Raccoon Toons

Have you ever had one of those jobs that punished you for being efficient? Have you ever worked in a place that stifled your passions and your skill? I have.

Once upon a time I had a job (yes, I know that comes as a surprise to many of you). And I was pretty darn good at that job too. Alright. I’m going to put my modesty on hold for just a moment… I was AMAZING at that job.

But just like any other job that we’re amazing at, there were bosses that were…well…not so amazing.

At this particular time of my employment, my supervisors were especially concerned about money. So much in fact, that they were going to pinch pennies wherever they could, particularly in our paychecks. It all began with my immediate supervisor, who had a penchant for being…how do I phrase it…”extraordinarily attentive to detail.”

He thought it was a bright idea to keep a detailed log of my hours worked. Since we were responsible for reporting our own hours, I felt as though my integrity was being called into question. So being the exceptionally honest young man that I am, I decided to fill my time cards down to the exact minute that I was clocking in and out.

It was really quite grand. I utilized all of my high school math knowledge to record every minute of every day and every fraction of every cent I was on the clock. Obviously it was the honest thing to do, and proving a point to my director had absolutely nothing to do with it. Obviously.

That little experiment lasted about a two or three pay periods before my supervisor had to expressly tell me to round to the nearest 15min. He never bothered to record my hours after that. Success.

Only a couple years later however, a new supervisor was making the rounds. This one was new at her job, and had decided that in order for her to keep her new position, she was going to have to find ways to cut costs and save lots and lots of money. Considering how good she was at her job, she was probably right…

And so came the mandate concerning overtime hours. We were asked to avoid exceeding our weekly allotment of hours no matter the consequence. We must save money. Never mind that it was at this exact moment that my coworkers and I were bringing in more revenue than ever before. Didn’t matter. We must keep our hours to a minimum. No matter the cost.

Well, funny thing about that job. In order to keep our operating licence for our site, we were required to have a certain number of employees on site at all times. And due to the desperate frenzy to cut costs, additional workers were never hired. So we were left with an interesting choice to make.

Do we:

A.) Work the hours needed to abide by our state laws and regulations?

B.) Leave work and risk losing our licence for the sake of limiting our weekly quota of hours?

C.) Runaway screaming like a helpless child?

D.) All of the above.

Needless to say, I and my coworkers chose the one that was required by state law. And our bosses seemed to tolerate that choice. Or so I thought. Until the time came to fill out my time card.

The official word came down. Nobody was to report any hours that surpassed the maximum number for either the daily or weekly hours of a full-time employee. There would be no overtime hours. None. Time-and-half would not be tolerated.

Yes, that’s right. I was specifically asked to lie on my time card so that I wouldn’t be paid as much money.

I wish this was one of my literary exaggerations. I wish this was a clever retelling of the way I interpreted past events. But that wasn’t the case. I was clearly told to report fewer hours than I had worked, so that I would be paid less money.

Needless to say (being the young man of integrity that I am), I was not going to submit to this particular order. I was not going to lie, nor was I going to do so so that I could receive less than the wages I had earned.

I mean really…was I the only one that saw the complete absurdity of this? Was I the only one that saw the rights and freedoms of my young and naive coworkers being manipulated and trampled upon by bosses who were clearly trying to remain in the good graces of the higher ups and serve their own career paths?

And so, I refused. Not only that, but I encouraged my coworkers to report nothing less than the hours they had worked.

I spoke with two different supervisors that day, until finally I was informed that the head honcho herself would be calling me to “discuss” this apparent issue. Frankly I didn’t see anything that needed to be discussed. I worked. I reported. Now pay up.

The phone call came, and my very false and patronizing supervisor questioned me about what the “problem” was. Knowing she could do nothing else but submit to federal law, she agreed that “of course we would NEVER ask you to LIE on your time card!” She was however, betrayed by the reverberation in her voice vacillating between false sympathies and antagonistic frustration.

Feeling much like Jimmy Hoffa, I stated in no uncertain terms that I would report my hours as I worked them, and that the company would pay my overtime hours, as well as the hours of my coworkers. My boss could do nothing but [reluctantly] agree. And so the phone call ended, without my ever really knowing what needed to be “discussed.”

It should come as no surprise, that I chose not to stay at that job much longer.