Funny how you spend your twenty-four-seven hating and craving away from something so much it drives you sick, earns you several weeks’ rest of the year, and then the minute it leaves your life, you go looking for another one to take its place.
I’m not going to move to a fucking island. I am not going to hunt boar with a spear, or start eating seafood. I am not going to wear rags and make huts from sticks. I am not on LOST.
I am a worker bee. I love it. I like the work, more often than not. In fact I’ve had few jobs that have included duties I’ve actually been opposed to at all. I’m pretty hardy. But when it comes to people, and THE MAN, being shitty, count me out.
I would rather lick the remains of chewy orange juice from the soles of dogs with handkerchief neckties (not cool by the way, and certainly not cute) than sit and stew at the job that fired not one but two perfectly good employees on frankly shaky grounds without ample explanation, warning or actual face to face interaction.
I would like to expose, voila:
Clock House Dental, Heworth
This week they fired two young girls nearing the end of their probation period in letters, one of which was delivered on the supervisor’s way out of the building, leaving the employee feeling completely kicked out in the cold and furious. The second was dismissed today, in a one-on-one meeting (Why were they not both given the same treatment?) and then expected to continue nursing for the rest of the afternoon. I was told later that this was because the supervisor wanted the afternoon off, and simply did it at the end of her own working day.
I am not one to fight the system. I am not a rebel. I am not a drama queen. I am perhaps oversensitive, emotional and fragile. But these things didn’t happen to me. And they made me angry. They were not done properly.
If you’re listening, future employers, I’m very good myself and I am the one who didn’t get fired, I quit. I can take criticism, I can learn, I can improve. But I will not wait for the inevitable; especially if that means handing over final say to aforementioned money-grabbing fat cats – Did I mention, the new guy they’ve hired in our section is being paid about £4,000 less than we were? Our pay STARTED that way. Seems a little too obvious, but then, the best stories are true, and the truth is fucking ugly.
I’ll leave this one with a little something a patient provided us with yesterday over the phone…
“Cock House? I don’t want to speak to anyone who lives in a Cock House. No, I don’t want any cocks thank you.”
No, Mam. Neither do I.