Fire Someone

from the Probability Spinner by Regan

Virginia had taken her work home with her. It was allowed, even encouraged -- this telecommuting. Her employer was both respectable and ruthless. If not drunk with power, she was impaired enough by it not to drive. Although good one-on-one, her verbalized logic was near robotic. One had to face her in final draft form; flaws were frowned upon. The employer had come for what was referred to as a “drive-by” -- an unannounced, often caustic interaction where irrelevant observations were doled out with immediate dissatisfaction.
“I would like to see you before you leave today,” the employer declared as she exited the room.
It was 12:55, when most others had already left for the weekend. Virginia had written a note and left it for her employer. She remained in her room, feeling like a sassy child sent away from the dinner table, until 1:25, when she passed her employer’s office. Ajar, the door demonstrated an appointment with another, so the woman took her leave, hopeful that the matter could wait until Monday. Virginia gathered her belongings and walked out the front door past the one-way glass of her employer’s window. Sun peeked out from behind clouds bloated with fluid.
On Monday morning, avoiding eye contact, her employer requested a meeting.
“Skip lunch, if you have to,” she suggested generously.
The company maintained an at-will relationship with its employees, and although she was not inclined toward contracts, nonetheless Virginia felt quite vulnerable with every word said and every action made. She rapped gently on her employer’s office door. The woman looked over her glasses and waved Virginia in, carefully shutting the door, a gesture used only in direst situations. The employer sat in a cushioned wicker chair -- her hands shaking and jowls trembling like curtains in a draught. She bent the plastic body of a cheap pen nearly in two.
“I was appalled on Friday when you refused to meet with me.”
Virginia swallowed. “I left a note. Did you see it?”
“Yes, but I couldn’t actually believe that you would leave when I had expressly asked you to stay and meet with me.”
“I waited 45 minutes. We were told we could work from home. I wanted to use my time wisely, and nothing I needed was here, so…”
“Your time is not my concern,” said her employer. “You ignored my time. I watched you go out that door.”
“You were in a meeting, so ...”
“I thought about it all weekend. I expected you to call me. I thought there must have been something very important for you to refuse me like that.”
Virginia suddenly felt not just tense, but intimately violated. It sounded as if she’d spurned her employer with promises of love. “I’m sorry my misunderstanding caused you such … frustration,” she grappled with the terms.
Her employer sat up. “Nonsense, it was nothing.” Turning to her keyboard, she began typing. Tilted at an angle, the liquid crystal screen revealed blue ice. “You must have amazing confidence in your job stability to make a choice like that.”
“Are you threatening to fire me,” Virginia asked, “for doing my job?”
“No,” her employer smirked, “for insubordination. I have your file here.” She picked up from her desk then dropped into the wastebasket a manila folder several years thick with recommendation letters, self-evaluations, paid sick days, and annual reviews. “You have a history of insubordination at this company.”
The word felt military. The only person Virginia knew who spoke with the same cadence was her uncle, a bipolar brigadier general. Quickly, she reviewed past events as do those near death. During her first month on the job, an unbending supervisor tried to make an example of her.
“Six years ago, right after I was hired, I was written up for following the rules too closely,” Virginia admitted.
“How’s that?” Her employer leaned precariously to her left into the basket and retrieved the file with two long fingers, as if its fall had been accidental.
“The rules were to remain in the building for safety reasons and never leave another person alone. We had a practice drill, and the funniest thing – well, not funny exactly, but ironic maybe – was that someone got hurt. Nothing terrible, just a sprained ankle, but I gave him first aid, applied appropriate bandages, and helped him out of the building after we were discovered.”
“Discovered?”
“Yes. Our absence had been noted, as it threw off the schedule for drills in other buildings. The supervisor was very upset, even when she found out an injured person was involved. The point of the drill was to respond properly, but the next day she berated me for doing the right thing. She wrote me up for insubordination, but I didn’t sign that piece of paper. She said I didn’t have to, if I didn’t agree.”
“That was a different situation,” the employer said gruffly. “On Friday, you made the wrong choice.” She sighed. “Let’s just forget all this. I already have.”
Yes, thought Virginia, after three nights of hand-wringing and angry thoughts.
“You apologized, and that’s what matters,” said her employer.
They spoke for the next fifteen minutes about various subjects. Had Virginia waited last Friday instead of leaving, the meeting would’ve been just as trivial. Her employer’s urgency clashed with the dull conversation. They parted amicably, as if nothing had happened. In Virginia’s file, however, insubordination was noted for a second time. Such impudent defiance, the employer promised herself, would not go unchecked.

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