Bitter Is the New Black: Confessions of a Condescending, Egomaniacal, Self-Centered Smart-Ass, Or, Why You Should Never Carry a Prada Bag to the Unemployment Office : A Memoir by Jen Lancaster
Authors: Jen Lancaster
Tags: United States, General, Humorous fiction, Personal Memoirs, Biography & Autobiography, Biography, Business & Economics, Women, Careers, Job Hunting, Unemployed women workers, Jeanne
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“Well, since 9/11, we don’t really know what’s going to happen and—”
I interrupt. “Do NOT blame this decision on terrorists, OK? If anything, the attack will INCREASE demand for my Web-based products because people will travel less. I’m sorry, but that line of reasoning simply does not compute. I demand you level with me. I’m owed that much.”
“It was a business decision.” She shrugs and fumbles a cigarette out of one of her piles.
“Do you know how many friends I’ve lost since I started working here because I didn’t have time for them? Do you understand what I’ve given up in my personal life in order to come this far? I’ve gone above and beyond the line of duty in this job every single day, so I think I’m entitled to more than ‘It was a business decision. ’”
“Jen, what can I say? It was a business decision, and I’m sorry.”
“Don’t tell me you’re sorry when you’re not. Your patent lack of sincerity makes me sick,” I snarl. “But I don’t want to leave here without an answer. Please explain where things went sideways for me. Was it because my child care issues kept me from putting in a full forty hours? Or is it that I squandered company resources doing my MBA homework? Or that I had wholly inappropriate conversations about the dissolution of my marriage to my underlings? Oh, no, wait, that was YOU. So, frankly, I don’t have a fucking clue why I no longer have a job with Corp. Com. and you still do.” I am livid.
Kathleen tries to stare me down, but I see the slight quiver in her chin. With a trembling hand and wavering voice, she gives me a piece of paper. “Now if you’ll just sign this form saying you’ll make no further claims against the company, I can release your severance check to you.”
I read the document. In addition to holding the company harmless, I have to pledge never to speak ill of the organization or else they can take back my check. Fine, whatever. I sign the document because, really? I have no other choice. I push the form back with so much force a cold cup of coffee spills onto one of Kathleen’s textbooks. She ignores it and hands me a thin envelope.
I tear it open and examine the enclosed check.
It’s made out for one week’s salary.
ONE WEEK’S SALARY?
A full year of pushing myself to the limit is worth one week’s pay? I missed my niece’s birth for one week’s pay? I gave up my best friend’s wedding for one week’s pay? I skipped every major holiday with my family last year for one week’s pay? I have to cough up $300 a month to cover up all the gray hair I’ve gotten from job stress for one week’s pay?? 51 I imagine I’ll be violating the “not speak ill” clause very soon.
“This is bullshit and we both know it,” I state in a matter-of-fact voice. “And at some point, Corp. Com. will discover exactly how worthless you are.”
Her eyes damp, Kathleen barks, “We’re done here. I’ll give you a few minutes to clear out your desk, and then I have to escort you off the premises.”
Silently, I stalk out of her office and return to my cubicle, where I promptly purge every single document I ever wrote from my computer. I created them on my time, and I’ll be damned if someone else is going to benefit from my intellectual property. Zing! There go all my spreadsheets. Zap! See ya in hell, cross-referenced customer database! Bing! Good-bye, case studies! Poof! Au revoir, award-winning marketing material! And just for good measure, I wipe out my entire hard drive with a trick Fletch taught me. They’re going to need computer forensics to retrieve any of my information. For a minute, I consider bringing down the entire network, but I restrain myself. 52
I toss my cell phone, PDA, and office keys on the desk, and take a last look around. Grabbing my purse, I decide to abandon all my desk tchotchkes. It’s not like I care about some stupid Dr. Evil action figure, and I refuse to I be one of those assholes you
I interrupt. “Do NOT blame this decision on terrorists, OK? If anything, the attack will INCREASE demand for my Web-based products because people will travel less. I’m sorry, but that line of reasoning simply does not compute. I demand you level with me. I’m owed that much.”
“It was a business decision.” She shrugs and fumbles a cigarette out of one of her piles.
“Do you know how many friends I’ve lost since I started working here because I didn’t have time for them? Do you understand what I’ve given up in my personal life in order to come this far? I’ve gone above and beyond the line of duty in this job every single day, so I think I’m entitled to more than ‘It was a business decision. ’”
“Jen, what can I say? It was a business decision, and I’m sorry.”
“Don’t tell me you’re sorry when you’re not. Your patent lack of sincerity makes me sick,” I snarl. “But I don’t want to leave here without an answer. Please explain where things went sideways for me. Was it because my child care issues kept me from putting in a full forty hours? Or is it that I squandered company resources doing my MBA homework? Or that I had wholly inappropriate conversations about the dissolution of my marriage to my underlings? Oh, no, wait, that was YOU. So, frankly, I don’t have a fucking clue why I no longer have a job with Corp. Com. and you still do.” I am livid.
Kathleen tries to stare me down, but I see the slight quiver in her chin. With a trembling hand and wavering voice, she gives me a piece of paper. “Now if you’ll just sign this form saying you’ll make no further claims against the company, I can release your severance check to you.”
I read the document. In addition to holding the company harmless, I have to pledge never to speak ill of the organization or else they can take back my check. Fine, whatever. I sign the document because, really? I have no other choice. I push the form back with so much force a cold cup of coffee spills onto one of Kathleen’s textbooks. She ignores it and hands me a thin envelope.
I tear it open and examine the enclosed check.
It’s made out for one week’s salary.
ONE WEEK’S SALARY?
A full year of pushing myself to the limit is worth one week’s pay? I missed my niece’s birth for one week’s pay? I gave up my best friend’s wedding for one week’s pay? I skipped every major holiday with my family last year for one week’s pay? I have to cough up $300 a month to cover up all the gray hair I’ve gotten from job stress for one week’s pay?? 51 I imagine I’ll be violating the “not speak ill” clause very soon.
“This is bullshit and we both know it,” I state in a matter-of-fact voice. “And at some point, Corp. Com. will discover exactly how worthless you are.”
Her eyes damp, Kathleen barks, “We’re done here. I’ll give you a few minutes to clear out your desk, and then I have to escort you off the premises.”
Silently, I stalk out of her office and return to my cubicle, where I promptly purge every single document I ever wrote from my computer. I created them on my time, and I’ll be damned if someone else is going to benefit from my intellectual property. Zing! There go all my spreadsheets. Zap! See ya in hell, cross-referenced customer database! Bing! Good-bye, case studies! Poof! Au revoir, award-winning marketing material! And just for good measure, I wipe out my entire hard drive with a trick Fletch taught me. They’re going to need computer forensics to retrieve any of my information. For a minute, I consider bringing down the entire network, but I restrain myself. 52
I toss my cell phone, PDA, and office keys on the desk, and take a last look around. Grabbing my purse, I decide to abandon all my desk tchotchkes. It’s not like I care about some stupid Dr. Evil action figure, and I refuse to I be one of those assholes you
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