I started a new job recently. I have had many, many jobs and — at this point in my life — it's just a place to go every day and get a paycheck so I can take care of the things that really matter.
Over the years, I have had interactions with co-workers on both a professional and social level. I have remained friends with a handful of folks long after I have left a particular job. At my past few jobs, I decided to keep things at a strictly professional level. Friendships that form at a job — once you've hit the later stages of your career — are... well.... unnecessary. I'm not saying that I'm rude. I'm just cordial. I go to work to do work, not to socialize. I say "good morning," but my conversations are brief and always — always — work-related. My current co-workers know practically nothing about me. The cemetery calendar that hangs above my desk is the only glimpse into my personal life and, perhaps, that is all they need to know. No one has asked about it in the almost six months of my employment. I think that's a good thing. I just want to do my job, get paid and that's it. So far, my new job has been just that.
My weekly routine is pretty repetitious. Every Monday, I assemble an advertising circular for a local chain of supermarkets and deliver an electronic proof by the end of the day. On Tuesdays, I receive a regular barrage of emails from the supermarket owners regarding their ad. I spend the day making changes and corrections until a final approval is received and I get to go home. Wednesdays and Thursday are spent assisting a co-worker, Maggie, on her circular. I am assigned two pages of a four-page broadsheet. Maggie works on the labor-intensive front and back pages while I run through an ingenious automated process to populate the inside pages with nearly a hundred little blocks of copy and photos that have to be pleasingly arranged on the page. Honestly, I have been doing design work like this throughout my career. It is not difficult work. I am not, by any means, making any sort of impact on the world. It's a functional piece of commerce with a relatively short shelf life.... but it pays the bills.
The first time I worked with Maggie (who is approximately 30 years my junior), she offered instruction as though it was my first day as a graphic designer. I have learned (admittedly the hard way) to sit by and keep my mouth shut. Listen to the instruction given, do the work, get paid.... you know. My first layout on Maggie's supermarket circular was heavily criticized by Maggie. She seemed to relish pointing out where photos should have been aligned, how type should have been placed, what words should have been capitalized and which words could have been abbreviated. I listened silently to her critique and promised to do better as the weeks went on. Happily, I got the hang of what exactly was expected and soon Maggie's list of "layout infractions" lessened and lessened. With a few circulars under my belt, I work almost independently, with little to no input from Maggie, aside from last-minute additions or deletions that she receives from the store owner. But, early in the process, she was relentless.
Well, Maggie just gave her two-weeks notice and will be moving on. I feared that I would be tasked with becoming the "lead designer" on her weekly ad, but, alas, the one I create on Mondays and Tuesdays conflicts with the print schedule of her ad. It was given to another designer, with me still offering assistance.
As Maggie's final day approaches, I was sitting at my desk, happily banging away at the keyboard and clicking away on my mouse, when another co-worker, Angela, walked up to my desk. I met Angela on my first day, but have had little interaction with her, save for a cordial morning greeting since we both arrive at work at the same time and park our cars near each other. In hushed tones, Angela invited me to a department "happy hour" this coming Friday at a bar in a South Jersey town I'm sure has been referenced in at least one Bruce Springsteen song. I listened to her invitation and neither accepted nor declined. I sort of just eked out a "thanks" along with a smile. I really have no intention of "happy hour"ing or anything else with my co-workers. I just want to come in, do my work, get paid... you know.
After delivering her verbal invite, Angela turned and began to exit, only to turn around and approach my desk again — this time a bit closer. She spoke in an even quieter whisper than earlier.
"Don't say anything to Maggie about this.," she said. I immediately assumed that this planned get-together was a surprise send-off for Maggie's departure. I pictured a tearful assemblage of longtime co-workers with warm hugging and mistily-related memories. But, Angela followed up her request with a bit of blunt clarification. "This isn't a 'going away party' for Maggie. It's a 'glad she's gone' party for us." Angela made herself very clear. A look of astonishment must have washed across my face to cause Angela to state: "You haven't worked with her for five years."
Without any provocation from me, Angela launched into a lengthy list of incidents and anecdotes that painted a very unsavory portrait of Maggie. Over the course of Maggie's tenure, she reported all of her co-workers to the Human Resources Department for various incidents, most of which were merely things that pissed her off. She pointed out the shortcomings of colleague's work output. Angela went on for nearly five uninterrupted minutes about how Maggie's leaving is the first step in making the production department a happy, friendly place to work again.
But, I just want to come in, do my work, get paid... you know.
No drama.
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