THE SHIFT

'This is a work of fiction and any similarities to actual events are coincidental.'

It got too, too much – harassment every shift, nothing good enough, criticism, snapping. An outburst at the front desk. Then collusion with another employee, and I find the notes they cooked up together. Lies, half-lies, calculated set-ups.

I have weeks of accumulated ‘sick time’. Thank you, chubby little body, for never succumbing to winter illnesses. A quick doctor’s note, and a phone call to Bad Boss and I’m on leave for 2.5 months.

I discover the cooked up complaints went all the way to the top, are considered ‘information’. I am incredulous, reeling - and I submit a written refute for every one of her gripes. I called her a nickname, affectionately, once, over a year ago…

Time stretches out ahead of me, though I know from experience it goes fast, and you never get as much done as you think you’re going to. But after a few days out of town - away, away - I settle in.

A cyber-friend, my Virtual Sweetheart, gently communicates, ‘It is very hard.’ and suggests doing nothing but observing. Just observing is a trick, and takes some practice.

Sugar, which I’m craving - and outrage - are motivating. I consider many acts of revenge, but toss them aside. The jaws relax, the claws retract. The Jabberwock retreats to its cave.

The garden calls. I weed, seed, water, shovel. I grow exhausted after just two hours and collapse for afternoon naps. I lose myself in junk TV – Coronation Street, E.R., Cold Case, N.Y.P.D. I start thinking those people are my friends…

Friends have largely disappeared over the last 15 months. I’ve been boring company – grieving the disappearance of a Dearly Beloved, arguing with neighbours over their incessantly yapping dogs (all 15 in their illegal kennel) , obsessed with Bad Boss and Management’s inability to deal with the problem. Really not much fun to be around and I don’t blame anyone for backing off.

Virtual Sweetheart doesn’t back off and we agree to meet face to face. He’s delightful, does not get pulled in to my stuff, and gifts me with a wonderful day.

I continue observing. I see my loneliness. For the first time in my single life, I feel lonely - bitterly. I left my gang in the city when I moved to the Islands. Dearly Beloved and I were tight, very tight, for 3 years. Then one day he departed, without a word. Silly me – I never saw it coming.

His parting shot reaches me via the local grapevine: ‘Penny should know by now if a guy doesn’t call her in a month it means it’s over.’

Brutal. There is more than one way to kick a person in the stomach. Nothing to do but endure. I discover he is a closet alcoholic.

I observe myself filling spaces. TV, food - strawberries, ice cream, organic baby carrots, French fries. French fries and ice cream together. Weird cravings that have not much to do with sustenance. I even crave exercise - but I lie down till the feeling passes.

I tell Management I’m not sick in the usual sense, but I won’t work in a toxic environment with a supervisor who’s colluding with another employee to put a knife in my back and twist it. Do something. They don’t believe me. ‘Surely you’re exaggerating.’ says Scottish Accent.

It’s an unenviable position, 2nd in seniority. The one above is paranoid and the one below stands to gain if I leave. Everyone benefits by my departure - but me.

I am determined not to go. I have a union. Bad Boss has been almost criminal in her behaviour – verbally abusive, physically threatening. It occurs to me – I have done nothing wrong. Why am I here?

I discover that Bad Boss and I share the same Union Rep. Management won’t pursue solutions while I’m on sick leave… I throw up my hands. Absurd. Too insane to contemplate. I think, ‘Forge on anyway.’ And I do.

Virtual Sweetheart indeed backs off and for a day, I feel 16 again. I observe, I do and say nothing. I allow cravings and don’t judge. Nothing is satisfied.

The garden is looking fabulous by the end of Week Four.

I see a Mediator and tell the story. After an hour and a half, I’m barely half way through. It’s become an epic. I go home and write up a timeline and drop it off next day. Include a staff list and a page entitled ‘Problem Defined’.

Then I get worried – will he think I’m arguing too strongly for my position, somehow turn this against me the way Bad Boss would?

Second visit is greatly reassuring. He sees me as organized, helpful – not hostile. Relief.

I observe how hard it is to simply be in the world when someone in power is determined to see you incorrectly, and conveys this view of you to others, who in turn, are only too glad to pick up on it. It’s been this way for 15 months. ‘She’s just after the supervisory position.’ Apparently I am a Terrible Person to a number of people in my little community. Bad Boss has a sick husband, and he dies. Any self-preserving act becomes ‘Kicking her when she’s down.’

They don’t know my side and I’m not allowed to tell them. It's mean - a malicious, small-town gossip frenzy. The mob is salivating over me.

Mediator Man sees me accurately, and sees Bad Boss too. ‘Would you say her behaviour is bullying?’ he asks quietly. ‘Oh yes, definitely.’ He’s seen it all before.

So have I. I think of my mother, step-mother, teachers, other bosses – they all bullied in this same way, and despite my intelligence and independence and personal power, they render me helpless. Every time.

I observe rage and sadness.

But I am not helpless. I am fighting back. I’m using the tools I know – I document, I report, I go to meetings where I am virtually on trial, and I defend myself well. Union Rep tells me I am the most articulate person he’s ever met. My story is consistent and I don’t waiver. I don't lie. I don't exaggerate. I make constructive suggestions, all of which are refused.

Flared nostrils, curled lips.

Management and Scottish Accent are the helpless ones. Over a year, and they still have no clue how to handle this. I observe that when I make an irrefutable point, there is silence. I notice a lot of silences. (She scorrrrres!) But there’s no action, no change, nothing shifts.

Nonetheless, my dreams get bigger and better. I think of the summer and plan music festivals, a kayak trip, visits with returning friends. The garden flourishes. Daisies, cone flower, godetia, lavatera, campion, rhodos, black-eyed Susans. Reds, pinks, blues, purples, oranges all thrown together. Then herbs, lettuces, kale and corn popping up with enthusiasm. I can’t eat fast enough.

An angel comes once a week and gives me reflexology treatments. Her name is Viva, meaning Life. I find that ironic. She listens, massages, pinches and pulls. I drift… and I heal.

I do brick work and rock work and feel the strength of my body. I don’t care if I get dirty and sweaty. I feel dirt between my toes and under my nails, and I like the earth smell it leaves around me. I hate leaving the yard. I love grazing in the kale patch. I watch the deer and the birds and marvel at the tenacity of weeds. I absorb ‘weed energy’. I glimpse the occasional lizard in the rockery – a flash and it’s gone. Somehow I manage to fall in love with spiders.

One day, I drive home and see a For Sale sign on Dog Kennel House. I call the Agent to find out if it’s selling as residence or kennel. ‘Residence’ he reassures me. I look forward to real sleep.

Virtual Sweetheart takes up our email conversation again. It is pleasant, not obsessive. We have long discussions into the night about philosophy, religion and sex. We tease and flirt, knowing there is nothing to lose or gain.

Mid-June arrives. Time to go back. Nothing is different - except me. I go in with my elbows out and a ‘don’t mess with me’ look in my eye. I observe Bad Boss sizing me up. ‘Don’t even think about it’ is the thought in my mind as I hold her eyes.

Next day, she resigns. Two weeks, ten shifts to go, and she’s solid gone.

When I receive the news, I nod … not smiling, not gloating. I simply inhale.

I observe myself … making it.

Amanda Parker is a singer, songwriter, vocal instructor and writer. She has recently released a cd of her original songs and is working on the next one. Occasionally, poems and stories just fly around the room – and she writes them down immediately. Penny lives on Gabriola Island, with her beloved but somewhat cranky dog, Noodles. In her spare time, she gardens, renovates her A-frame, and flys kites.

Email: Amanda Parker

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