WHY I DON'T LIKE TUESDAYS
It has been an inauspicious start to the week, to say the least.
Scrubbed, shaved and shiny, I went into work with a spring in my step and the chilled, summer wind on my face. After months spent adrift in the wilderness of night shifts and work that wouldn't challenge a five year-old, I'd finally been re-assigned to my reporting role. Or at least, I thought I had.
No sooner had I dumped my bag on the floor, switched on my PC and taken off my jacket than I was summoned to my boss's makeshift lair. I followed him nervously into a side-room and then he let rip.
Following my faux pas earlier this month, I would not, after all, be resuming my high-profile rule. C, the schedule man, should never have called me on Monday. If this was bad, far worse was to come.
Not only would I not be reprising my reporting role today, but I wouldn't be doing so any time soon. Senior bosses had called for me to be disciplined, perhaps even for my head. My boss said he had valiantly fought them off, considering the matter dealt with.
I thanked him, but couldn't help but think that his faith in me had been irrevocably damaged. Gone is the understanding and the optimism. Oh, and the job I applied for last week? I won't be getting an interview.
If I were Rocky, I'd be at the point where I'd been knocked down and clambered to my feet 15 times. I could call on my super-human reserves to get up one more time. I have the will and the strength of character to do so. But is it worth summoning them? Would I be able to survive another bashing? I just don't know anymore.
Should I leave? Absolutely. It's now just a matter of choosing my moment. What will I do? Either another job or - and I can't believe I'm considering this - I may just get on my bike and ride until I feel like returning.
It has been an inauspicious start to the week, to say the least.
Scrubbed, shaved and shiny, I went into work with a spring in my step and the chilled, summer wind on my face. After months spent adrift in the wilderness of night shifts and work that wouldn't challenge a five year-old, I'd finally been re-assigned to my reporting role. Or at least, I thought I had.
No sooner had I dumped my bag on the floor, switched on my PC and taken off my jacket than I was summoned to my boss's makeshift lair. I followed him nervously into a side-room and then he let rip.
Following my faux pas earlier this month, I would not, after all, be resuming my high-profile rule. C, the schedule man, should never have called me on Monday. If this was bad, far worse was to come.
Not only would I not be reprising my reporting role today, but I wouldn't be doing so any time soon. Senior bosses had called for me to be disciplined, perhaps even for my head. My boss said he had valiantly fought them off, considering the matter dealt with.
I thanked him, but couldn't help but think that his faith in me had been irrevocably damaged. Gone is the understanding and the optimism. Oh, and the job I applied for last week? I won't be getting an interview.
If I were Rocky, I'd be at the point where I'd been knocked down and clambered to my feet 15 times. I could call on my super-human reserves to get up one more time. I have the will and the strength of character to do so. But is it worth summoning them? Would I be able to survive another bashing? I just don't know anymore.
Should I leave? Absolutely. It's now just a matter of choosing my moment. What will I do? Either another job or - and I can't believe I'm considering this - I may just get on my bike and ride until I feel like returning.
posted by David Cohen at 10:24 pm
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