The next week I am ushered into Cock Bombay’s office to meet with him and an Assistant Manager who, I am informed, is present as a witness to what is about to go down. This is rarely a good sign.
“Mr. Jason, do you recall working on the day of the June 10?”
“I don’t know, did I?”
“You did, and do you recall taking the lunch break?”
“I usually do.”
“And you are familiar with the Code of the Business Conduct training class.”
“I take it every year.”
“On the June 10, you clocked out and continued to work on the floor. We see here in the tapes that you stayed on the floor to help the customer while you were off the clock. Then, you finish with the customer, you do the clock back in and you go to the back to eat your lunch. You eat your lunch on the clock and this is absolutely a wiolation of the Code of the Business Conduct as it pertains to the time clock. So here is the final written warning.”
It is work watching him talk his way through it. I am relieved when he finishes and resist the urge to congratulate him on getting the words out. I look at the paper. Final Written Warning. I think about all the time it must have taken to coordinate my time cards and search for my behavior on the corresponding surveillance tapes. It's almost flattering to think that I might be worth these hours of wasted work. It's like an outlaw seeing his "wanted" poster and pleasantly nodding at the bounty amount below. Not bad, guys. You really went above and beyond on this one. The write up is signed by Cock Bombay and the Bobble Head. I take his word for it, politely refuse to sign anywhere and take my final written warning and walk back to the sales floor.
I get it, it's against the rules to clock out, work through your lunch break, clock back in and then eat. I've been doing this ever since our store was put on high alert for an unusual amount of Untaken Meal Breaks. By sacrificing my well-deserved hour of penalty pay, I am now holding onto a slim sheet of paper representing all that separates me from unemployment.
No good deed...
If there weren't a continuous line of people waiting for assistance, I would gladly take my lunch break at noon, instead of waiting until after helping customers accomplish what they need to do on their lunch breaks.
No good deed...
I'm not so selfless that I wouldn't take the extra hour of pay the Company owes me in these instances. I'd love to take their money. Legally, I am owed that money. It's just not worth it to me to have this store, MY store on that list of reports and in the hot seat that follows.
No good deed...YES, I KNOW BROOKLYN! NO GOOD DEED GOES UNPUNISHED!
I get back to my computer, unlock the screen and the Assistant Manager walks up to my side.
"Hey. Sorry about that."
"Yeah, it's cool. It's not your fault."
"But...um...one more thing we forgot to mention."
"Yeah?"
"The...uh...United Way campaign. Did you donate to that? We need the entire district on 100% fulfillment and there are only a couple of stores that aren't at a hund..."
"Stop." The anger chokes my throat and I clear it. I set my hands to the side of the keyboard, grab the counter and hold on. I squeeze.
"Please...just...stop."
"Well, we need to get to one hundred percent participation in the store."
I look coldly, through his eyes, into his dumb skull.
"I'll do it," I lie, managing to keep the curse words from splattering all over his face.
"Cool, thanks."
COOL? THANKS??
Oh yeah, man, we're totally cool.
I log into the United Way campaign portal and enter my employee number. My suggested donation is one dollar per paycheck for the year. I can also give a one-time payment with credit card or I can...a-ha...mail them a check. I click the final option, print out the donation form and refresh the screen that now says "Thank you for your participation in Operation 'United' Front!" I take a second to mutter the curse words at the computer instead. I exit the screen and go to read the next name from the list.
Sorry, United Way, I don't think the check will make it. You see, I've already learned a valuable lesson about good deeds today.
No good deed...
If there weren't a continuous line of people waiting for assistance, I would gladly take my lunch break at noon, instead of waiting until after helping customers accomplish what they need to do on their lunch breaks.
No good deed...
I'm not so selfless that I wouldn't take the extra hour of pay the Company owes me in these instances. I'd love to take their money. Legally, I am owed that money. It's just not worth it to me to have this store, MY store on that list of reports and in the hot seat that follows.
No good deed...YES, I KNOW BROOKLYN! NO GOOD DEED GOES UNPUNISHED!
I get back to my computer, unlock the screen and the Assistant Manager walks up to my side.
"Hey. Sorry about that."
"Yeah, it's cool. It's not your fault."
"But...um...one more thing we forgot to mention."
"Yeah?"
"The...uh...United Way campaign. Did you donate to that? We need the entire district on 100% fulfillment and there are only a couple of stores that aren't at a hund..."
"Stop." The anger chokes my throat and I clear it. I set my hands to the side of the keyboard, grab the counter and hold on. I squeeze.
"Please...just...stop."
"Well, we need to get to one hundred percent participation in the store."
I look coldly, through his eyes, into his dumb skull.
"I'll do it," I lie, managing to keep the curse words from splattering all over his face.
"Cool, thanks."
COOL? THANKS??
Oh yeah, man, we're totally cool.
I log into the United Way campaign portal and enter my employee number. My suggested donation is one dollar per paycheck for the year. I can also give a one-time payment with credit card or I can...a-ha...mail them a check. I click the final option, print out the donation form and refresh the screen that now says "Thank you for your participation in Operation 'United' Front!" I take a second to mutter the curse words at the computer instead. I exit the screen and go to read the next name from the list.
Sorry, United Way, I don't think the check will make it. You see, I've already learned a valuable lesson about good deeds today.
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