It was my first full-time job after leaving school and it was boring. If it was a colour it would be dung brown because the work was just crap. Quite honestly, I didn't put too much effort into it. It was a case of why bother? Go to work and collect your pay while looking for a better job elsewhere.
After I'd been there for a couple of weeks I was invited to go and see the manager. Not my personal supervisor, but the Manager, with a capital M, my boss's boss. I went along to the interview, trying to think of what I might have done wrong. Unfortunately, I quickly came to the conclusion that it was a rather long list.
"You see unhappy working here, Marion," was the first thing the Manager said to me. "Do you want to resign?"
Oh my god, I was going to be fired. This was a disaster. There just wasn't any work available right now and I liked getting a pay check.
"No, sir," I said quickly. "I'm quite happy here." (For a very low definition of happy, anyway.)
"Hmm. Your supervisor has pointed out that you seem to be having a few problems settling into a routine."
I sighed and admitted that I found most of the work boring in the extreme. I wanted to do more of the interesting work.
The Manager nodded sympathetically, saying he quite understood.
"Still," he said, "someone has to do the boring work. Some of these things aren't really tasks that you would assign to senior staff members, now are they? What would you suggest we do?"
It was a classic case of disengage brain, open mouth, insert foot.
"Um, you could always hire someone to do the boring work," I said brightly.
The Manager nodded thoughtfully while he looked at me.
"We did," was all he said.
Oh. That was me.
"Are you going to fire me?" I asked in a very small voice.
"No. If I was going to fire you we wouldn't be having this chat. You'd just be told not to come back. Your supervisor considers you to have potential, but I'm afraid where you're concerned it includes doing the boring jobs."
That was essentially it for the interview. Basically I was being warned to pull my finger out or get out. I was polite and contrite and promised to try harder.
I did try harder, but most of the work was still boring and I guess I was dragging my feet a little. I was a few minutes late to work several times, not that it really mattered in my books. Then came the night of the party. I don't normally party during the week but we were having a baby shower for a friend and we all got a bit carried away. It's possible that I might have had just a wee bit too much where alcoholic beverages were concerned.
I slept through the alarm and woke up hungover. I was a total shambles getting ready for work and I was decidedly on the late side when I did turn up, full of apologies for my supervisor.
"The Manager wants to see you," he told me, his voice showing his annoyance with me. "Not now. After work."
Hell and damnation. I was going to be fired, I just knew it. That fear, combined with the remains of the hangover, and having to rush around to catch up on my work, made for one very miserable day for me. Man, I just couldn't afford to get fired. I needed my salary.
After work I went and saw the Manager. I got straight into grovelling. Sorry I was so late. I wasn't feeling well. It won't happen again. Sorry, sorry, sorry.
"If you were genuinely ill we wouldn't expect you to come to work," pointed out the Manager. "Exactly what was wrong with you?"
"I attended a baby shower for a friend last night. I guess I had a drink too many and I woke up late with a hangover," I confessed. Might as well be honest. Lying would probably just get me in deeper.
"Uh-huh," grunted the Manager. "Do you really want to work here? You're free to leave at any time, you know. This is the second time we've had a little chat. That sort of inclines me towards accepting your resignation."
Talk about instant panic. I need this job. Besides, I'm learning things here and I'll get a chance to move up. I can't get fired. I can just see me having an interview for another job. "Why did you leave your last employment?" "I got fired for coming in hungover." "I see. Don't call us. We'll call you."
"Give me another chance, please," I grovelled. "I'll try harder. I have been learning. The party last night was an unusual event. I don't normally go to parties when the next day is a work day. Please."
"I have to admit I'm somewhat disappointed in you. Like I said, we think you have potential, but you seem determined to waste it."
"I do try," I protested. "It's just that I feel Mr Angra is never satisfied, no matter what I do."
"Mr Angra would be happier as a slavedriver with a whip," I added soto voce.
Unfortunately not soto voce enough. The Manager must have had ears like a bat and he heard me.
"Actually," the Manager said dryly, "Mr Angra agrees with both of us. He feels that you have potential if you'd only apply yourself properly. He also suggested it would be a good idea to make you a slave so he'd be authorised to beat some common sense into you."
"He wouldn't dare touch me," I stated, glaring at the Manager.
He was laughing at me, damn him. His face was straight but I could see the laughter in his eyes.
"What you say is quite true. He's a bit too mousey to beat an employee," agreed the Manager. "But I would. What would you say if I made your continued employment subject to you being spanked? You do seem to have earned one."
"You wouldn't fire me just because I object to getting a spanking, would you?" I asked him, appalled.
"Probably not," he said thoughtfully. "But are you willing to take the chance?"
Holy crap. He was serious. I was horrified. Would he really fire me if I didn't let him spank me? I couldn't decide. I was almost gnawing on my knuckles in my agitation. I finally came down on the side of common sense.
"No. You wouldn't fire me for not submitting to a spanking," I stated firmly.
"Quite right, I wouldn't, but you did seem a little uncertain for a while. All right, I'll give you another chance. However, I don't want to have to speak to you again about your work performance unless it's to tell you that you're doing a good job."
I hastily grovelled my way out of the office before I opened my big mouth and got myself fired anyway. Or spanked. I almost laughed aloud, thinking about that. Fancy wondering if the Manager would spank me and what it would be like. Geez, he was an old man. Probably of my father's generation. Actually, now that I came to think of it, he wasn't all that old. Mr Angra was of my father's generation. The Manager would only be about ten years older than me. I wondered if I could get to be a manager in ten years. Did he start by doing the same scut jobs that I had to do?
For a while everything went smoothly at work. I did apply myself and Mr Angra slowly stopped bitching at me. I was also getting some more interesting work to do. I'd been stupid I realised. I'd taken so much time doing the boring jobs that I hadn't had any spare time. Now that I was doing them smartly and getting them out of the way I had free time and Mr Angra was quite happy to move me to more challenging work to fill in my time.
Then there came the night of the big storm. Not much rain but a lot of thunder and lightning. Too much lightning. It knocked out the power in my area. No power meant no alarm which meant I slept in and was late for work. Mr Angra gave me a nasty look as I checked in and I very hastily explained about the blackout and loss of my alarm clock, with a whole host of apologies. Turns out that it was too late to apologise. There was an email waiting for me, setting up a meeting with the Manager after work. I had time to think, "I'm dead," and then I was frantically running around to catch up on everything that should already have been done.
After work I went to see Mr Tomkins in fear and trepidation. (Yes, the Manager does have a name, but I usually think of him as The Manager.) Once again I didn't hesitate. I got right into my apology and explained about the storm and the blackout and the alarm. I mean, he could see that it wasn't my fault.
"Whose responsibility is it to make sure you have a decent alarm?" Mr Tomkins asked.
"Mine," I admitted.
"You have a smart phone, I believe, with built in alarm clock and not subject to the power going out?"
I agreed that I did. It had just never occurred to me to use my phone alarm. I'd always used the old clock-radio.
"I am a little disappointed. You seemed to be doing a lot better."
"But it wasn't deliberate," I said desperately. "I have been trying. Honest."
I so did not need that muttered, "Very trying."
"We have spoken about your performance before," came the gentle reminder.
"I'm sorry," I wailed. "Look, I'll even take the spanking if that will help."
"Ah, we're not really in the habit of spanking our employees," Mr Tomkins pointed out. "Reward and reprimand, yes, as in promote, demote and, regrettably, fire."
"But I couldn't help it, honest. It's not as though it was deliberate or carelessness. It was just bad luck. I'm quite willing to work back to make up for lost time."
"Even that costs the firm money," Mr Tomkins pointed out. "Mr Angra would have to stay back to supervise and he hates that. Plus the extra power bills by having everything running for an extra hour or so. You have to realise that your lateness can disrupt the entire day for the rest of the staff."
That I knew. It had been pointed out to me rather volubly by some guy who didn't have his reports available first thing.
"I'm sorry. Truly I am. I'll try even harder, I swear. You can punish me for being stupid but it wasn't deliberate."
(I can grovel with the best of them. I was quite enjoying the job now and didn't want to lose it.)
"So you're saying I should just spank you and that will be the end of the matter? It doesn't really work like that, you know."
