Definitions, escape velocity and other minor moral dilemmas of a painful nature.

Made a decision yesterday that pleasing my father and my family and THE MAN was no longer worth it.
Decided my personal happiness and sense of self-worth was what was most important.
Decided to fight to protect it, tooth and nail.

I went home. I cried. I cried. I cried on J., bless his heart, while Elodie fed me tasty pasta salad and I cried. Exhausted, I laid on the couch and called in sick of broken heart and mind. I love my job; I believed in my job. What my job had become was a travesty. It was lies, it was cheats, it was unreal how false and fake I had to be all day long. I had to lie with a straight face and break contracts and tell customers that no, it was all their fault. Even my embracing of my inner corporate pirate was insufficient for what I was told to do.

I dressed yesterday as a pirate, channeling Captain Jack Sparrow I took the office by storm. I spent three hours writing a manifesto, explaining how and why and why there was something rotten in the state of Denmark. I took it to multiple upper management desks. I signed it only as myself. I removed accusatory statements and edited. I had it reviewed by three people. I tweaked and channeled my father’s business English. It was beautifully crafted and it closed, “I am tired of my sweat lining someone else’s pockets.” It explained that I was tired of feeling guilty if I didn’t work an 80 hour work week. It channeled the frustration of the exhaustion of my department.

“You have to know when to hold them, know when to fold them…”

I laid my cards on the table; fully believing I would be fired, escorted from the building. I took a deep breath and plunged in. My critique was well received, was treated by upper management as a path for change, to create the change within the corporate culture that was exceedingly necessary. I spent three hours creating solutions and generating ideas with one manager and we created a game plan.

I left the office somewhere in the upper stratosphere – Cloud 11, for sure – my department had been broken, and I was actively fixing the parts that weren’t working. I had a plan, I had connections, I was going to make it better for my employees. I was so blessed out.

I came in the next morning, refreshed, no longer bitter, ready to go! I begin one initiative, a cross-brand project to benefit my department internally. I am querying one employee about processes on break, and run over. I call her direct supervisor and also e-mail him, asking permission to discuss this further with her and to discuss her place in my project with him.

No response. So, in the next 10 minutes or so, we finalize a plan, options, details. I am saving it when the brand manager shows up, drama queen diploma in hand, starts to make a scene. He underestimated, though, he goofed. There he was, wanting to provoke me, wanting a scene, wanting me to scream. I was out of energy. I looked at him:

“It seems you’re a little upset Mr. H. Perhaps we should schedule a meeting later today when we’re both more calm to discuss this.”

Not well received.

“Very well, let’s step outside and we can have a short chat, okay?”

Mr. H. storms out of my segment of the office and I proceed to follow him carting along laptop, cell, smokes, expecting to talk in the office park. He’s instead in a fishbowl glass bubble room glaring at me.

I enter. I explain, in a calm voice. I apologize if my intentions and actions were misunderstood. Then I show him the plan, take his abuse, and go on about my day. The fact that upper management had done that? Or created a corporate culture where it was okay for a brand manager to approach a team lead working on a special project for an upper-level manager and castigate her?

It killed me. I left for lunch, distraught, unfocused. I didn’t come back. I’m tendering my resignation. Apparently his actions were poorly received by HR and his boss. That doesn’t fix how they hurt me. I don’t need a work environment where that is even possible.