Part of being employed means having to put up with a lot of bullshit. Every morning is a struggle consisting of pulling yourself out of bed, living a life wishing you could intravenously dope yourself with enough caffeine to kill a beluga whale, and dealing with an office full of morons with a combined IQ of 4. You deal with being bitched out by your boss for something Tom did two weeks ago. He expects you to work damage control for something that happened before you even started working there. He holds you responsible for the Great Depression when you weren’t even born until 60 years later.
Let me reiterate: you put up with a lot of bullshit in the workforce.
But never did I think, especially with my newly-acquired thick skin and shortened span of time spent dwelling on being put into adult slavery, that the proverbial line, albeit faded, would be crossed.
I’m a planner. I like to know what’s going on, when it’s going to go on, who’s going to be there, where it’s going to be, why I should be there, and how it’s going to affect me. I’m not sure if it’s just how I am or how I’ve learned to be since I declared myself a PR major four years ago, but planning my life away is what I do best. However, since we live this thing called life, I can’t always control my daily schedule. Shit happens and sometimes I have to manage to pull myself away from the black hole that is my desk long enough to deal with it.
In this scenario, let’s call it a “Family Emergency,” I had a family member go into labor. Ordinarily, this is all well and fine and I’ll see you guys and THE BABY OMG! after work. The kicker: she was watching my little sister, who was spending her summer break back home. For weeks, I had told my boss that the moment this kid, whenever he decided to come, began to make his grand entrance, I would have to leave to watch my sister because I’m not quite sure 10-year olds alone in hospitals is a socially acceptable thing. WEEKS! Pregnancy is a nine-month type deal. This hasn’t been a secret.
This family emergency decided to happen at 4am Wednesday. At 6am, after I had driven across the state to begin my post as babysitter extraordinaire, I sent an email to the entire office letting them know that today was the day I had been talking about almost daily for the last three weeks. I figured 4am was an inopportune to be making phone calls, but what do I know? Two hours later, I received an email that, paraphrased, said the following:
“The next time you decide to take a day off, you need to call for permission first. I needed you more today. I know your family is important to you, but your job here is most important.”
LOL excuse me?!
Let me give you the run down on my day-to-day, shall I? I sit at my desk for nine hours a day unless it’s one of those FIVE SICK DAYS I’m allotted and I’m still in bed. While there, I’m either doing absolutely nothing or being buried alive in shit to do. Considering that on Tuesday, aka the day before, I wrote a (singular) press release and then fucked around on Twitter pretending to be busy the entire day while listening to her run down of four meetings (aka her lack of office presence) for the next day, I can tell you right now that my job in no way, shape, or form can be considered by any stretch of the imagination to be “important.” Considering I was basically her bitch/slave/flying monkey a la “The Wizard of Oz,” I can assure you that my presence isn’t necessary if her presence is lacking.
I saw red. I saw blue. I saw glitter. I saw leprechauns hitching rides on the back of flying pigs down rainbows towards pots’o’Skittles. I’m pretty sure I had a small stroke. The bitch had crossed the proverbial line and it was like those scenes in spy movies where you trip the wire and your death is now imminent.
My family will never be less important than my job—ever—but especially when they need me.
That was the day I decided I was done putting up with the bullshit.
Oh, we just acquired two new clients? You need me to manage all of our client’s social media accounts? Organize that presser? Write the press releases? Order all the swag? Write, rewrite, and then rewrite again the new client proposals? Lay out their media schedules by the year? If you thought you needed me Wednesday, you’re really going to need me now.
And that sucks, because I quit.
(P.S. If your company is hiring, let me know)