The Chapter I Don't Read Out Loud

Everyone has a chapter they don't read out loud. The Why is different. Why don't they talk about it? Sometimes it is feelings of shame, guilt, regret, pain, or loss. Other times it is feelings of joy, hope, love, triumph.  If the feelings about a situation are considered negative, I understand more why someone wouldn't share it. If someone failed at something, did something that caused shame or guilt, or hurt someone else in the process. But if you loved someone, overcame something, or did something outstanding, most people would gladly share it with others.

Once in High School, I went to the movie Article 99 two nights in a row with two different gentlemen. I didn't tell the second young man that I saw the movie less than twenty-four hours prior. I wasn't embarrassed or ashamed to be seeing someone else, I was just a silly young girl.

When I was in elementary school, I stole a folder from a classmate named Juliette. It wasn't that I didn't have folders of my own. I just really liked the beautiful one with the woods and waterfall scene. Totally dishonest, totally unnecessary.

Once, on the job, I continually had computer and printer issues. The IT guy hated me. Alan, I am sorry. I did actually break that third printer. I was frustrated and "aggressively" removed the paper jam from the back feed drawer, hence the broken prong.

These three stories are things that happened to me. I wish they didn't happen in this way. I wish I had made different choices, but I don't really mind sharing them. I dated more than one boy, I stole, and I didn't volunteer the truth about the printer mishap.

But what about the things I don't talk about? Those are also things I haven't written about. I find it interesting that friends approach me and say, I read your article or I read your blog and I didn't know that you experienced that. Almost as if because I am a writer, I must have by this point shared all my stories. But then, I have also discovered that my stories sometimes have two endings. What really happened and then what I learned. Both of them true, but the telling changes due to audience or truths from life experience that need to be shared with specific people.

When I write, I write truth, from the heart, from experience, from expectation. But sometimes when I write, it is from a place of fear. I fear judgement, I fear I may hurt someone. But most of all, I fear people will talk about me in a poor manner.

I loved being a banker for many years starting in my early twenties. I held quite a few interesting, challenging positions. I learned a lot about company and corporate politics. I learned who to be kind to, who to learn from, who to avoid, and who to watch out for. I learned who were the hard workers, who never worked, and who was just praying they had a job each Monday. I struggled with a direct supervisor ill suited for the job.  Unconsciously incompetent without ever establishing a team atmosphere, she didn't have enough experience and was completely lacking in communication and management skills. All questions from employees and clients ended up sent to me.

I was overwhelmed with the expectations of my own job and doing all of the work she as supervisor was expected to do. It is one thing to not do your job, but it is quite another to be rude to employees and coworkers. She never made time to get to know anyone. She would complain when someone said they would be gone the next day, forgetting she had approved the absence three weeks prior. When a friend and coworker had a baby, she made mean comments about how she would probably never return to work, but it wouldn't matter because the work just wasn't up to par. It is one thing to be horrible at the job. Quite another to be rude at every turn.

One day, I had had it. She had taken credit for a Fee Proposal I created. She even changed the cover page to read her name first. I couldn't do it anymore. She didn't just lack competency, she was failing miserably when it came to character.

I watched her closely. When she arrived, went to lunch, helped any clients, talked with other employees, completed any work. I made notes about everything. I listed seventeen offenses. I thought if I was going to present my grievances to the Bank President, it better be thorough.

I was careful with my words. I remained in command of the facts and shared what actually happened on a daily basis rather than how I felt about it. The President let me speak and never once interrupted. He thanked me, asked if he could have a copy of my notes, and excused me. I was scared to death. What was he planning to do? I toiled the entire day, finally going home at 6:30 pm. I received a phone call from the President that evening close to 9 pm. He asked me to come in late the next morning. I was silent. He asked me if I could just not show up until 8:30 am. I said yes, 8:30 am, and we both hung up the phone. I didn't sleep a wink. Would I even have a job by the end of the next day? Wait, was I being fired? It was unbearable.

I slowly drove the two miles to work the next morning. I entered through same door I always did. Everything seemed peaceful until I saw the state of my supervisors office. It had been picked over as if it had been ransacked. I stood motionless staring through the plate glass window at piles of paper, mortgage and invest files and junk everywhere.

The President approached slowly. “Kelli. She has been fired. You are in charge until a new supervisor can be hired. I am sorry to ask you to do this, but she just threw everything into the garbage from her drawers. I need you to sort every paper, every file in her office and make sure it is put back together by the end of the day. Clear everything bank related out, clear everything personal into the box just inside the door. Please do not speak of this and if anyone asks, direct them to me.”

Dumbfounded, I did as I was asked. I spent the first four hours sorting through and organizing the mayhem. By the six hour mark, the office was empty with the exception of the desk, chair, computer, printer, and office supplies. Many employees stopped by to ask questions and stare in disbelief. “I am sorry. I am not able to talk about this. If you have any questions, please see the Bank President.”  I said it over and over again. One thought kept running through my head. Was I being vindictive, or was firing her merited? Maybe if she had received some sort of training, she could have done a better job. But how do you respect someone in a leadership position that you do not trust, makes no effort to empower and encourage others, takes credit for others ideas and work product, and had yet to demonstrate an ounce of integrity?

I panicked. She was a divorced, single mom who was overly confident, yet needed this job. What had I done? Was I wrong? Should I have handled this differently?

I left work that day exhausted and overwhelmed. I wiped away a couple tears as I came near my car. I saw a piece of paper tucked underneath my windshield wiper. I unlocked my car, placed what I was carrying in the front seat and reached for the piece of paper. Only two words were written. You win.

Over the years, I have often thought about my supervisor and where she is now. I also have wondered if she ever realized how unqualified she was for the job position she held. I wondered if she knew I was the one who had reported her. When I found myself writing this story about what happened at the bank all those years ago, I was nervous, but unable to really figure out why. Why had I never shared this story? I didn't feel shame or guilt over what happened. But by documenting her actions and reporting her, I cost someone their job. Once I started writing about this, the feelings and emotions flowed out of me. The hurt, the pain, the worry of judgement all returned. That was it! I hadn't shared this story because I was afraid of being judged! I was afraid people would think poorly of me. That they would believe I was a young, vindictive woman who placed more importance on my own workplace comfort than on someones career and lively hood.

I now realize that I had created a secret by keeping this story to myself all these years. A unnecessary secret because of what I believed could be pending judgement. Judgement may still occur. But now I am old and wise enough to be indifferent to the possibility of judgement. And I find that in the indifference, I feel so very free.

This is my chapter. The one I have never read out loud. Until now. And to this day, I do not feel I won. It wasn't about winning. I am neither the heroine nor the villain. All of this happened because I chose to speak up about an injustice by stating the facts. I developed a voice because of experiencing such difficulty in the work place. I desired significant change and wanted to see the formation of an environment that would make others want to get up in the morning excited to go to a job that makes a difference. To go to a job where they  make a difference.

-Kelli J. Gavin

Kelli J Gavin lives in Carver, MN with her husband of twenty-three years, and two crazy kids. She writes for newspapers, guest blogs, poetry, and short story journals and is currently writing her first non fiction book of short stories and blogs until she is blue in the face. She enjoys writing, reading, swimming and walking. She abhors walks on the beach (sand in places there shouldn't be sand), candlelit dinners (can't see), and the idea of cooking two nights in a row (because let's just face it, ain't nobody got time for that). Check her out on social media:
Kelli J Gavin - Facebook and Instagram
@KelliJGavin-Twitter
or her blog at kellijgavin.blogspot.com