notice for my almost four month stint. On my last day they wished me well, and told me that I was always welcome to come back to work for them. As if I ever wanted to.
* All names have been changed to protect the innocent… and the insane.
No comments:
Post a Comment