#131: Until The End Of The World
FIFTEEN DAYS IN GOLGOTHA
Introduction: What Happened Before
The story of the Fifteen Days In Golgotha actually began nearly four months beforehand. I’d been promoted to the position of Housing Officer from CSO nearly a year previously. I’d then applied for temporary positions and was always successful to the point of being offered contracts to run with. This was despite the Person In Charge (PIC) of the region not being overly fond of me on a personal level. Cunning guy that he is, nothing was ever said in front of witnesses, others were always tapped to carry out any dirty work, and nothing was ever written down. But it was there.
My contract was due to expire early in the year. I inquired as to whether an extension or another contract would be considered, only to be told that no, nothing was on the table. This was despite at least three positions being vacant upon my leaving. I took it with good graces, if somewhat confused, and applied for, and was granted, nearly two months off. This was time I needed as I’d worked harder than most, getting into work at around 8:30am and leaving well after 5pm on most days. My performance reviews were excellent and I was leaving on a high.
Two days before I left I tended to a customer who wanted to kill himself due to a lack of housing. I’d contacted his consulting doctor and had to engage the customer, alone, while we waited for the authorities to arrive, all without the customer’s knowledge. To say that it was a very stressful time is an understatement. On my last day I worked and worked hard, stopping only when I was instructed to by my team leader. I walked away and took a breather.
A position was advertised in the same region. This puzzled me and I couldn’t help but wonder that, if the position was vacant, then why wasn’t it offered to be when I was there, or since? In any case I applied and won another contract, this time for six weeks. In hindsight I should have refused.
In my first week back I began to hear mutterings that something was up. A person from outside the region was sitting where I should have been sitting. Said person was fairly friendly to me and told me that she’d been ‘tapped on the shoulder’ a week before I left originally, told not to tell anyone, and was slotted into the region the week after I left – I left on the Friday, the person started on the Monday. This despite me being told that there were no vacancies well before this time. Remember, that, we’ll come back to it at several points.
A week into my return I was alerted to the imminent, long term, departure of a work colleague. I was encouraged to ask about it and so I did. I wish I hadn’t. I was called into a meeting with the Second In Charge (2IC) who sat me down and promptly told me that I’d not be offered the position, it would be called again, this despite me being re-hired a week previously, and what’s more, there were concerns with my work performance. The next part made me wonder what the devil had I gotten into. “The selection process was not improper at any point.” I asked where that came from, as I’d made no indication or suggestion that it was. Indeed I’d not even mentioned the selection process. There was no answer, except for that line being repeated. I walked out, stunned.
When my team leader returned from leave I was summonsed to a meeting with both the 2IC and the team leader to discuss what was now being referred to as ‘my’ concerns. We sat down; the 2IC asked me to start so I simply said,
“I have no idea why we’re here. 2IC, you told me that my team leader has issues with the way I work and my performance.”
“I’ve not got any issues with the way you work at all,” was the team leader’s response. The hi-jack hadn’t worked.
By now I’d been encouraged to involve the union as everyone could see a clear pattern of discrimination against me. Another mistake, as it resulted in more stress. An appointment was made between me, the PIC, the 2IC and the union rep, at which the PIC and 2IC ran me down, systematically, and tried to justify why I’d not be offered any long term contract. The claims that the new person had been inserted into slots that I should have been offered were merely ignored, or explained away with it being ‘PIC Discretion’, a little known clause that means that any PIC in any region can arbitrarily hire and fire any staff at their whim without explanation. This is what had happened to me. The union rep gave up before he walked in and I found him not going after the PIC and 2IC as hard as I expected. I wasn’t surprised to see him go out on sick leave shortly after. The culmination of the meeting was that another position would be called for, and that I should apply. I mentioned that I would, but fully expected not to win the position, but instead be offered another short term contract with the goal of my total removal from the region afterwards. I was told not to be silly.
These were the first words that the PIC had said to me in the six weeks that I’d been back in the region. He’d stop and talk to everyone around me but totally ignore me. Not even a hello. No eye contact. I was being shut out, from the top. People began to notice and ask me what the issues were. To be honest I had no idea and I’d tell people as much. I began to work harder and lose myself in the job. It became that I was being offered more and more complex cases involving physically violent and challenging people. The cracks started to appear at this point.
I applied for the job and went for the interview. I’ve never been so prepared for a job interview in my life. I did get flustered, but answered every question in minute detail. Halfway through I caught a glimpse from the 2IC and I knew, right there, right then, it was all over. It was now just a matter of time. I had to wait nearly two weeks before I was advised of the outcome, and that’s when the Fifteen Days really began…
DAY ONE
Finally the day had come and I was asked to come into the 2IC’s office for the results of the job application. My heart sank as I walked in and found the PIC sitting there, which was highly irregular, waiting to ambush me. The 2IC started with the usual preamble, which I cut short by stating, “I didn’t get the job did I?” The answer was positive – I didn’t get the job. I was to be offered a two week extension. Then the PIC started in. It started when I questioned the interview process. With these jobs the emphasis is all on the interview; work reports, referees, work history, mean nothing if you don’t answer the questions on the day.
“You’re wrong.”
“Am I?” I asked, and by now I thought, let’s just let caution go the way of the breeze, “Last year a job came up and several of us applied. In the end you gave the job to the person who answered the questions best on the day. Remember?”
“So? What’s your point?”
“Well that was a winner wasn’t it? Good ole Sicknote. Never turned up and when she did the work wasn’t done, but, by golly, she could throw the buzzwords around. In the meantime I came third and the best person for the job came second, yet Sicknote got the plum position.” His face was going red.
“That’s not what happened at all.”
“Oh, come on. BE HONEST! You know that’s EXACTLY what happened. Work reports, my performance reviews, resume – it means nothing if I can’t answer the questions on the day, and that’s been proven, more than once, in this office.” There was no answer for that. He then tried another tack,
“Your team members aren’t happy with you.”
“What? Why?”
“You’re constantly moping, head in hands, looking at the computer screen for long periods of time. You’re bringing down your team.”
“I find that impossible to believe. I doubt you’ve even noticed me working in here.” He then looked directly at me.
“I need to know that you’re going to be professional about this.”
“With all due respect, I find that highly offensive. Every time I’ve been in here I’ve been professional. Why should things be any different now?”
“Look, I’m tired of you being so arrogant and absolute.”
“What?”
“You sit there and you state things as being absolute and you don’t know what you’re talking about. You said, before you walked in here, before the job process had even started, that you’d not only not get the job but you’d also be offered a two week extension and then be shunted out.”
“And I was RIGHT, wasn’t I?” The PIC’s head went purple at this stage.
“Once the fortnight is up I’m drawing a line in the sand and closing the door behind you. You’re gone.”
“I expect nothing else. Oh, and just so you’re aware, when my time is up I won’t be going to Soddom.”
“Yes, you will.”
“No, I won’t. I’ll be applying for leave without pay.”
“You won’t get it.”
“It’s not up to you though, is it?”
“So you want to be unemployed.”
“I never said that.”
“You said you want leave without pay. You’ll be unemployed.”
“No, that’s what you think. I never said that. Do you think, for five seconds, that I’ve not thought this out then you’re wrong. I knew this was coming and I’ve already put plans into place.”
“Look, you can apply for another region and I’ll put in a good word for you.”
“And how will that look? I’m not good enough to remain here, but you’d speak highly of me elsewhere? Cut me some slack.” That, like much of what I said during the meeting, fell upon deaf ears.
“And what’s more I’m sick of you running to the union and complaining of discrimination,” he continued. “How dare you try and accuse me of that. I’ll tell you this – I’ll refute that to the end and I’ll not be wasting my time speaking to anyone about you and your claims. Got that?” I was stunned.
“You can’t stop me talking to anyone.”
“I’ll tell you this – I’m being categorical here, you will not be extended and you will cease working in this region in two weeks time. This conversation is finished.” With that the ‘discussion’ was terminated, along with my long term possibilities of any future employment at Golgotha. So be it.
I walked out, grabbed my jacket and left for an interview with a job agency, specialising in government contracts. I walked over, slightly numb, and sat down. My confidence was more than shot. I was summonsed in and handed a bomb.
”When can you start? I’ve checked you out and your resume is perfect. I’m surprised that Golgotha wishes to let you go.”
“I have two weeks left and then I’m yours.”
“Keep me up to speed. I can give you all the work you’ll ever want. Just say the word.”
I walked out and ended the day on a high.
DAY TWO
The day after. Again the region was grossly understaffed and we were without our TL. Not a great problem, my co-worker #1 and me had already decided what actions we needed to take in order to keep our workloads manageable, however the load was increasing. I mentioned to co-worker #1 more about the conversations of the previous day, the discussion between me, the PIC and the 2IC and the relatively good news from the Agency that now seemed to want me to work for them straight away. “Why haven’t you gone then?” was the question. I answered that I needed to see out the rest of my time and then assess my next move. I raised the issue of my team not being happy with me, everyone in the team ultimately got upset at this and questioned, in no uncertain terms, the heritage of the PIC. Everyone in my team strongly disagreed with the PIC’s assessment of the team and the way they felt towards me and felt it was just another attempt to undermine me.
I quietly alerted the union rep in the region as to what had been said and watched another face go red with rage. Calls were being made and I was promised that, this time, things would be vastly different. I didn’t raise my hopes. I was asked to supply a time line, yet again, updated. I said I’d do this.
The rest of the day unfolded as every Thursday did. At 1pm I decided to head on out to the LFG to undertake my community actions. Ten minutes into the session the excrement impacted upon the oscillating machine, big time.
The second most resident racist stormed into the room and demanded to know what was happening with a certain tenant. Before anyone could answer the tirade started. “You fucking cunts do fuck all to help us here…” and on and on. Then the threats started. By this stage I’d had enough and asked, no, insisted, that the racist leave the room. “GET FUCKED!! I SHOULD KNOCK YOUR FUCKING HEAD IN CUNT!!!” Not good enough, one of the mental health workers shuttled him out of the room. Another tenant stormed in. It appeared that a car was doing burnouts on the weekend and had been left, abandoned, in the car park. The driver of the car then started a fist fight with other residents resulting in a crow-bar being thrown through a window. This was now my problem. The mental health worker then asked why I wasn’t going to instantly knock on the door of the tenant suspected of doing the burnouts – I responded that I refused to knock on any doors without knowing what I was getting myself in for, but agreed that we should probably check the car out.
Big mistake. Big, BIG mistake. Actually it proved to be nearly a fatal mistake.
We walked around and looked at the car in question. It not only looked abandoned, complete with flat tyres, but it looked stolen with smashed windows and wires hanging out. I followed procedure and phoned the police, reported the incident and requested a patrol to check it out. Then we looked at the window that’d been smashed. Yep, broken alright. As it was a shared window, in a corridor, I phoned the maintenance department and began to report it.
‘Who the fuck are you and what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I turned to find myself facing a very angry man, dressed in a track suit and with wild eyes.
“I’m _______ from _________. And you are?”
“Never fucking mind. What the fuck do you want with my fucking car?”
“The white one?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, it’s parked illegally for one thing.”
“What, are you fucking blind cunt? I CAN’T FUCKING MOVE IT!!”
“Perhaps when the police arrive you can talk to them and they might be able to help you move it.”
“You called the fucking cops? I should fucking kill you!!” By now the maintenance lady was yelling, on the phone, “Do you want me to call the police?” and the mental health worker was backing away.
“Calm down.” I said, holding my hands up and showing the tenant that the phone was active.
“GET FUCKED!! I SHOULD FUCKING KILL YOU CUNT!!” He moved towards me and I realised that I’d not only be defending myself but also a frozen mental health worker.
“I have witnesses and the police are already on their way, so let’s not do anything stupid.” His eyes went skinny, and then went wide. He then slammed the wall with a closed fist. “Cunt! Fucking cunt! I see you around here again I’ll fucking kill you, you fucking cunt.” With that he stormed off. I then turned to the mental health worker who was visibly shaking.
“You still want me to talk to him about his car?” I didn’t bother waiting for an answer. We returned to the community room, wrapped up for the day and then back to the office where I lodged two critical incident reports.
Loads of fun.
The problems with such contacts is when they happen in the office, to a degree you’re protected. You have other staff that will assist, you have duress buttons, and you have instant police on tap. You have the relative safety of a counter, or a desk, or a door that’ll be locked behind you. Out in the field you’re naked and alone, for the most part. I’d been threatened by two people, one idiot and one whom I knew to be criminally violent and whom I suspected was drugged to the eyeballs with something and who was pissed off with me for calling the police earlier. Not a good combination. I was lucky to get out of there without any serious violence erupting.
DAY THREE
A relatively calm day indeed. Busy, yes. Two of us did the work of six and we did it well. No-one would have noticed that anything was wrong or amiss, such was the smoothness of the procedures. The only hic-cup came from waiting for a difficult tenant who needed to hand his keys in or deal with the police. I’d gone above and beyond policy to cut him a deal, that he come in, voluntarily, terminate his tenancy and enter detox and as a result we’d store his belongings and assist him with housing when he was released. He’d phoned me at 9:30am to tell me he’d be in shortly. The longer the day went the more I was asked what was happening. Finally, at 4pm, he came in, signed the papers and handed in his keys. A good result.
I also had my de-briefing for the previous days dramas. I was advised to go for counselling, I responded that there was no need as I was already doing so. God love my team leader, instantly a disruptive tenant complaint was lodged and the tenant would be advised that if they ever dared to even raise their voice at a staff member again, then they’d be evicted and services withheld for life. Not a word from my PIC, even though he’d always insisted that he saw every critical contact and critical incident report that was filed in the region. I know he’d spoken to others in the past, but with me, clearly there was no need for him to speak. After all, I was on my way out.
Meanwhile the person who’d actually won the position that I’d applied for approached me and said that they were having serious doubts about accepting it. They wanted to walk into the office of the 2IC and state that I was the best person for the job and that they’d not accept the position offered. I pointed out that if they did this then they’d be out of work and that another person would be offered the job, and that person wouldn’t be me. My co-worker was as upset as I’ve ever seen.
“Don’t make me your cause. I appreciate it, more than you’ll ever know, but this is a fight that you’d lose and lose big time.” This got through and my co-worker reluctantly accepted the position.
I looked forward to the weekend…
DAY FOUR
A quiet day, calm before the real storm.
DAY FIVE
Another quiet day, broken only by the news in the evening that my father, whom I’d recently attempted to reach out to after a period of estrangement, had died that afternoon. My feelings were mixed, but I decided to return to work, as normal, and see how things went.
DAY SIX
I went to work, as normal, but did sit down with my team leader to explain what had happened. To be fair I was told that if I wanted bereavement leave I could have it and that I should strongly consider this. I declined and sat down to again work in a region that was, as usual, understaffed.
My first customer was a person who’d presented for payment of rental arrears. He was in arrears because he’d thrown every last cent into a poker machine instead of paying his rent. Seven weeks in arrears. During the conversation the customer began to argue with me, it wasn’t his fault. He blamed everyone from the premier down to me. His statement, “I’m not responsible if I get evicted, you will be,” got me agitated. Before I could catch myself I found myself arguing with the customer and telling him that he was not only useless, but a prime candidate for sleeping on a bench in the middle of winter. I terminated the interview, approved the arrears and went for lunch. The afternoon was spent cleaning up files and doing write-ups.
During the day people approached me with words of support and comfort. Not a whisper from the PIC, and the 2IC was absent from the region. I knew that the PIC had been told, after all, he’d often boasted that nothing happened in his region without him knowing. In times of bereavement, others had been offered public displays of condolence; in my case it was just silence, and disgust from colleagues who’d ask if the PIC had said anything to me. The time line was then issued to the union proper.
DAY SEVEN
Went much the same as day six. I was out for the bulk of the day doing home visits and listening to people complain about not paying their rent, their neighbours and more. I found myself, at times, floating above it all and not caring as much as I should. I wanted to care, and when I concentrated found I did. But, sadly, the people who were whinging about our services whilst not paying rent and keeping the places filthy just made me sad beyond feeling. There were some people that I liked, clean houses, great conversation, were friendly. And all round good company. I wanted to remain with those people, but sadly that wasn’t going to happen.
I returned to the region to see the 2IC in discussion with the team leader. The 2IC was staring at me; I presume that’s when the 2IC was given the news about my new issue. If so then it didn’t show as the 2IC walked right past me without a word, as did the PIC, more than once, although the PIC did stop to talk to everyone around me.
DAY EIGHT
We started the day wondering if we were going to fly interstate for the funeral that was scheduled for Monday. This day was surprisingly good, all things considered, and I decided to attend a formal function that I’d committed to a good two months before. While I was in the office, again the PIC and 2IC totally ignored me, but managed to find time to speak to everyone else around me. More and more staff members offered me support, very appreciated.
That night the world came crashing down. My step-sister phoned to tell me that the funeral had been moved up to the oncoming Friday. All our plans for Monday went out the window and the call itself was harrowing. I unloaded upon my step-sister with thirty years of pent up frustration. It wasn’t good. I felt like I was slipping down into a pit with no bottom. By the time my partner reached the top of the stairs she didn’t need to say it – I’d not be going back to work for the immediate future.
DAY NINE
We took the day off and tried to settle in. I felt like I was walking in a daze, everything had hit at once. Then the phone rang – the union. This time they came out and said it clearly – there’d be no investigation unless I could produce written reports and affidavits from the people involved. In other words I was asked to approach the PIC and 2IC and ask them to supply me with documents showing how they’d treated me differently from others. By this point I couldn’t handle it anymore and I let loose once more. Screaming, swearing, abuse. Again, by the time my partner got to me I’d already thrown the phone away. She took the phone, called the person back and explained and apologised and then told me she was taking my phone away. I didn’t fight it.
DAY TEN
Home alone. At the moment of the funeral I turned the phones off, poured myself a belt of Jack Daniels into a shot glass, went outside and raised the glass to the skies. I whispered the words that I’d been wanting to say to him for over a decade, downed the shot and allowed the emotions to rise. I sat quiet for the next half hour or so and then wandered back inside to spend the day floating about like a ghost. I reflected upon the debris of my father’s life and the region and how uncanny it was that both were going down the same track of abuse towards me. I wondered if I was just imagining things.
That night two my closest friends, who also happen to work in a similar agency popped by for dinner and drinks but principally to see how I was doing. I knew why they were there. They started by asking what had gone on, I explained. They asked how I was feeling, I explained. Then it was placed in front of me. Frankly the internal politics were enough to warrant me going on sick leave. The verbal and near physical attacks of the past week were enough for me to go out on sick leave. The death of my father was more than enough to go out on sick leave. All three combined was more than enough for either extended stress leave or a strong Work Cover claim. Before the pizza had arrived they were insisting that I not return to work, and urged me to see a doctor to help me deal with my issues. I couldn’t argue it anymore, I had no fight left within me and I knew that they were doing this out of concern towards me both as a person and as a friend. I had geared myself up to argue the point when, for the first time I looked up with clarity. What I saw were three faces of people I love, all creased with worry and genuine concern. I decided then and there that, for once, I’d not fight the concessus, I’d actually follow the advice given to me and do as I’d been told. The rest of the night passed with good conversation and company. I appreciated both.
DAY ELEVEN
Rest day, such as it was and not that I rested much. I found myself fighting within as I’d made an obligation for the next two weeks and I didn’t want to go back on that. To say my emotions were conflicted is an understatement.
DAY TWELVE
No sleep at all. I tossed and turned and eventually went to another bed in the house so my partner could rest up. A million scenarios went through my head and the nightmares which had plagued me for the past week were coming each time I slept, more and more vivid each and every time.
DAY THIRTEEN
I’d made a decision. I’d go to work, sit down with my team leader and lay it all on the line. However, if the PIC or the 2IC approached me and engaged me in conversation and showed some support then I’d reconsider. I needn’t have bothered even thinking this. I was approached by a colleague who engaged me in talk out the front of the 2IC’s office. All the time the 2IC saw me standing there, but said not a word. I went back to my desk, this time I began to draft an email to the region announcing my farewell. I began to feel ill. The PIC walked up and began to speak to a colleague who’d just returned after a few days off. From there he moved on to talk to people on either side of me but totally ignored me. I made my mind up.
I wandered out, grabbed a coffee and nearly threw up twice. I was drowning in sweat and felt very physically ill indeed. I came in, sat down with my team leader and laid it out.
“You need to do what’s best for you. Don’t worry about anything else. You need to get better.”
“You know,” I replied, “if I had a more supportive PIC or 2IC then I’d consider staying. As it is I’m battling both within the region and without. I can’t come here, fight and then go outside and fight.”
“I know.” With that I returned to my desk and sent my email.
The email was a simple one. I thanked everyone for being supportive over the past difficult week. I mentioned that I was leaving for an extended period and that it wasn’t due to my job, my co-workers nor my team leader. I said that the blame sat with me and my inability to cope with repeated stress and incredible pressures. I hit send, shut down and left.
By the time I got home I had several emails in my inbox from co-workers all expressing their dismay at my leaving and all wishing me well and hoping I got better. Nothing from the PIC or the 2IC. It was time to leave. There’d be no storming of the gates of the Bastille with guillotines at the ready, no palace revolution. Just a short walk out the door. No fanfare, no fireworks, no wailing women or screaming men. Just open the door and leave.
I spent the rest of the day trying not to be sick. In bed at 8pm, fast asleep at 8:30. No great surprise.
DAY FOURTEEN
The day dawned with a few more emails of support and finally an email from the 2IC. As emails go this one was devoid of all emotion and stated that as I was now officially out on sick leave, there’d be no personal feedback offered for my application, however it could be provided in writing and could I hand my phone back by the end of the week. I replied stating that I was personally disappointed that there was still no support from either the PIC or the 2IC and that the phone was still in my bag and would be returned ASAP. I stated that I felt bad about what happened and that I was very let down as I always felt that the 2IC and me had at least had a harmonious relationship. I’d stopped holding back. I followed that with another email stating that I wanted the feedback, plus assessment matrices from the selection processes and more.
Silence followed.
DAY FIFTEEN
The phone rang at about noon. The 2IC was on the phone wanting to explain why their email was sent and that my reply was both offensive and inappropriate. I was also told that my parting email to the region was also both offensive and inappropriate. I asked how this was so and was told that because I’d sent it to the entire region it was deemed to be was inappropriate. I explained that it’s always easier to email the region than it is to email everyone individually and that virtually everyone else who had left had also sent similar emails, this was rejected. I then unleashed. I stated that even after this call there was STILL no official, or unofficial enquiry as to what had happened to me on a personal level, let alone any hint of condolence. After twenty minutes the condolence came, grudgingly, and I replied, “Too little, far too late.” I was then told not to come near the region. I mentioned my issues with the hiring process and how I could have been offered a contract extension in January – amazingly enough the 2IC agreed with me but, much like the PIC had said a month earlier, the 2IC claimed no knowledge of hiring and contracts. My reply was a simple one, “If you and the PIC have no idea who assigns contracts, then who does?” I wasn’t really looking for an answer, which was just as well as I knew I’d not get one. Then the real kicker.
“You know, we’ve got positions coming up. You’re encouraged to apply.” I pondered this for half a second.
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to be applying for any position there while the PIC is still there.” I terminated the call.
And still no word from the PIC.
However it doesn’t end here, not by a long stroke. Funnily enough things got worse, far worse. Watch this space for more updates…
Introduction: What Happened Before
The story of the Fifteen Days In Golgotha actually began nearly four months beforehand. I’d been promoted to the position of Housing Officer from CSO nearly a year previously. I’d then applied for temporary positions and was always successful to the point of being offered contracts to run with. This was despite the Person In Charge (PIC) of the region not being overly fond of me on a personal level. Cunning guy that he is, nothing was ever said in front of witnesses, others were always tapped to carry out any dirty work, and nothing was ever written down. But it was there.
My contract was due to expire early in the year. I inquired as to whether an extension or another contract would be considered, only to be told that no, nothing was on the table. This was despite at least three positions being vacant upon my leaving. I took it with good graces, if somewhat confused, and applied for, and was granted, nearly two months off. This was time I needed as I’d worked harder than most, getting into work at around 8:30am and leaving well after 5pm on most days. My performance reviews were excellent and I was leaving on a high.
Two days before I left I tended to a customer who wanted to kill himself due to a lack of housing. I’d contacted his consulting doctor and had to engage the customer, alone, while we waited for the authorities to arrive, all without the customer’s knowledge. To say that it was a very stressful time is an understatement. On my last day I worked and worked hard, stopping only when I was instructed to by my team leader. I walked away and took a breather.
A position was advertised in the same region. This puzzled me and I couldn’t help but wonder that, if the position was vacant, then why wasn’t it offered to be when I was there, or since? In any case I applied and won another contract, this time for six weeks. In hindsight I should have refused.
In my first week back I began to hear mutterings that something was up. A person from outside the region was sitting where I should have been sitting. Said person was fairly friendly to me and told me that she’d been ‘tapped on the shoulder’ a week before I left originally, told not to tell anyone, and was slotted into the region the week after I left – I left on the Friday, the person started on the Monday. This despite me being told that there were no vacancies well before this time. Remember, that, we’ll come back to it at several points.
A week into my return I was alerted to the imminent, long term, departure of a work colleague. I was encouraged to ask about it and so I did. I wish I hadn’t. I was called into a meeting with the Second In Charge (2IC) who sat me down and promptly told me that I’d not be offered the position, it would be called again, this despite me being re-hired a week previously, and what’s more, there were concerns with my work performance. The next part made me wonder what the devil had I gotten into. “The selection process was not improper at any point.” I asked where that came from, as I’d made no indication or suggestion that it was. Indeed I’d not even mentioned the selection process. There was no answer, except for that line being repeated. I walked out, stunned.
When my team leader returned from leave I was summonsed to a meeting with both the 2IC and the team leader to discuss what was now being referred to as ‘my’ concerns. We sat down; the 2IC asked me to start so I simply said,
“I have no idea why we’re here. 2IC, you told me that my team leader has issues with the way I work and my performance.”
“I’ve not got any issues with the way you work at all,” was the team leader’s response. The hi-jack hadn’t worked.
By now I’d been encouraged to involve the union as everyone could see a clear pattern of discrimination against me. Another mistake, as it resulted in more stress. An appointment was made between me, the PIC, the 2IC and the union rep, at which the PIC and 2IC ran me down, systematically, and tried to justify why I’d not be offered any long term contract. The claims that the new person had been inserted into slots that I should have been offered were merely ignored, or explained away with it being ‘PIC Discretion’, a little known clause that means that any PIC in any region can arbitrarily hire and fire any staff at their whim without explanation. This is what had happened to me. The union rep gave up before he walked in and I found him not going after the PIC and 2IC as hard as I expected. I wasn’t surprised to see him go out on sick leave shortly after. The culmination of the meeting was that another position would be called for, and that I should apply. I mentioned that I would, but fully expected not to win the position, but instead be offered another short term contract with the goal of my total removal from the region afterwards. I was told not to be silly.
These were the first words that the PIC had said to me in the six weeks that I’d been back in the region. He’d stop and talk to everyone around me but totally ignore me. Not even a hello. No eye contact. I was being shut out, from the top. People began to notice and ask me what the issues were. To be honest I had no idea and I’d tell people as much. I began to work harder and lose myself in the job. It became that I was being offered more and more complex cases involving physically violent and challenging people. The cracks started to appear at this point.
I applied for the job and went for the interview. I’ve never been so prepared for a job interview in my life. I did get flustered, but answered every question in minute detail. Halfway through I caught a glimpse from the 2IC and I knew, right there, right then, it was all over. It was now just a matter of time. I had to wait nearly two weeks before I was advised of the outcome, and that’s when the Fifteen Days really began…
DAY ONE
Finally the day had come and I was asked to come into the 2IC’s office for the results of the job application. My heart sank as I walked in and found the PIC sitting there, which was highly irregular, waiting to ambush me. The 2IC started with the usual preamble, which I cut short by stating, “I didn’t get the job did I?” The answer was positive – I didn’t get the job. I was to be offered a two week extension. Then the PIC started in. It started when I questioned the interview process. With these jobs the emphasis is all on the interview; work reports, referees, work history, mean nothing if you don’t answer the questions on the day.
“You’re wrong.”
“Am I?” I asked, and by now I thought, let’s just let caution go the way of the breeze, “Last year a job came up and several of us applied. In the end you gave the job to the person who answered the questions best on the day. Remember?”
“So? What’s your point?”
“Well that was a winner wasn’t it? Good ole Sicknote. Never turned up and when she did the work wasn’t done, but, by golly, she could throw the buzzwords around. In the meantime I came third and the best person for the job came second, yet Sicknote got the plum position.” His face was going red.
“That’s not what happened at all.”
“Oh, come on. BE HONEST! You know that’s EXACTLY what happened. Work reports, my performance reviews, resume – it means nothing if I can’t answer the questions on the day, and that’s been proven, more than once, in this office.” There was no answer for that. He then tried another tack,
“Your team members aren’t happy with you.”
“What? Why?”
“You’re constantly moping, head in hands, looking at the computer screen for long periods of time. You’re bringing down your team.”
“I find that impossible to believe. I doubt you’ve even noticed me working in here.” He then looked directly at me.
“I need to know that you’re going to be professional about this.”
“With all due respect, I find that highly offensive. Every time I’ve been in here I’ve been professional. Why should things be any different now?”
“Look, I’m tired of you being so arrogant and absolute.”
“What?”
“You sit there and you state things as being absolute and you don’t know what you’re talking about. You said, before you walked in here, before the job process had even started, that you’d not only not get the job but you’d also be offered a two week extension and then be shunted out.”
“And I was RIGHT, wasn’t I?” The PIC’s head went purple at this stage.
“Once the fortnight is up I’m drawing a line in the sand and closing the door behind you. You’re gone.”
“I expect nothing else. Oh, and just so you’re aware, when my time is up I won’t be going to Soddom.”
“Yes, you will.”
“No, I won’t. I’ll be applying for leave without pay.”
“You won’t get it.”
“It’s not up to you though, is it?”
“So you want to be unemployed.”
“I never said that.”
“You said you want leave without pay. You’ll be unemployed.”
“No, that’s what you think. I never said that. Do you think, for five seconds, that I’ve not thought this out then you’re wrong. I knew this was coming and I’ve already put plans into place.”
“Look, you can apply for another region and I’ll put in a good word for you.”
“And how will that look? I’m not good enough to remain here, but you’d speak highly of me elsewhere? Cut me some slack.” That, like much of what I said during the meeting, fell upon deaf ears.
“And what’s more I’m sick of you running to the union and complaining of discrimination,” he continued. “How dare you try and accuse me of that. I’ll tell you this – I’ll refute that to the end and I’ll not be wasting my time speaking to anyone about you and your claims. Got that?” I was stunned.
“You can’t stop me talking to anyone.”
“I’ll tell you this – I’m being categorical here, you will not be extended and you will cease working in this region in two weeks time. This conversation is finished.” With that the ‘discussion’ was terminated, along with my long term possibilities of any future employment at Golgotha. So be it.
I walked out, grabbed my jacket and left for an interview with a job agency, specialising in government contracts. I walked over, slightly numb, and sat down. My confidence was more than shot. I was summonsed in and handed a bomb.
”When can you start? I’ve checked you out and your resume is perfect. I’m surprised that Golgotha wishes to let you go.”
“I have two weeks left and then I’m yours.”
“Keep me up to speed. I can give you all the work you’ll ever want. Just say the word.”
I walked out and ended the day on a high.
DAY TWO
The day after. Again the region was grossly understaffed and we were without our TL. Not a great problem, my co-worker #1 and me had already decided what actions we needed to take in order to keep our workloads manageable, however the load was increasing. I mentioned to co-worker #1 more about the conversations of the previous day, the discussion between me, the PIC and the 2IC and the relatively good news from the Agency that now seemed to want me to work for them straight away. “Why haven’t you gone then?” was the question. I answered that I needed to see out the rest of my time and then assess my next move. I raised the issue of my team not being happy with me, everyone in the team ultimately got upset at this and questioned, in no uncertain terms, the heritage of the PIC. Everyone in my team strongly disagreed with the PIC’s assessment of the team and the way they felt towards me and felt it was just another attempt to undermine me.
I quietly alerted the union rep in the region as to what had been said and watched another face go red with rage. Calls were being made and I was promised that, this time, things would be vastly different. I didn’t raise my hopes. I was asked to supply a time line, yet again, updated. I said I’d do this.
The rest of the day unfolded as every Thursday did. At 1pm I decided to head on out to the LFG to undertake my community actions. Ten minutes into the session the excrement impacted upon the oscillating machine, big time.
The second most resident racist stormed into the room and demanded to know what was happening with a certain tenant. Before anyone could answer the tirade started. “You fucking cunts do fuck all to help us here…” and on and on. Then the threats started. By this stage I’d had enough and asked, no, insisted, that the racist leave the room. “GET FUCKED!! I SHOULD KNOCK YOUR FUCKING HEAD IN CUNT!!!” Not good enough, one of the mental health workers shuttled him out of the room. Another tenant stormed in. It appeared that a car was doing burnouts on the weekend and had been left, abandoned, in the car park. The driver of the car then started a fist fight with other residents resulting in a crow-bar being thrown through a window. This was now my problem. The mental health worker then asked why I wasn’t going to instantly knock on the door of the tenant suspected of doing the burnouts – I responded that I refused to knock on any doors without knowing what I was getting myself in for, but agreed that we should probably check the car out.
Big mistake. Big, BIG mistake. Actually it proved to be nearly a fatal mistake.
We walked around and looked at the car in question. It not only looked abandoned, complete with flat tyres, but it looked stolen with smashed windows and wires hanging out. I followed procedure and phoned the police, reported the incident and requested a patrol to check it out. Then we looked at the window that’d been smashed. Yep, broken alright. As it was a shared window, in a corridor, I phoned the maintenance department and began to report it.
‘Who the fuck are you and what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I turned to find myself facing a very angry man, dressed in a track suit and with wild eyes.
“I’m _______ from _________. And you are?”
“Never fucking mind. What the fuck do you want with my fucking car?”
“The white one?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, it’s parked illegally for one thing.”
“What, are you fucking blind cunt? I CAN’T FUCKING MOVE IT!!”
“Perhaps when the police arrive you can talk to them and they might be able to help you move it.”
“You called the fucking cops? I should fucking kill you!!” By now the maintenance lady was yelling, on the phone, “Do you want me to call the police?” and the mental health worker was backing away.
“Calm down.” I said, holding my hands up and showing the tenant that the phone was active.
“GET FUCKED!! I SHOULD FUCKING KILL YOU CUNT!!” He moved towards me and I realised that I’d not only be defending myself but also a frozen mental health worker.
“I have witnesses and the police are already on their way, so let’s not do anything stupid.” His eyes went skinny, and then went wide. He then slammed the wall with a closed fist. “Cunt! Fucking cunt! I see you around here again I’ll fucking kill you, you fucking cunt.” With that he stormed off. I then turned to the mental health worker who was visibly shaking.
“You still want me to talk to him about his car?” I didn’t bother waiting for an answer. We returned to the community room, wrapped up for the day and then back to the office where I lodged two critical incident reports.
Loads of fun.
The problems with such contacts is when they happen in the office, to a degree you’re protected. You have other staff that will assist, you have duress buttons, and you have instant police on tap. You have the relative safety of a counter, or a desk, or a door that’ll be locked behind you. Out in the field you’re naked and alone, for the most part. I’d been threatened by two people, one idiot and one whom I knew to be criminally violent and whom I suspected was drugged to the eyeballs with something and who was pissed off with me for calling the police earlier. Not a good combination. I was lucky to get out of there without any serious violence erupting.
DAY THREE
A relatively calm day indeed. Busy, yes. Two of us did the work of six and we did it well. No-one would have noticed that anything was wrong or amiss, such was the smoothness of the procedures. The only hic-cup came from waiting for a difficult tenant who needed to hand his keys in or deal with the police. I’d gone above and beyond policy to cut him a deal, that he come in, voluntarily, terminate his tenancy and enter detox and as a result we’d store his belongings and assist him with housing when he was released. He’d phoned me at 9:30am to tell me he’d be in shortly. The longer the day went the more I was asked what was happening. Finally, at 4pm, he came in, signed the papers and handed in his keys. A good result.
I also had my de-briefing for the previous days dramas. I was advised to go for counselling, I responded that there was no need as I was already doing so. God love my team leader, instantly a disruptive tenant complaint was lodged and the tenant would be advised that if they ever dared to even raise their voice at a staff member again, then they’d be evicted and services withheld for life. Not a word from my PIC, even though he’d always insisted that he saw every critical contact and critical incident report that was filed in the region. I know he’d spoken to others in the past, but with me, clearly there was no need for him to speak. After all, I was on my way out.
Meanwhile the person who’d actually won the position that I’d applied for approached me and said that they were having serious doubts about accepting it. They wanted to walk into the office of the 2IC and state that I was the best person for the job and that they’d not accept the position offered. I pointed out that if they did this then they’d be out of work and that another person would be offered the job, and that person wouldn’t be me. My co-worker was as upset as I’ve ever seen.
“Don’t make me your cause. I appreciate it, more than you’ll ever know, but this is a fight that you’d lose and lose big time.” This got through and my co-worker reluctantly accepted the position.
I looked forward to the weekend…
DAY FOUR
A quiet day, calm before the real storm.
DAY FIVE
Another quiet day, broken only by the news in the evening that my father, whom I’d recently attempted to reach out to after a period of estrangement, had died that afternoon. My feelings were mixed, but I decided to return to work, as normal, and see how things went.
DAY SIX
I went to work, as normal, but did sit down with my team leader to explain what had happened. To be fair I was told that if I wanted bereavement leave I could have it and that I should strongly consider this. I declined and sat down to again work in a region that was, as usual, understaffed.
My first customer was a person who’d presented for payment of rental arrears. He was in arrears because he’d thrown every last cent into a poker machine instead of paying his rent. Seven weeks in arrears. During the conversation the customer began to argue with me, it wasn’t his fault. He blamed everyone from the premier down to me. His statement, “I’m not responsible if I get evicted, you will be,” got me agitated. Before I could catch myself I found myself arguing with the customer and telling him that he was not only useless, but a prime candidate for sleeping on a bench in the middle of winter. I terminated the interview, approved the arrears and went for lunch. The afternoon was spent cleaning up files and doing write-ups.
During the day people approached me with words of support and comfort. Not a whisper from the PIC, and the 2IC was absent from the region. I knew that the PIC had been told, after all, he’d often boasted that nothing happened in his region without him knowing. In times of bereavement, others had been offered public displays of condolence; in my case it was just silence, and disgust from colleagues who’d ask if the PIC had said anything to me. The time line was then issued to the union proper.
DAY SEVEN
Went much the same as day six. I was out for the bulk of the day doing home visits and listening to people complain about not paying their rent, their neighbours and more. I found myself, at times, floating above it all and not caring as much as I should. I wanted to care, and when I concentrated found I did. But, sadly, the people who were whinging about our services whilst not paying rent and keeping the places filthy just made me sad beyond feeling. There were some people that I liked, clean houses, great conversation, were friendly. And all round good company. I wanted to remain with those people, but sadly that wasn’t going to happen.
I returned to the region to see the 2IC in discussion with the team leader. The 2IC was staring at me; I presume that’s when the 2IC was given the news about my new issue. If so then it didn’t show as the 2IC walked right past me without a word, as did the PIC, more than once, although the PIC did stop to talk to everyone around me.
DAY EIGHT
We started the day wondering if we were going to fly interstate for the funeral that was scheduled for Monday. This day was surprisingly good, all things considered, and I decided to attend a formal function that I’d committed to a good two months before. While I was in the office, again the PIC and 2IC totally ignored me, but managed to find time to speak to everyone else around me. More and more staff members offered me support, very appreciated.
That night the world came crashing down. My step-sister phoned to tell me that the funeral had been moved up to the oncoming Friday. All our plans for Monday went out the window and the call itself was harrowing. I unloaded upon my step-sister with thirty years of pent up frustration. It wasn’t good. I felt like I was slipping down into a pit with no bottom. By the time my partner reached the top of the stairs she didn’t need to say it – I’d not be going back to work for the immediate future.
DAY NINE
We took the day off and tried to settle in. I felt like I was walking in a daze, everything had hit at once. Then the phone rang – the union. This time they came out and said it clearly – there’d be no investigation unless I could produce written reports and affidavits from the people involved. In other words I was asked to approach the PIC and 2IC and ask them to supply me with documents showing how they’d treated me differently from others. By this point I couldn’t handle it anymore and I let loose once more. Screaming, swearing, abuse. Again, by the time my partner got to me I’d already thrown the phone away. She took the phone, called the person back and explained and apologised and then told me she was taking my phone away. I didn’t fight it.
DAY TEN
Home alone. At the moment of the funeral I turned the phones off, poured myself a belt of Jack Daniels into a shot glass, went outside and raised the glass to the skies. I whispered the words that I’d been wanting to say to him for over a decade, downed the shot and allowed the emotions to rise. I sat quiet for the next half hour or so and then wandered back inside to spend the day floating about like a ghost. I reflected upon the debris of my father’s life and the region and how uncanny it was that both were going down the same track of abuse towards me. I wondered if I was just imagining things.
That night two my closest friends, who also happen to work in a similar agency popped by for dinner and drinks but principally to see how I was doing. I knew why they were there. They started by asking what had gone on, I explained. They asked how I was feeling, I explained. Then it was placed in front of me. Frankly the internal politics were enough to warrant me going on sick leave. The verbal and near physical attacks of the past week were enough for me to go out on sick leave. The death of my father was more than enough to go out on sick leave. All three combined was more than enough for either extended stress leave or a strong Work Cover claim. Before the pizza had arrived they were insisting that I not return to work, and urged me to see a doctor to help me deal with my issues. I couldn’t argue it anymore, I had no fight left within me and I knew that they were doing this out of concern towards me both as a person and as a friend. I had geared myself up to argue the point when, for the first time I looked up with clarity. What I saw were three faces of people I love, all creased with worry and genuine concern. I decided then and there that, for once, I’d not fight the concessus, I’d actually follow the advice given to me and do as I’d been told. The rest of the night passed with good conversation and company. I appreciated both.
DAY ELEVEN
Rest day, such as it was and not that I rested much. I found myself fighting within as I’d made an obligation for the next two weeks and I didn’t want to go back on that. To say my emotions were conflicted is an understatement.
DAY TWELVE
No sleep at all. I tossed and turned and eventually went to another bed in the house so my partner could rest up. A million scenarios went through my head and the nightmares which had plagued me for the past week were coming each time I slept, more and more vivid each and every time.
DAY THIRTEEN
I’d made a decision. I’d go to work, sit down with my team leader and lay it all on the line. However, if the PIC or the 2IC approached me and engaged me in conversation and showed some support then I’d reconsider. I needn’t have bothered even thinking this. I was approached by a colleague who engaged me in talk out the front of the 2IC’s office. All the time the 2IC saw me standing there, but said not a word. I went back to my desk, this time I began to draft an email to the region announcing my farewell. I began to feel ill. The PIC walked up and began to speak to a colleague who’d just returned after a few days off. From there he moved on to talk to people on either side of me but totally ignored me. I made my mind up.
I wandered out, grabbed a coffee and nearly threw up twice. I was drowning in sweat and felt very physically ill indeed. I came in, sat down with my team leader and laid it out.
“You need to do what’s best for you. Don’t worry about anything else. You need to get better.”
“You know,” I replied, “if I had a more supportive PIC or 2IC then I’d consider staying. As it is I’m battling both within the region and without. I can’t come here, fight and then go outside and fight.”
“I know.” With that I returned to my desk and sent my email.
The email was a simple one. I thanked everyone for being supportive over the past difficult week. I mentioned that I was leaving for an extended period and that it wasn’t due to my job, my co-workers nor my team leader. I said that the blame sat with me and my inability to cope with repeated stress and incredible pressures. I hit send, shut down and left.
By the time I got home I had several emails in my inbox from co-workers all expressing their dismay at my leaving and all wishing me well and hoping I got better. Nothing from the PIC or the 2IC. It was time to leave. There’d be no storming of the gates of the Bastille with guillotines at the ready, no palace revolution. Just a short walk out the door. No fanfare, no fireworks, no wailing women or screaming men. Just open the door and leave.
I spent the rest of the day trying not to be sick. In bed at 8pm, fast asleep at 8:30. No great surprise.
DAY FOURTEEN
The day dawned with a few more emails of support and finally an email from the 2IC. As emails go this one was devoid of all emotion and stated that as I was now officially out on sick leave, there’d be no personal feedback offered for my application, however it could be provided in writing and could I hand my phone back by the end of the week. I replied stating that I was personally disappointed that there was still no support from either the PIC or the 2IC and that the phone was still in my bag and would be returned ASAP. I stated that I felt bad about what happened and that I was very let down as I always felt that the 2IC and me had at least had a harmonious relationship. I’d stopped holding back. I followed that with another email stating that I wanted the feedback, plus assessment matrices from the selection processes and more.
Silence followed.
DAY FIFTEEN
The phone rang at about noon. The 2IC was on the phone wanting to explain why their email was sent and that my reply was both offensive and inappropriate. I was also told that my parting email to the region was also both offensive and inappropriate. I asked how this was so and was told that because I’d sent it to the entire region it was deemed to be was inappropriate. I explained that it’s always easier to email the region than it is to email everyone individually and that virtually everyone else who had left had also sent similar emails, this was rejected. I then unleashed. I stated that even after this call there was STILL no official, or unofficial enquiry as to what had happened to me on a personal level, let alone any hint of condolence. After twenty minutes the condolence came, grudgingly, and I replied, “Too little, far too late.” I was then told not to come near the region. I mentioned my issues with the hiring process and how I could have been offered a contract extension in January – amazingly enough the 2IC agreed with me but, much like the PIC had said a month earlier, the 2IC claimed no knowledge of hiring and contracts. My reply was a simple one, “If you and the PIC have no idea who assigns contracts, then who does?” I wasn’t really looking for an answer, which was just as well as I knew I’d not get one. Then the real kicker.
“You know, we’ve got positions coming up. You’re encouraged to apply.” I pondered this for half a second.
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to be applying for any position there while the PIC is still there.” I terminated the call.
And still no word from the PIC.
However it doesn’t end here, not by a long stroke. Funnily enough things got worse, far worse. Watch this space for more updates…
Comments
http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b00m1527
I guess I just wanted to let you know that I am reading and have always enjoyed your writing style.
I'm glad to hear that you have people IRL who are looking after you and have your best interests at heart.