SWF SEEKS PROFESSIONAL FULFILLMENT

Landing a new job is a lot like falling in love through the personals. Based on their description, you send them one of your own, and hope they call you. When they do, you agree to meet at the best restaurant in town, Human Resources, and hope for love at first sight. You both say things that imply “Pick me! I’m the one for you”.

Each day, at first, is like a date. You dress to impress. You smile, make eye contact, and nod your head knowingly. You ask engaging questions and try to answer everything thrown at you so you’ll be memorable, so you’ll stand out. The new experiences, the new people- they give you butterflies. The mundane seems purposeful. Everything (the health insurance, the assignments, the paycheck) is candy and roses.

And, like any new relationship, you can justify just about any flaw. There’s no need to be nervous that the man who hired me was fired a week before I started. I’ll pay no attention that no one will tell me why. That’s just professional policy.

For the love of God, they believe whole-heartedly in my talents. That’s why they’re not training me. Even though it seems otherwise, retyping the phone book is not just busy work. When we do get a new boss and get started, this will have been helpful. Plus, I just got my own laptop and a Blackberry. They’re investing money in me. They return my advances. They kiss me back by telling me I am a star. There is nothing to worry about.

Finally, out of necessity, they find me a new beau to replace my original admirer. It’s been two months after all, and they are as anxious to productively channel my talents as I am. They’ve devoted time and expense to their venture; they don’t want to break up just yet.

At this point, I’m reeled in again with the promise of excitement and better days. And, of course, I don’t want to break up either. I mean, I’ve also invested a ton of energy, make-up, matching shoes, and exceedingly hard work into keeping them interested.
So, both sides silently agree to stick it out, to make it work. The new beau does bring new excitement with him. He reignites everyone’s enthusiasm. Like all young suitors, he boasts of his abilities: He’ll be our leader, our mentor, our protector. “Come to me”, he says, “with all your problems- business and personal. We’ll be family”. So, of course, enthusiasm is mistaken for sincerity. You could almost make out our collective sigh of relief.

But, be it instinct or common sense, I begin to suspect that this beau wishes he could have written the personal ad himself. He is slow to address the problems I bring to him and never follows through on his promises. He makes me feel like a caricature of the worst kind of wife: unrelenting and nagging. “Did you do that thing you said you would? Where’s the paperwork you said you’d get me? I need you to call that guy. Again. You know the one—he’s sabotaging our efforts to get new advertisers.”

But, remember that the worst kinds of wives are made by the worst kinds of husbands. He’s forgetful, not just of my words but of his very own! His abandoned tools, belongings, and intended projects are littered everywhere. He sees my frustration but will only acknowledge it when I bring it up. He promises he’ll do better. He promises everything will be better. He distracts me with plumb assignments and plauditory commendations of my work.

Then, in the predictable way that so many relationships go sour, he continues to be passive on the surface while being active behind the scenes. He’s still ignoring anything and everything brought to his attention, but, now, he seems to be searching out old problems and claiming they’re current. He feigns ignorance about his initial reactions and rebuffs his own culpability.

I still don’t see the handwriting on the wall, though. I beg him for help not knowing that I am begging the wrong person. I declare my love for all things job related but my pleas fall on deaf ears. He seems unable to tell me that he wants to move on so he finds someone else to do it for him, someone with more power than he, who will surely intimidate me. They meet with me twice and bombard me with accusations and insults hoping I will initiate the break up.

It’s my turn to refuse. I’m not leaving, at least not voluntarily, not when I’ve spent the last 14 months being one of those annoying yet rare individuals who loves getting up and going to work everyday; not when I’m proud of the work I’ve done, the relationships I’ve cultivated, or the money I’ve brought in for this company. So, I beg for answers. “You just said that I was an asset here. You said this place needed me and gave me more responsibilities. How can you want me to leave?”

In a third meeting, he sits across from me silently and smugly. He doesn’t even say the words himself. He has the same wing man from before, that strong-arm ally of his, do it for him. “You’re terminated”. That’s the word they use: terminated. They can’t even bring themselves to say something like, “We’re going to have to let you go” or “we feel we need to go in another direction without you”.

No, they choose the phrase “you’re terminated” with the most deliberate yet hopeful of desires. After all, if they merely wanted me to know I was no longer going to be employed by them, they would have said, “We’re terminating your position” or something akin to that. No, the language must be exact and punishing to be effective. Otherwise, it might not be a clean break-up. I might think I can change their minds or make them see me like they did in the beginning when we were both happy.

See, “you’re terminated” actually does several jobs. In reality, it spells out their true intentions. They want to erase all traces of me within the confines of their corporate atmosphere while simultaneously making me an example to any other dissenters. They’re saying, “Behave, ladies, the way we think you should or we’ll get rid of you, too”. Most importantly, they want me to feel terminated. It’s an attempt to degrade me and, thereby, to hopefully silence me.

If they can get me to feel the full weight of “terminated”, then, maybe I’ll be too ashamed to expose my experiences to anyone. Maybe I’ll doubt myself and what was said and done to me. Maybe some women would feel that way. Maybe, for just a second, I felt that way, too.

So, they may have shoved me out of the building. They may have slammed the door in my face. But, shut me up? Silence me? Shame me? It’s not possible. They terminated my position. They did not terminate me.