I'm called into Bonnie's office. As soon as she curtly dictates "I need to see you," I know I'm caught. It's evaluation time, and she's discovered what I'm doing -- the phone calls that I do not answer, the customers that I leave hanging. I am getting a verbal warning. Instinctively, defensively, I gripe about how none of my ideas have been given a voice, and how it's all well and good to point out what people are doing wrong, without the slightest modicum of positive reinforcement. She tells me that she'll try to be more sensitive to this. She's listened to four calls, and each one is an indictment of my integrity. She knows it's her word against mine, as I describe a problem I've been having with my headset. I'm wondering what the hell I'm going to do now. How many other people know? Will this be the end of the meaningless hallway "hello"? Right away, my entire plan for survival is crashing to the ground.

Gina has problems of her own. She has been getting verbal solicitations from the fellow in the warehouse who tried to give her flowers. He has written a note, unsigned, and given it to her. It is about how he dreams of her. She comes to my cubicle, visibly shaken. I tell her that she needs to go to human resources immediately and report him, which she does.

When she returns, she asks if I had seen him pass the note to her. I did not. The human resources department will, understandably, require evidence. I did see the guy. I should have interceded, but I could not be sure that this was the menace.

Ultimately, Gina will recover from this, even laugh about it in hindsight. She tells me the note was full of phrases like "sleepless nights," "you're my fantasy," and more of your typical Harlequin book-variety warehouse worker prose.

I'm still getting over the shock of being discovered. I'm naked. A fool. I go to smoke with Annie, who tells me that she's been warned about taking too many sick days. She's taken eight since she's been here. About six months. She's "sick of this place," but realistically, she's only 21, and this job is just a résumé builder. It's different for me. I'm 35, and to be cast adrift at this stage in my life means that I'll have to start over. Perhaps I need that freedom to motivate me to do what I really want to do. But I'm scared. I don't discuss my problem with anyone, lest it become a reality.

It's Friday, and I can't even lift my head up to murmur "hello" to people as they walk by. I am now instructed to say the company name, "customer service," and my name, for every call. I hate saying my name to customers. I'm ashamed of what I've done to my life. The hardest part is that I get discouraged so easily when I'm looking for another job. I read studies that say only 5 percent of people looking for jobs in the newspaper actually end up getting one. I've registered with every Internet headhunting site I can find, and I've begged friends to see if there's something at their place of work. I simply don't have experience in the fields that are looking for people. I'm hoping I can get in the back door, and learn as I go, using my inventive mind and creative ideas to prove my value. Advertising? Publishing? Public relations? Maybe that would be a stretch, since my love for my fellow man has eroded somewhat under the painful weight of an unrewarding customer service job.

But I keep picking the wrong places to work. Here, as I said, there are no real chances for a fast-track movement. I'm actually convinced that the better I do this job, the more likely I am to be here forever. I am subconsciously sabotaging myself here.

I'm digging this hole deeper. I don't know how to get out. Please, somebody.

Find me.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

Human Resources is a constant sore thumb with all of us. Maryanne is the new head of the department, and she's a hardened New Yorker. Perhaps she was hired because of her caustic style and harsh dealing with employees. But nobody likes her. More than a few of us have been reprimanded for interrupting her when she was in the middle of a "thought." She treats us like the children that she supposes we are. Why else would we deign to shoot so low with our career goals? She explains details like she's in front of a kindergarten class, and runs meetings like we're prisoners who are privileged to be in her presence. Moreover, she's never there when we need her. I know it sounds like the old "terrible soup, such small portions" joke, but this is no joke. When interdepartmental résumés are forwarded to her, she decides who's worthy to go on to the next step. This week I've decided to apply for a vacant sales position upstairs. It's been three days, and I've heard nothing. I will hear nothing, and though there are new people sitting in the chairs, no announcement has been made.

Gary and Paula have both been fired for excessive absence. Gary's been with the company for 11 years. In fact, he moved here from New Jersey when the company did. Greg talks to him regularly on the phone. Gary did not expect to be fired. He did expect a reprimand. But Human Resources decided that enough was enough. Greg tells me that Gary has been wrestling with a severe drinking problem his entire adult life. He drinks alone, you see. So does Greg, and he tells me that's the only reason he and Gary have taken so many sick days. Hangovers. The shock of Gary's termination reverberates throughout the office for the week.

Not so the axing of Paula. Her termination has been a long time coming. It was alleged that she had shingles. But she stopped calling in sick after three days. She was out a good 10. Unlike Gary, her white-collar remains will be picked over with glee. Envelopes, White-out, assorted forms. All will find a new home as the contents of Paula's former desk dwindle to a few paper clips. Nobody misses her. In fact, while she's been out sick, people have been poring over what paperwork she'd left (to be done by others), laughing and joking like they were at an Irish funeral.

So there are once again positions to be filled, and Gina casually, really halfheartedly, decides to try. Lynne and Shelly have been here for years, and have applied for the same positions weeks before, but somehow Gina is the one they interview, the morning that she applies. At other companies, such bold unfairness would at least be hidden somewhat under some sort of token subterfuge, but this is as plain as day. It's embarrassing. And neither Lynne nor Shelly will try to stop it, instead making thinly veiled snipes at Gina, who's been forthright about the whole thing. They should go into Bonnie's office and ask why they aren't getting promoted, what they should do to improve. But instead, Shelly, in her way, makes sure that Gina hears her half-kidding aside, "She's getting promoted because of her looks." To her credit, Gina is unapologetic. She didn't create this system. She is merely living within it, and doing what she can.

People like Shelly and Mary are constantly complaining about getting looked over for promotions. Their lives are made that much harder by the fact that Gina gets hired almost immediately. There were two positions to be filled, and Gina is the only person promoted. And she fits right in. So now my department consists entirely of Caucasian men and women, and the order department is almost entirely young black girls.

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