September 23, 2007
Being fired for a blog
Originally published April 19, 2004
I've got nothing to lose now, so I might as well tell the story.
I was assigned to be head of a team doing mean-time failure analysis on critical equipment in the plant. We compliled a bunch of data and I was supposed to correlate it into some kind of coherent form. It was confusing shit and attempting to find a pattern in it was mind-numbing. But I was told on Monday to have a preliminary report the following Monday, so I went to work on it.
Wednesday, I received a call from my boss. "How are you coming with that report?" he asked. I was stunned. "Boss, I'm working on it, but that's a lot of stuff to digest. I damn sure ain't finished today, but I'll have it done by the deadline."
"Bring me what you have right now."
I knew something was up. That was a situation where you feel the hairs prickling on the back of your neck and you smell an evil scent in the wind. But I'm a good soldier, so I gathered up the paperwork and I trudged to the Big Guy's office.
He didn't even give me the courtesy of looking at the paperwork. "We need to see (He whose name I will not mention, because I had a lot of respect for that man until that fateful Wednesday. I still respect him for being a great leader, but he'll lay down like a whipped dog if Corporate tells him to.) because he wants to talk to you." We went to The Great Room With The Mahogany Table.
My boss never said a word as Jabba the Hut from Human Resources, a corpulent, slimy bastard, pilloried me for a few posts on my blog. I used the word "nigger." I made fun of Violence in the Workplace training. I referred to my ex-wife, who is a part of the Management Team as a "bloodless cunt." I was so politically incorrect that I couldn't possibly serve as a supervisor in the plant anymore.
I remember that I was chewing a piece of Bazooka bubble gum at the time. I said, "So, what am I doing wrong on my job?"
"This isn't about your performance. It's about your attitude," said Jabba the Hut.
That goddam attitude will get you every time. No one at that table could point to one single time that I had neglected my duty, slacked off on the job or failed to deliver what I was assigned to do. That entire dog-and-pony show came from some asswit in Oklahoma City with a piss-stain running down his leg, and I'll bet that the pathetic bastard never supervised anybody in his life.
I had the temerity to ask the #1 BIG GUY: "Is this YOUR decision, or are you being told what to do with me?"
"The decision has been made," he said. That response answered all my questions.
Be careful what you write. It can bite you in the ass.
All content © Rob Smith