We should be working together…
The headline should have read, “When You Hold Someone Down in a Ditch, You’re Standing in the Ditch with Them.” Instead, it stated that a Pennsylvania company owed its employees 1.75 million dollars because the company made employees punch out to use the bathroom.
I felt my brother’s and sister’s pain. The running joke at work was that we’d soon have to BYOTP. No one laughed at the toilet paper joke since the general manager quit buying refills for the water cooler.
If the courts hadn’t stood behind the employees, it’d be possible that I’d be adding adult diapers to my shopping list. Then I probably couldn’t make myself pee my pants for a paycheck.
In light of my brethren’s plight, I felt guilty for receiving a Christmas bone-us, I meant bonus this past year. The billion dollar business gave us company tee-shirts, lip balm, tissues, and band-aids in a chintzy pouch. In case I banged my head against the wall too hard, I could dry my tears, patch myself up, and still have supple lips with which to sing praise for the ten dollar coupon, also included. Never mind that the coupon was also handed out to the public and was designed by marketing to entice people to spend more money.
This bonus, for which I busted my butt because my parents raised me to have integrity, was more than my husband received from the billion dollar company he worked for. He got a thanks for your participation in “our” company speech. To which my husband replied, “our” company? Then why am I not seeing improvement in “our” profits?” If my hubby continued to pick up on my sarcasm, I foresee stone soup for supper in our cardboard house.
I blamed my poor company attitude on math. I figured that I’d have to live to be 2,853 years old to make what our CEO made last year. Never do the math.
Long life depended on water, which I was no longer deemed worthy of. The money the company saved on water, surely, wasn’t destined for me and my co-workers. I believed my grandfathers took care of issues like fair wages and pissing when they stood on picket lines in the past century. Dogs peed when they had to and cattle, at least, scored watering holes.
A Gallup poll revealed that only 30% of American workers were fully engaged in their jobs. The article stated that when people were scheduled too many hours and didn’t have enough vacation time, stress levels increased. When employees had a supportive work environment, they didn’t feel the need to induce a concussion. Engagement influenced feelings of well being even if the job was demanding.
I’d no idea what they were talking about either. I wanted to know what was this vacation time of which they spoke. In my workplace, the definition of schedule changed to mean a suggestion of time instead of a plan for a certain time. If the Gallup polled my workplace, they’d have found employees engaged in trying to find a job somewhere else.
One brilliant entrepreneur slashed his salary to raise the pay rate for everyone in his company. Imagine what you’d do for an employer who didn’t make you feel like you were being led to the river Styx where you’d then have to pony up for the ferryman’s fee.
My friend, Liz, worked for a company that not only gave them the day formerly known as Thanksgiving off with pay, but also black Friday off with pay. Her holiday gift made my bone-us look like the bunch of thoughtless crap it was.
In February, every employee in her company received a bonus check that reflected the past year’s financial success. Liz planned to retire from this company on the percentage on top of her paycheck that the company put into a retirement account.
Liz wore her company tee-shirt instead of using it to dust. She proudly bought products from her company. I bought products from her company. My friend never wrote a 700 word essay about her work place.
All I have to say in closing is “moo” and without water, I don’t have to use the bathroom.
*I apologize for the slight deviation of Mr. Booker T. Washington’s beautiful quote.