Lay-offs and shift changes
Feb. 5th, 2009 09:51 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
grrgoylThe terrible economy has finally reached Tery's hospital doors. She received the order to choose someone to lay off.
She's certain this can be avoided if she can squeeze by for another month, when one of her interns will leave for school. But until then, everyone has to step up and make small sacrifices so they can all keep their jobs (if you're wondering why I'm saying "they," I generously offered to quit, but ironically my shift would be exceptionally difficult to cover, so I have job security above and beyond being married to the boss. Instead I leave early whenever it's slow enough that I'm not needed the entire night, and glad to do so -- the good thing about a low hourly wage is it doesn't hurt much when your hours are cut).
So Tery put out a memo making it clear that everyone would have to cut their hours and work a little harder to cover the resulting smaller staff. She herself will be working 10- to 12-hour days to help out, cutting severely into our free time together, which I assured her didn't bother me. Hence No TV Tuesday will have to be cut back to once a month, or else we'll fall woefully behind on all our Tivo (which is for the best -- one adverse side effect of NTT was that it confused me so badly that I spent all day Thursday thinking it was Wednesday. Nothing kills my buzz faster than the sudden realization that I'm on my last night of freedom before the weekend).
All this was a very rude awakening to A., an employee who religiously calls in "sick" after every major football game, so needless to say missed her shift Monday (fooling no one). She returned to work Tuesday to discover jobs were suddenly on the line. "I thought we were safe!" she cried in anguish. Safe because we came in under budget one week. Pull your head out of your ass and read a newspaper once in awhile. These people seem genuinely astonished to learn the country's in trouble, and even moreso at the idea that they could be affected by it. She was further dismayed when she was told that no, she couldn't make up her missed hours. "Well now I don't know if I should sign my new lease or not," she grumbled. Tery's lack of sympathy came close to matching mine. Perhaps next time she won't make drinking and partying a priority over working her shift, fucking crybaby.
If I sound heartlessly gleeful at these brats finally seeing a glimpse of the cruel, cruel world of adulthood, it's because they've gone far too long without the "fear of god" (or Tery) in them, i.e. respecting your boss and doing your damn job, no questions asked.
Tery heard through the grapevine this afternoon that the staff were "very worried" and "thought they should have an emergency meeting," which would necessitate closing the doors and halting business while doing so. Really? Threats of lay-offs because revenue isn't matching payroll and you want to turn away customers so Tery can hold your hands and promise it will be alright? These people really aren't the brightest bulbs in the pack.
She's not sure what they want her to tell them. That they shouldn't worry, that the memo doesn't apply to them? She can't do that. We're both wondering why they're acting like this came out of nowhere, when Tery's been telling them for weeks how crucial it was that they get their budget under control. There's also talk of people worried Tery will play favorites when deciding who to send home. Of course she can't really say that she hates them all equally, which she does.
~*~
Meanwhile at my other job I'm not losing hours, just rearranging them. We were notified of a client whose reports were falling behind consistently because of gaps in the scheduling, and we were all expected to volunteer to fill those gaps (the mail contained a not-so-subtle threat about how they "didn't want to lose any of us but..."). The gaps were for the most part in the midnight to 5 am shifts. Yeah, I can't imagine why those would be hard to cover.
I worked RGIS inventory for 16 long years, a job that doesn't come remotely close to offering regular hours. I didn't mind at the time, but these past few years I've become very spoiled. Perhaps that's why I'm so jealously protective now that I finally have them (well, the weekend throws a tiny wrench in them, but at least it's the same wrench all the time). I really, really love having Sundays and Mondays off no matter what. So you can imagine the sinking feeling when I examined my options and realized the only gap that wasn't midnight to 5 am (cuz THAT wasn't happening) that didn't conflict with my hospital hours was Sunday evenings, 8 pm to midnight. Why, god, why?
I took it rather than wait too long and be forced into a choice even less palatable. The blow was a tiny bit softened when I came up with the trade-off of four hours out of my Saturday morning shift, so I could sleep in after working overnight Friday (when frankly I'm not really at my most productive anyway). THAT would be very nice, although knowing me I'd only sleep until 11 am or so and then twiddle my thumbs waiting to start work anyway.
I sent out a few emails proposing the change without receiving any confirmation to go through with it, so Sunday night I went ahead and worked my first 8-12. Oh, it hurt. Most Sunday nights I hold on until 10 pm or so and then crash hard until morning -- then spend most of the day Monday crashing some more. I had a cup of tea and Tery brought me dinner from the bar, and I slogged all the way through. I'm trusting next weekend with that Saturday morning off it won't be nearly so bad.
Monday morning I heard back from the scheduler, approving my new shift. She apologized for the delay, but she had received an overwhelming response from people about the change. I can't believe that many people were eager to work that graveyard shift, but I suppose you never know. It's amazing how cooperative employees become when the economy is in the toilet (except maybe Carol Siemens -- I guarantee she probably put up a squawk). I couldn't help thinking that if the response was that huge, maybe I didn't need to change mine after all, but I didn't say as much. Maybe I'll end up loving it and it will work out really well, but for now I'm still stubbornly clinging to the good times when I had two whole days off every week.
My sister the nurse, who already works six days a week, said to me wisely (and Tery's employees would do well to adopt the same attitude), "I'm just happy to have a job. I'll work whenever they want me to."
~*~
I thought I had no news from the kennels, but I forgot about Klondike. Klondike is an old Great Pyrenees, who for the most part is infinitely happier sleeping than doing anything else. Coaxing him to stand is near impossible, so you can imagine the fun to be had getting him up the stairs to the yard. He also has a perpetual long string of slobber hanging from his lips, in such quantity that the smallest sip from his water bowl fills it with slimy trails. Ugh.
I knew from previous attempts that he and stairs simply didn't mix. His legs would give out and he'd collapse mid step given half the chance. This led me to create my Great Pyrenees theory -- namely that no one should own one unless they live on the ground floor. Anyway I was trying to help him out, embracing his chest from behind as best I could to leverage him up. His head started lolling and flailing around in alarm, and then, almost in slow motion, that big strand of saliva whipped around and SPLAT! COVERED the whole side of my head. Oh. My. GOD. Say what you will about cats, at least they limit their spit-sharing to petitely and politely licking your face (or the occasional flecks emitted while hissing).
Needless to say, Klondike didn't make any more trips up the stairs on my shift. We were both content with staying in the hallway while he conducted his business.
I also had a Bernese mountain dog, Zoey. The only thing Tery hates more than stupid dogs is stupid dog owners, of which she sees more than her share. Zoey's mother essentially babied her growing up, and now that she's a little larger she has such severe separation anxiety that she lays waste to the girl's apartment whenever she's left alone. The girl just doesn't know what she did wrong.
Tery and I both know what she did wrong. The same thing a lot of dog owners do wrong. She saw that cute puppy in the window and didn't give a single thought to how or even if it would fit into her lifestyle once it grew up.
So she crated Zoey for one day, and that night brought her in for surgery because she'd ingested a foreign body (Tery and I surmised Zoey started to eat the crate). We think the stupid woman deserves every penny of that bill. Hey, it keeps Tery's doctors paid.
~*~
This entry seems to be full of a lot of hate. Well, life isn't all rainbows and new Blu-ray discs.
She's certain this can be avoided if she can squeeze by for another month, when one of her interns will leave for school. But until then, everyone has to step up and make small sacrifices so they can all keep their jobs (if you're wondering why I'm saying "they," I generously offered to quit, but ironically my shift would be exceptionally difficult to cover, so I have job security above and beyond being married to the boss. Instead I leave early whenever it's slow enough that I'm not needed the entire night, and glad to do so -- the good thing about a low hourly wage is it doesn't hurt much when your hours are cut).
So Tery put out a memo making it clear that everyone would have to cut their hours and work a little harder to cover the resulting smaller staff. She herself will be working 10- to 12-hour days to help out, cutting severely into our free time together, which I assured her didn't bother me. Hence No TV Tuesday will have to be cut back to once a month, or else we'll fall woefully behind on all our Tivo (which is for the best -- one adverse side effect of NTT was that it confused me so badly that I spent all day Thursday thinking it was Wednesday. Nothing kills my buzz faster than the sudden realization that I'm on my last night of freedom before the weekend).
All this was a very rude awakening to A., an employee who religiously calls in "sick" after every major football game, so needless to say missed her shift Monday (fooling no one). She returned to work Tuesday to discover jobs were suddenly on the line. "I thought we were safe!" she cried in anguish. Safe because we came in under budget one week. Pull your head out of your ass and read a newspaper once in awhile. These people seem genuinely astonished to learn the country's in trouble, and even moreso at the idea that they could be affected by it. She was further dismayed when she was told that no, she couldn't make up her missed hours. "Well now I don't know if I should sign my new lease or not," she grumbled. Tery's lack of sympathy came close to matching mine. Perhaps next time she won't make drinking and partying a priority over working her shift, fucking crybaby.
If I sound heartlessly gleeful at these brats finally seeing a glimpse of the cruel, cruel world of adulthood, it's because they've gone far too long without the "fear of god" (or Tery) in them, i.e. respecting your boss and doing your damn job, no questions asked.
Tery heard through the grapevine this afternoon that the staff were "very worried" and "thought they should have an emergency meeting," which would necessitate closing the doors and halting business while doing so. Really? Threats of lay-offs because revenue isn't matching payroll and you want to turn away customers so Tery can hold your hands and promise it will be alright? These people really aren't the brightest bulbs in the pack.
She's not sure what they want her to tell them. That they shouldn't worry, that the memo doesn't apply to them? She can't do that. We're both wondering why they're acting like this came out of nowhere, when Tery's been telling them for weeks how crucial it was that they get their budget under control. There's also talk of people worried Tery will play favorites when deciding who to send home. Of course she can't really say that she hates them all equally, which she does.
~*~
Meanwhile at my other job I'm not losing hours, just rearranging them. We were notified of a client whose reports were falling behind consistently because of gaps in the scheduling, and we were all expected to volunteer to fill those gaps (the mail contained a not-so-subtle threat about how they "didn't want to lose any of us but..."). The gaps were for the most part in the midnight to 5 am shifts. Yeah, I can't imagine why those would be hard to cover.
I worked RGIS inventory for 16 long years, a job that doesn't come remotely close to offering regular hours. I didn't mind at the time, but these past few years I've become very spoiled. Perhaps that's why I'm so jealously protective now that I finally have them (well, the weekend throws a tiny wrench in them, but at least it's the same wrench all the time). I really, really love having Sundays and Mondays off no matter what. So you can imagine the sinking feeling when I examined my options and realized the only gap that wasn't midnight to 5 am (cuz THAT wasn't happening) that didn't conflict with my hospital hours was Sunday evenings, 8 pm to midnight. Why, god, why?
I took it rather than wait too long and be forced into a choice even less palatable. The blow was a tiny bit softened when I came up with the trade-off of four hours out of my Saturday morning shift, so I could sleep in after working overnight Friday (when frankly I'm not really at my most productive anyway). THAT would be very nice, although knowing me I'd only sleep until 11 am or so and then twiddle my thumbs waiting to start work anyway.
I sent out a few emails proposing the change without receiving any confirmation to go through with it, so Sunday night I went ahead and worked my first 8-12. Oh, it hurt. Most Sunday nights I hold on until 10 pm or so and then crash hard until morning -- then spend most of the day Monday crashing some more. I had a cup of tea and Tery brought me dinner from the bar, and I slogged all the way through. I'm trusting next weekend with that Saturday morning off it won't be nearly so bad.
Monday morning I heard back from the scheduler, approving my new shift. She apologized for the delay, but she had received an overwhelming response from people about the change. I can't believe that many people were eager to work that graveyard shift, but I suppose you never know. It's amazing how cooperative employees become when the economy is in the toilet (except maybe Carol Siemens -- I guarantee she probably put up a squawk). I couldn't help thinking that if the response was that huge, maybe I didn't need to change mine after all, but I didn't say as much. Maybe I'll end up loving it and it will work out really well, but for now I'm still stubbornly clinging to the good times when I had two whole days off every week.
My sister the nurse, who already works six days a week, said to me wisely (and Tery's employees would do well to adopt the same attitude), "I'm just happy to have a job. I'll work whenever they want me to."
~*~
I thought I had no news from the kennels, but I forgot about Klondike. Klondike is an old Great Pyrenees, who for the most part is infinitely happier sleeping than doing anything else. Coaxing him to stand is near impossible, so you can imagine the fun to be had getting him up the stairs to the yard. He also has a perpetual long string of slobber hanging from his lips, in such quantity that the smallest sip from his water bowl fills it with slimy trails. Ugh.
I knew from previous attempts that he and stairs simply didn't mix. His legs would give out and he'd collapse mid step given half the chance. This led me to create my Great Pyrenees theory -- namely that no one should own one unless they live on the ground floor. Anyway I was trying to help him out, embracing his chest from behind as best I could to leverage him up. His head started lolling and flailing around in alarm, and then, almost in slow motion, that big strand of saliva whipped around and SPLAT! COVERED the whole side of my head. Oh. My. GOD. Say what you will about cats, at least they limit their spit-sharing to petitely and politely licking your face (or the occasional flecks emitted while hissing).
Needless to say, Klondike didn't make any more trips up the stairs on my shift. We were both content with staying in the hallway while he conducted his business.
I also had a Bernese mountain dog, Zoey. The only thing Tery hates more than stupid dogs is stupid dog owners, of which she sees more than her share. Zoey's mother essentially babied her growing up, and now that she's a little larger she has such severe separation anxiety that she lays waste to the girl's apartment whenever she's left alone. The girl just doesn't know what she did wrong.
Tery and I both know what she did wrong. The same thing a lot of dog owners do wrong. She saw that cute puppy in the window and didn't give a single thought to how or even if it would fit into her lifestyle once it grew up.
So she crated Zoey for one day, and that night brought her in for surgery because she'd ingested a foreign body (Tery and I surmised Zoey started to eat the crate). We think the stupid woman deserves every penny of that bill. Hey, it keeps Tery's doctors paid.
~*~
This entry seems to be full of a lot of hate. Well, life isn't all rainbows and new Blu-ray discs.
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Date: 2009-02-05 08:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-02-05 08:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-02-05 09:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-02-05 09:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-02-06 03:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-02-06 04:28 pm (UTC)Although it isn't a new thing. My older sister was an only child for 13 years before I came along (I know. Very bizarre spacing in our family) and she to this day is the biggest entitlement queen you're ever likely to meet.
I'm sure you won't make the same mistake with Delia ; )