“C” – All Crazy All The Time

I don’t even know where to begin with this nut-case. Perhaps I’ll start with the mysterious HR proceeding she launched against me approximately one month after I and two other colleagues were honored with dinner at a trendy, pricey restaurant in recognition of the successful completion of a major project I had managed; and precisely 12 (count ‘em 12) days after I received a glowing review, a substantial raise and an eye-popping performance bonus.

But first, a bit of profiling: C was the worst possible micro-manager imaginable because she didn’t actually micro-manage; she only pretended to. At any given point during the day or night, every member of her department was beseiged by an avalanche of Blackberry messages with idiotic reminders, useless requests for status updates and straight-out crazy suggestions, on the order of: “Did you remember to mail the envelope?” “What time did you mail the envelope?” “What time is the mail pick-up?” “What time will the envelope be delivered?” “Could you call the post office and find out exactly what time the envelope will be delivered? That would be great.” Conversely, if anyone asked for guidance or assistance, all hell would break lose and the petitioner would leave C’s office an hour later, exhausted and befuddled, wondering how an innocent request for input (What shade of blue do you prefer for this brochure?) somehow morphed into a reenactment of the Spanish Inquisition, with the petitioner defending every decision she had ever made or failed to make in her entire life.

The members of her department understood these Blackberry message storms for what they were: to give “C “something to say in meetings. She was incapable of forming an original idea, opinion, or suggestion. The only thing she ever contributed in meetings was detailed descriptions of what members of her department were doing, but presented as if she were doing these things herself. She never attributed the work to “Mary” or “My department” or even the royal “We.” It was always the implied “I.” “C” would look for an opening to display her prowess in regurgitating meaningless detail and minutia (“The envelope was mailed at 9:15 this morning. It will be picked up by 10:00 am. I will find out what time it will be delivered and get back to you.”) These monologues were offered appropos of nothing and met with stunned, stoney silence.  On more than one occasion—in fact, several times in one day during my farewell tour—partners put the question to me me directly: “What does she do anyway?” to which I responded with a silent shrug of the shoulders. 

Needless, but still amusing, to say, she was extremely displeased when I told her that it had become necessary for me to leave the office each evening by 6:00 PM, for an unspecified and unpredictable period of time, to assume the care of my dying, 84-year-old, cancer-patient mother after her aides left my home at 7:30 PM. This bears repeating: I needed to leave the office each day by 6:00 PM.  There was no request for time off nor any other special consideration.  I assured her that I would arrive at the office each day by 8:30 AM as always and, when necessary, would continue to work from home each evening. This irritated her immensely, as if I’d requested that she carry me home on her shoulders each evening. She then posed a long series of questions to ferret out the details, my responses to which were on the order of: “Cervical cancer.” “Recovering from her third surgery.” “Diabetes.” “No longer able to walk without assistance.”  At the end of the interrogation, she sighed deeply and asked: “How long is this ‘arrangement’ supposed to last?”   I responded, “I don’t know. Until she dies?”

This, it should be noted, was the same woman who, only a few weeks earlier had proudly announced that another member of our department would be leaving at 5:00 PM twice each week to do volunteer work at a dog shelter (Isn’t she wonderful?). This too was the same woman who once bolted from an executive meeting and disappeared for the remainder of the day after she received a text message that her dog had vomited. In retrospect, I see I would have elicited far more compassion from her if I’d substituted the word “dog” for “mother.” A short time after I requested this special arrangement, she lodged an unspecified complaint against me, which resulted in a sort of hearing.  At least, I think that’s what it was.

One day, completely out of the blue, “C” phoned and ordered me to report immediately to the office of the HR Director. When I arrived, I found “C ” and the Director of HR squeezed in together on the power side of the desk. I sat opposite, facing them. What follows is a close approximation of the proceeding. It makes no sense because the proceeding made no sense. Since I’d never been in such a situation before or since, I have no basis for comparison. Maybe all HR proceedings are conducted in this manner. Who knows.

The complaint seemed to center on what I thought to be my innocuous reply to a memo requesting an update on what was in my mind at least, a non-critical project: updates to partner bios on the web site. My e-mail reply explained that the updates would be delayed by one week because, unbeknownst to us, the vendor firm hired to process the uploads closed down entirely for the week between Christmas and New Year’s Day. Evidently, I had copied one too many people for “C’s” tastes. The entire “hearing” consisted of C asking the same question, over and over and over.

C: “Why did you copy so-and-so?”

Me: “I thought so-and-so should also be aware of the unexpected delay.”

C: “Why did you copy so-and-so?”

Me: “I just told you why. Because he’s ultimately in charge of the project.”

C: “Why did you copy so-and-so?

Me: “I said, I just told you.”

C: “Why did you copy so-and-so?”

Me: “Why do you keep asking me the same question?”

C: “Why did you copy so-and-so?

Me: “Okay. I’ll play along. Because I thought so-and-so should also be aware of the unexpected delay.”

C: “Why did you copy so-and-so?

Me: “Is this a joke?”

C: “Why did you copy so-and-so?

Me: “Do you think my answer is going to change?”

C: “Why did you copy so-and-so?”

 Me: “Is this for real? Did you not hear me?”

I tried to engage the HR Director, who sat mute as a stone throughout, in this “conversation.” She never responded.

Me: “What is going on here? What am I being charged with?”

C: “What makes you think you’re being charged with anything?”

Me: “Well, this looks and feels like a hearing with you two crammed in on one side of the desk with me on the other. What is this about?”

C: “Why did you copy so-and-so?

Me: “I already told you. You can ask me forever. My answer is not going to change.”

C: “Why did you copy so-and-so?

Me: “I don’t believe this. Apparently, you have a problem with my copying so-and-so, so why don’t you just say what the problem is and get this over with.”

C: “Why did you copy so-and-so?

Me: “Unbelievable.”

I felt like I was trapped in a washing machine or a bad spy movie and this was the infinite loop of an unimaginative, poorly written interrogation scene. Several more times, I asked the HR Director to intervene, or at least explain what was going on—just say something. She never responded.  After more than 30 minutes of this, I gave up and burst into tears. It was obvious to me that my job, which I enjoyed, would have liked to keep and which was evidently highly valued by the partners as evidenced by the recent dinner and performance bonus, was on the line but no one was going to tell me why. How else to explain the presence of  the HR Director? I offered up my own theory: “Ok. I give up. You win. Do you want me to leave the firm? Is that what this is about? Is this the first step in building a case to fire me for cause? Please, just tell me what is going on.” At that point, “C” just got up and left the room.  

At last, the HR Director spoke. She handed me a piece of paper and told me to sign it. I don’t know what it was because I refused to read it. I assumed it was a confession of some sort and I refused to sign. She insisted that I had to. I insisted that I did not. ‘This is a law firm for crying out loud,” I said. “You should know you can’t force someone to sign something.”

Then she asked, “What do you want to do now?” I believe I said something to the effect of: “I want to get the hell out of this nut-house.”  I offered to leave the firm and spare us all the effort of building a case but only if the firm would agree to allow me to file for unemployment benefits. If the firm did challenge my application, I would make a fuss. The HR Director agreed. I handed in my formal resignation that afternoon and found a new job before the week was out.

To this very day, I have no idea what all that was about. I’ve toyed with several possibilities, the most plausable being that copying so-and-so got “C” in some sort of trouble. The second, less likely theory is that she perceived the success of my project, and the appreciation of the partnership, as a threat to her stature, one that she needed to eliminate as quickly as possible and by any means necessary.  I don’t know and never will.  Whatever it was, it was beyond a doubt the most strange and disturbing event I have ever experienced as an employee.

Appropos of nothing, a few months later, C’s beloved secretary was arrested at her desk and escorted out of the building in handcuffs—something to do with her participation in an illegal high-stakes gambling operation. So much for “C’s” choices regarding the people she values.

Lesson learned: HR is not your friend.