Bitter Is the New Black: Confessions of a Condescending, Egomaniacal, Self-Centered Smart-Ass, Or, Why You Should Never Carry a Prada Bag to the Unemployment Office : A Memoir (28 page)

“I guess. We talked about compensation today and he hinted about making an offer, so that’s a good indicator. And how about you? Anything happen while I was gone?”

It’s been two weeks since Fletch’s trip to New York. While he was out there, he met the entire executive board of the company. They treated him to a swanky lunch at a private club and pretty much fawned all over him. With the battering his ego’s taken lately, I’m glad an employer finally recognized what an asset he’d be.

After he made the rounds, the recruiter told Fletch they were going to hire him and to expect an offer letter any day now. Normally this would be cause for great celebration, but the whole situation strikes me as a little off. The recruiter didn’t tell him any terms, like salary, benefits, or start date. If you’re going to make an offer, you make the offer and
then
back it up with a letter, you know?

“I called them and they said everything was proceeding as planned. I definitely have the job, although they’re still checking references.” Fletch shrugs and returns his attention to Bob Barker.

“Wait a minute. It’s been four days. What do they need to know that they can’t find out in four days’ time? You should have them talk to me; I can tell them whatever they want. Not only am I married to you, but I met you at work, so I know your work ethic. It’s good.”

“Thanks, but I don’t think so.”

“Why not? I’d be totally honest. I’d tell ’em your drawbacks, too. Your taste in music sucks, you have an obsession with keeping your car clean, and you still haven’t unpacked the boxes in the den. On the upside, you’re a snappy dresser, you’re smart, and you always pick up the lunch tab. What’s not to like?”

“When you put it like that, I’m a shoo-in. By the way, Courtney called. She and Brett are having dinner tonight and she wants us to join them for a drink afterward.”

“Can we afford it?”

“We’ll manage. After all, we’re both about a week away from starting work, right?”

Wheeeee!!! Drunkieee like a Monkeees! Courtnneee and Bretttt are cuttttte. KISSY KISSY. And stoooopid, stoooopid Kathleen is beeeingg meeeeannn to Court!! I tolle you she’s BAAAAADDD. I talllked and taaalked about Birchycompany and saidddd it was GGGGRRRRRReeat! Court saysss Brichtooom LURVES me and I haaaaavve a jooooobbb! Wooo hooo! Ricccchhh aaaagaiiin!!

“Hey, sweetie, guess what,” I call, walking in the back door. “It must be Take Your Child to a Dangerous Construction Site Day! There’s a ton of little kids crawling all over the haphazardly stacked pallets of bricks and Mount Garbage. I’m going to stand on the porch with the cordless phone so I can call nine one one when one of them gets flattened like Wile E. Coyote. Fletch, you’ve
got
to see this!” Silence. “Fletch? You here?” More silence. “Honey, where are you?”

I walk up the stairs and find Fletch sprawled facedown on the bed. “Fletch? What’s up?”

Face in his pillow, he mumbles, “I didn’t get the job.”

“WHAT? How can that be? What happened? Did you get a bad reference?”

“No, the recruiter said my references were great. They said an internal candidate came up late last week, so they gave the job to him.”

“No! They can’t do that! They can’t tell someone they have a job and then NOT GIVE IT TO HIM. They can’t! I don’t know if it’s illegal, but it’s totally unethical.”

“They did it anyway.”

“But why are you just lying there? Why aren’t you up in arms? This is infuriating! Why aren’t you mad?”

“I give up.”

“You can’t just give up. What does that mean, anyway? You give up?”

“I’m tired of fighting.”

“But this is bullshit. Can’t you sue them or something?”

“They never gave me anything in writing.”

“Honey, if this is a joke, I’d sure appreciate it if you’d spring the punch line on me now. Really, you got a six-figure salary and an office, right? Right? Fletch? Right??”

Fletch looks at me like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. “It’s no joke.”

“What if you’d quit a job contingent on them making an offer? What if we planned to move because they said they were hiring you? They simply cannot do this.”

“Jen, it’s done. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Just leave me alone so I can take a nap.”

“Those motherfucking weasels. I want revenge.”

“Jen, let it go. It’s over. It doesn’t matter.” He pulls the covers up to his ears and turns to face the wall. I try to hug him but he pulls away.

I head downstairs to pace and plot. After practically wearing a path across the floor, I realize there’s nothing I can do to settle the score that isn’t dangerous and illegal. I lie down on the couch, take off my glasses, and have a cathartic cry.

I’m not sure how much more stress I can take. My stomach is constantly in knots over our financial situation and I hate all this uncertainty. I’m filled with regret over my old lifestyle. Why did I make such bad choices? Why didn’t I listen to my dad when he said the bubble was going to burst? Why didn’t I acquiesce to my mother’s pleas to sock away 15 percent of my paycheck each week? What, exactly, led me to believe I was invincible? Why didn’t I follow my brother’s advice to buy a cheaper place somewhere less fashionable instead of pissing an ocean of money away on a trendy rental?

How come I never realized that my compensation was a fluke and I had no right making the money I did with the experience I had? I used to base my self-worth on what I did and how I lived, but now that times are different, I’ve propped myself up by being proud of my abilities. But what if I’m really not as smart and competent as I thought? Then what? The tears come hard and fast.

Loki wedges his way in next to me, and Maisy positions herself next to the couch, munching on a bone. I bury my face in the ruff of Loki’s neck and allow the self-pity to wash over me.

I hate feeling sorry for myself. In the scope of things, I’ve been pretty fortunate and this self-pity is weak and contemptible. I force myself to stop crying and decide to go to the gas station for a Dolly Madison fruit pie. There’s almost nothing sweetened apples and frosty pie crust can’t make better. I reach for my glasses and they’re not where I left them. On my hands and knees, I look for them under the couch but they’re gone.

Then I see that Maisy is not chewing one of her Brontosaurus bones. Rather, she’s enjoying $600 worth of custom-made, Italian-framed tortoiseshell glasses, which I loved because they made me look exactly like Ashley Banfield on MSNBC.

And then the floodgates really open.

To: Sandy Case

From: [email protected]

Date: March 26, 2003

Subject: Senior Account Manager

Hi, Sandy,

I just saw that the position I’d interviewed for was re-posted on Monster.com, along with a different Birchton & Co. job. This leads me to wonder if Birchton is expanding the search to find the best candidate, which would make sense given all the talent currently available. If that’s the case, could you please let me know if I’m still being considered? Another opportunity has come up for me,
¹⁵⁴
but I don’t want to pursue it until I know whether or not your organization is interested, as Birchton is absolutely my first choice.

Many thanks,

Jen Lancaster

To: Chris Birchton

From: [email protected]

Date: April 5, 2003

Subject: Senior Account Manager

Chris,

I haven’t heard from anyone at Birchton for almost two weeks. After having six interviews, I’m more than a little curious about my status. I saw that the job listing was re-posted after my final round of interview, so I’m not sure what to think, especially as no one has taken me up on my offer to provide references.

Although I really liked the people I met and the job sounds like an interesting challenge at which I know I’d excel, it’s not going to hurt my feelings if a more appropriate candidate is selected. I would, however, appreciate a head’s up one way or another.

Thanks,

Jen Lancaster

“Birchton and Company, how may I direct your call?”

“Sandy Case, please.” I am getting an answer TODAY about this job.

“May I ask who’s calling?” If this receptionist were any more chipper, I’d find a way to worm through the phone cord so I could strangle her with it.

“Tell her it’s Jen Lancaster.”

“Sure thing. Hold, please.” I listen to the Muzak version of “Summer of ’69” while I wait. Yuck. I hate Bryan Adams almost as much as Dave Matthews.

“Um, Jen? Sandy’s on another line. Can she call you back?”

“No. I’ll hold.”

“It could be a while.”

“I said I’d wait.” Sandy’s dodged my calls all week.

I hear muffled conversation in the background and seconds later, Sandy answers. “Sandy Case speaking.”

“Sandy, it’s Jen Lancaster. I’m calling to check on the status of my application.”

I can hear Sandy exhale on the other end of the line. “Jen, I’m sorry. I’ve been meaning to get back to you but it’s just been so hectic around here that I haven’t had a chance.”

“Well, now’s your chance. Can you please let me know what’s happening? I ask because I have another opportunity,
¹⁵⁵
and I’m hesitant to move forward with them until I know my status with Birchton.”

“Jen, I’m going to be honest. We’re not hiring you. We all met you and thought you’d be a great fit. We were ready to extend an offer. Then we saw your Web site, and we found its content to be inappropriate. You know, some of your ‘Companies That Suck’ are our clients, and we simply cannot have an employee denigrating them.”

“Whoa, wait, stop. First of all, I’d planned to take the site down once I started working because it was a joke, and second of all, how did you even find out about it? My picture is obscured and at no point do I ever mention my name or that of my former employer.”

“How we found out is irrelevant. I’m sorry, but we’re going to keep looking.”

“I understand you have to do what you think is best for your business. However, the polite and professional thing to do would have been
to tell me two weeks ago so I could stop wasting my time
.”

“For your own sake, I suggest you take down that awful Web site.”

“You know what? My site is funny. And if you can’t appreciate my sense of humor, then your not hiring me is for the best. Thanks, anyway.” I hang up before she can say anything else.

We are in so much trouble.

Weblog Entry 4/10/03

A FAIRY TALE

One upon a time there was a beautiful Executive Princess named Jennifer. She worked for a wonderful company who treated her nicely and paid her even better! She was very, very happy.

Her product line was doing great, so her company decided they would buy one of their competitors so they’d be even stronger in the marketplace. Princess Jen was a little concerned, because she’d been through mergers with other companies. She went to each of her eleven bosses (yeah, you read that right) and said, “I am concerned. I’ve never been through a merger where there weren’t job losses.” Her eleven very nice bosses promised her that her position was secure because she did such a terrific job! Hooray!

Two days later she went to work and they gave her a box and showed her the door. She said, “What happened? You promised me that every thing was going well. And that my job was secure.” They were real nice and super apologetic, and said she was let go as “a business decision.” She never got a better explanation.

Jen was really happy because every potential employer simply accepts the explanation of her layoff as being a “business decision.” Boy, they never question that! It certainly doesn’t sound like she was selling confidential information or stealing office supplies! And these potential employers always believe that a person who was crushing her goals would be cut loose for no apparent reason. So her search to find a new job with a livable salary has been so easy!

Now she has to sell her Cadillac in order to keep paying for her apartment in the ghetto.

And she’s really fucking bitter.

The end.

I can deal with the fact that I have to sell the car, even though I wasn’t thrilled with the idea at first, to put it mildly. I kind of launched into Fletch when he brought it up,
¹⁵⁶
until I realized that all we really have right now is each other. If we start attacking each other over what could have been, we’ll fall apart. Plus, I’d rather have a couple of bucks in the bank. If a little extra money returns the smile to Fletch’s face, then I’m all for it. As it is now, the car’s just sitting on the street depreciating like mad, and the insurance on it in this ’hood is insane.
¹⁵⁷

What I can’t deal with is what happened with Birchton. Granted, if they didn’t think my site was funny, I probably wouldn’t have meshed with their corporate culture. Maybe if I worked there, I’d feel constrained all the time and couldn’t really be myself. Regardless, I’d have liked the chance to try.

I don’t understand how they found out about my Web site. Yeah, it’s been getting more and more hits lately, but it’s almost totally anonymous. Even the domain registry is under Fletch’s name, so there’s no way to trace it back to me. I’ve tried to call Courtney to see if she has any scoop because Birchton’s still her client and she talks to them all the time, but I haven’t heard back from her. Come to think of it, neither has Brett. I hate bugging people at work, but this is making me crazy, so I’m going to call her.

I dial Courtney’s direct line. “Good afternoon, thank you for calling Corp. Com.,” answers a male voice.

“Mo? Is that you?” It sounds like my buddy Maurice, who’s an administrative assistant at Corp. Com.

“Yes, it is. May I ask with whom I’m speaking?”

“Mo, you big nerd, it’s Jen!”

“Jen girl! I miss you! Things aren’t the same without you. When are we getting together for daiquiris?”

“Let’s wait till it gets a little warmer so we can go somewhere outside. I’d say a couple of weeks.”

“I’m going to hold you to it.”

“Good. It’s been way too long.” I’m just about to launch into gossip mode when I remember why I called in the first place. “Sweetie, why are you answering Courtney’s phone? Is she out?”

“Girl, Courtney’s gone.”

“You know what? I can’t say I’m surprised. Last time we got together, she was on a tear about how moody Kathleen’s been and how much business has dropped off. I’m glad to hear she finally got out—that place was totally stressing her.”

He drops his voice. “It’s no fun anymore. Everyone here is boring and ugly. Remember Friday Fiestas and margaritas at lunch? Completely over now.”

“Aw, sweetie, I’m sorry to hear it.”

“The good news is that it’s got me thinking of opening my own Birkenstock shop up in Boystown. If I do, will you help me with the marketing?”

“Anything for you, Mo.”

“Uh-oh, I’m getting the fish eye from Kathleen. I’d better scoot.”

“It was so nice to talk to you. Oh, wait, I almost forgot. I want to get ahold of Court. Do you know where I can find her?”

“She went to work for one of her clients. Um, it’s um…gosh, what’s their name again?”

No.

NO.

She wouldn’t.

I squeeze my eyes shut and clench my fists. Please don’t let this be true. “Birchton & Co., perhaps?” “Yes! That’s it! Birchton! I think I’ve got the number—do you want it?”

“No, no, I’ve got it. Thanks anyway, Mo. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Bye for now, Miss Thang.”

So now I know how Birchton got my URL.
Et tu
, Courtney?

How could she do this to me? I would never screw someone like this, not even my worst enemy. I mean, how could she listen to me cry about being jobless and broke for all these months and then knowingly and deliberately swoop down and steal the one good opportunity from me?

Granted, I didn’t necessarily handle her feelings with kid gloves, but I always tried to act in her best interests. I got bossy and officious with the Brad/Chad stuff not because I’m a bitch but because I wanted to protect her. I set her up with Brett because I thought he could make her happy. And this is how I’m rewarded for being a decent, honest, albeit somewhat pushy friend?

Shoot, I tried to talk her into applying at Birchton long before I ever did. With her P.R. background, I thought she’d be a great asset to their organization. And even while I was interviewing there, I kept asking, “Are you sure you don’t want the job? It would get you away from Kathleen and you’d be great at it.” I gave her every chance to claim this job honestly, and instead she tacitly denied any interest while sticking a knife in my back.

I will never forgive or forget this.

You are dead to me, Courtney. Dead.