So a funny thing happened on Friday…
ME: (on the phone with a friend) … But the injections really did seem to help, and the shoulder pain is cleared up like BAM, so… shit. I gotta go. My husband is home, and he went to work less than two hours ago. I swear, if they put him on another split shift, I’ll firebomb the whole place.
HIM: (slamming the door) So I got fired.
Yeah. Let that soak in. Because it actually gets crazier.
ME: What possible reason –
HIM: Apparently I’ve been a no-call/no-show since last Tuesday.
ME: Nooooo, you were on those godawful night shifts, overseeing the test that kept breaking because Scott’s a dick who can’t remember that you need more than one clamp to attach moving airplane parts to a test stand.
HIM: Yeah. Only Gobshite* told HR that he hadn’t seen or heard from me since that morning.
ME: But… He’s the one that told you that you had to take the midnight to eight AM!
ME: And you stayed late Thursday morning to talk to him, personally, to remind him about your injections on Friday.
ME: And you’ve been emailing him all this week.
ME: So what the fuck?
HIM: No idea, but I’ve got to go try to file for unemployment. Can you handle insurance?
Yes, of course I could. Handling shit is sort of my thing, believe it or not. But I did it through a haze of rage. And then, while looking up our bank information to answer some questions…
ME: They haven’t paid you.
HIM: No, they won’t for a few days, I think.
ME: No, you misunderstand. They haven’t paid you THIS YEAR.
ME: I don’t know how I missed it, but they haven’t paid you since you’ve been back from your FMLA leave.
ME: I’m sorry. I don’t know how I missed that.
HIM: (remembering that previous leave put a hefty dent in savings) How are we not broke?
ME: I’m real fuckin’ careful?
ME: … Just not careful enough to notice that they’ve not been depositing paychecks, apparently.
Okay, I’ve thrown a lot at you, but it’s kind of how it was thrown at me. Let’s recap: Husband went back to work in January, but wasn’t paid for any of it, mysteriously. Accommodations that had previously been made for his disability went away, and new ones that were ordered were ignored. Frankly, he was on his way in to make a complaint to HR about the whole thing, but when he walked up to his building that day, discovered that his badge wasn’t working at his preferred door. He walked around to a nearby lobby, and was met by HR Twat, who pulled him into a meeting and informed him that he was being let go and there would be a letter waiting in his mailbox when he got home.** When he tried to explain that he was, in fact, working on the days in question, he was shut down and his laptop (containing the emails that would prove his story) taken from him.
There are many more layers to this particular clusterfuck, but mostly they involve things we’ve discussed with our savior.
Once my rage dissipated enough that I was able to see the absolute quicksand of fuck about to swallow us, I got mad all over again. But this was the useful kind of angry, the kind that makes people go out and hire a goddamned vampire hit man. Since those are tough to find – I don’t know what Jenny Lawson is doing right, but so far I’ve only been introduced to peaceful love gurus and “money managers” – I settled for JTL.
John The Lawyer. Like John the Baptist, only basically the complete opposite. Anyway, he’s the first person we’ve told this whole story to who didn’t spend the whole time saying “they can’t do that!” because, well, obviously they could… they just really shouldn’t. Because all of it was 100% illegal.
Anyway, I’m sorry I don’t have a funny for you. I did say funny up top, didn’t I? Shit. Hang on…
* Not his legal name, but we won’t reveal that… if our demands are met.
** Apparently you can schedule post office deliveries, just mail something and have them hold it to be delivered at a certain time. I did not know this and kind of wish I’d known about it in my dating days.