atrapado
I got suspended at work today.
I came in and found two washed-up and grim women waiting for me in the laundry room. They laid bare all of the allegations, finally. During this whole situation, it was never quite clear what it was that they were accusing me of. They said that not only had I yelled at two consumers, but that I had hit someone.
"I did not." But then suddenly, inside of my own head, was a vision of me slapping the hand of the most violent consumer away from my forearm, reflexively, like swatting a mosquito. It wasn’t a blow, really; just the same kind of slap on the hand you give a child when they’re about to hurt themselves.
That must be what she’s talking about. Well, I’ve already told them ‘no’.
Horror suddenly painted all of my insides.
Did I just lie about hitting an old retarded lady?
"Do you think this the home for you, really?" one of them asked me. "Do you feel a passion for this kind of work? For being here?’
Inwardly, I lost all patience.
"Can I be frank, please?" I said, struggling to keep my voice calm.
"Absolutely."
"Do you really think anyone is here out of passion for 8.15 an hour?"
I studied her lined, hardened face and she looked surprised, momentarily stunned into silence.Carefully, she said, "I think some people are here for passion."
"Maybe some of the people who’ve been here for 30+ years are here for that reason. It doesn’t mean I don’t care about the consumers. I do want their lives to be better. But I’m here because I have to eat. I’m here because I have a phone bill that needs to be paid. I’m here because this house is two blocks from my own and there’s no other jobs out here unless you work in agriculture. I’m here because I don’t have a car.I’m here because I need the money."
They looked at me, looked at each other, wrote in their note pads and said, "We understand."
After my hearing with them, I spoke with the head honco, who wasted no time in suspending me.
I felt my restraint becoming brittle. "How long do these investigations take?" as I signed forms.
"It could be weeks. It could be months. We can’t have you working for us until it’s over."
The hopes of paying off my debt within four months shriveled with this statement. Angry and fed up , I blurted out, "So can I get paid then? For the time I’ve already spent here while you’re deliberating over whether or not I’m telling the truth?"
The boss looked a bit shocked. "Well, I can’t cut you a check now, but you’ll get paid when everyone else does."
"Fine." I heard my voice hardening. "I don’t have direct deposit. Can I pick up the check or at the other home?"
She seemed to shrink into herself a little. "You’d have to come to the main office."
"In Utica?"
"Yes."
"Great." I muttered. "I still don’t have a car. "
She started to stammer, "W-w–well, I can mail it to you then."
"That’d be great. I understand you guys have to do what you have to do. I’ll await word." I stalked out of the room and reclaimed two items of property that belonged to me– a ceramic painted coffee mug and a travel mug.
I found Blond Fresh Face and smiled wanly. "I’m sorry, but you’re drinking out of my cup and I need that back."
She laughed a bit, complimented me on the stylishness of the cup and poured her coffee in another cup.
I slung my voice low. "I’ve been suspended."
"What?" she said, incredulous. "What the fuck?"
"I know. They say I can’t work until their investigation is over. Honestly, after all of this–especially for the extremely low pay– it’s not worth it. I doubt I’m coming back even if they decide to keep me."
"Aww, Di, I’m sorry." replied Blond Fresh Face. "I totally understand, and good luck to you."
"Good luck to you." I bid everyone else a polite adieu, but felt myself stalk out of the house. I walked in the rain to the library to use the internet and call my room mate to tell her what happened.
"Apply to my brother’s company and the one I work for again. We’re gonna fix this." she said.
"I’ll need your soc # and your income, cause I’m done with this. I’m applying for cash assistance from the government. That way, I’m not scrambling around trying to figure out what to do while the lights are cut out."
"Good point. We’ll get it all together tonight."
I texted B and asked her:
"Am I calloused? Or calculating? Or dishonest? Cause that’s what this job made me feel like."
"What? What do you mean?"
"Like, are those qualities a part of me? I had the hearing with the state reps today and even though I was doing my best to be honest, I felt like they didn’t believe me. And I’ve been suspended until they decide who’s telling the truth."
Somehow, it’s only worse that the only thing she’s texted back presently is, "Wow."
There’s nothing I can do. Even doing my best to word the truth of the matter in a way that didn’t sound horrible and incriminating, I feel like that they don’t believe me. I feel no anger or bitterness towards the two ladies that called on me (even though I’m certain the one who called me "coloured" had no interest in what was right and was more interested in making sure I didn’t stay because I’m black). I just feel like a terrible person, because the more I ponder the incidents that happened, the more I realize that I’m actually guilty.
I did yell at two of them. I did swat her hand away. Did I swear at them? Did I curse at them? Did I ball up my fist and hit that lady? No, no, no. Did I raise my voice? Yes. Did I swat her hand away from me before she could rip the flesh off of my arm? Yes. Will the degree of these situations matter to the state? No. Either way, I feel like this is over, and that my reputation is ruined. I feel like no one at the job is gonna remember me as a good person.
So now I’m back at square one. I sense that after the sheriff knocks on the door (what day, we don’t know, but my room mate and I are still in dread every day) I will be back home, but I can’t come back home with less than what I came with. I can’t face my parents without at least my car and a job in hand.
I had to call my old landlord and postpone my last payment to her a while longer. My life is already a shambles. These circumstances are bulldozing the remains.