Fired (Part 1)

Four short years later, clamshell design gave way to a touch screen as the summer of 2007 saw the launch of the fist A-Phone.  Personally, it was an exciting season for me.  I got fired.  I got married.  My cat got a new penis.

It began late in April.  I had just been back to work for a month after being off for three months from shoulder surgery and was getting back into the flow, feeling my oats.  I can’t remember what phones we were pushing at the time, but they’re obsolete now.  Brooklyn and were discussing the U.S. President at the time and his leadership capabilities.  As we were debating the merits of an articulate leader, our inarticulate one walks over.

“Mr. Glamour Boy,” he starts with the buddy-buddy tone, “when you have the moment, I can see you in my office.”

Distracted by politics, I had not noticed both a Union representative and Cock Bombay’s then boss, The Lady, slide into the office to have a meeting.  They must have already been in there for 30 minutes by the time I opened the door.  

“Hello, Glamour Boy.  Have a seat.”  Usually The Lady flirts a little.  She’s all business today.  That, and the fact that there are papers and receipts littered all over the desk have my heart beating a little faster than usual.  I realize I’ve been ambushed and can do nothing as she begins.

“Is it okay if I ask you a few questions?”

“Sure.”

“Okay, this is going to be a little difficult.  I’m truly sorry to be the one who has to do this.  We have some questions about some of your recent behavior. I have a transaction history here of credits that were given on customer’s accounts that date back to December and continue up until last month.  Can you explain these?”

She lifts and shows herself the paper before twisting her wrist around the way that someone dramatically reveals the contents of a page--almost a "are you sure you don't recognize this girl???".  I look down at an Excel spread sheet that has my name slapped across the top in bold font.  This is my corporate rap sheet.  I am a wanted man.  Someone in Business Securities saw a red flag and has been watching my every move.  So they think.

“I recognize some of these.”

The legitimate ones would be for the rarely waived activation or upgrade fees.  Other times, charges would appear on a customer’s account that they “never signed up for!”  It’s better to credit the $9.99 in 5 seconds than it is to tie up both you and the customer by waiting on hold for 30 minutes with customer service.  I would gladly explain all of them on a case by case basis. 

“Yeah, these two I remember doing.”

“What about these $100 dollar credits on a co-worker’s family’s account?” She reluctantly points out three or four itemized lines.  She gained no pleasure from this, but put on a strong face.  Sure enough, there they were.  I look at the page, I look at the phone numbers, I look at the dates.  I shake my head.

The fact that they were questioning my having credited a coworker’s family’s account should be ludicrous enough for the simplest mind to dismiss.  I’m not the most honest of people, but I’m also not the stupidest. There were no credits to my own family’s account.  The coworker in question had been transferred two years prior to another location but obviously still had the same login I gave him when we worked side by side.  I sigh relief.  This is clearly an example of someone using my codes to credit his own family’s account.  It was pretty simple to prove, too.  

“Well, I didn’t do those.”

“But they’re in your name.”

“True, but I didn’t do them.”

“How can we know that?”

“Well, it’s simple.  I stopped work on December 9th for shoulder surgery and rehab and didn’t get back to work until March 21st.  Most of these credits you are showing me are in that same time frame.  I’m assuming you spoke with Tyler?”

A pause.

“You haven’t spoken with Tyler?” I ask, pleading for logic where it rarely exists.

“We will.  But right now we’re talking with you.”

What the hell?  How much more of an explanation do you want?

“There’s more.” She reaches for the receipts.

A phone sold out at zero--at the time it was how we dealt with the extremely rare in-house warranty exchange when the phone they were returning could not be brought back into our inventory.  Serial numbers were not always compatible and customers are not always understanding.  Anyone working retail knows of this divide.  They were using this to build a case.  This was tax-evasion to Al Capone.

There were also thousands of dollars in accessories adjusted out of inventory.  Yeah, I did it.  It’s how we had done things for years.  Cock Bombay just sits there. He knows that in the case of the phone, I made the decision to help a customer under special circumstances. He knows that I adjusted our accessories so that it would all match up for his audits.  Instead of speaking up, he sits there silent, taking notes and nodding.  If he speaks up, there will be no promotion, no acrylic awards.  Here I am, taking a hit for making the store look better than it actually is, and he’s nodding away staring at his notes.  
But she was right.  I should not have been doing these things.  I should have let the place go straight to hell.  I should not have stuck my neck out for the customer.  I should not have stuck my neck out for the store.  I can almost hear Brooklyn, "no good deed..."

“Lady,” my pleading begins, “I know what this all looks like.  I was probably doing things the old way and didn’t stop when the rules changed because I’m not a manager and I didn’t know the rules had changed.” I shoot a look toward Cock Bombay.  Eyes closed, he tilts his head to the side before pointing his face in my direction.  The last thing he does is slowly open those beady eyes.  His stare was vacant, his mouth still.  I turn back to The Lady, appealing to the smarter of the two. “I assure you, however, that if you look through these receipts, you will see that none of these things were done for personal gain.  I didn’t sell phones on Ebay (as others have).  I wasn’t stealing accessories.  I was helping the customer. I was helping the Company.”

“Be that as it may, we’re going to have to suspend you indefinitely.”   

That always means you're fired.

“Hang on, I answered all your questions.  I feel like I have a pretty good defense here.”

“I’m sorry, it comes from above us.”

“Even though I’m getting married in 4 weeks?” If they were going to be grasping at straws, I was too.

“I’m sorry.”

Then, finally, the Union Rep speaks. 

“I’ll walk you out.”