11

Grossly underperforming.

Yes, I was told I was grossly underperforming. 

I didn't seem to be passionate. 

This just a few weeks after I messed up big time.  Big time.

We disagreed over whether or not I should do something.  My boss insistent that it be done.  I equally insistent that doing so was risky and ill-advised. 

I agreed to do it because she was adamant.  Then, I didn't do it.  And at the very last minute, she discovered my path of inaction. 

Had two more days passed, the deadline would have passed, all would have been well, and instead of nearly canned, I'd have been a hero.

Instead, it all came to light.  I was right, of course.  But not in her mind.  And since I had told I would and then didn't, well, that's always bad.

One month before I was told I was grossly underperforming, it was noted that I had been doing an outstanding job with a solid record of results.  This was the only feedback I'd ever been given about my work.  That it was outstanding. 

Now, I didn't seem passionate, she said.

No shit.  I took this job after six months of not having a job in the worst economic downturn in 50 years.  So, yeah, I took it.  And I was thrilled that it was paying more than I had been making at the last job I had.  At the point when I said yes, I would have taken 20 or 30 thousand less.  Just to work and get paid. 

In my first six months, I proved rather effective.  And I also learned this job required about 8% of my capacity.  So, I found diversions.  Books to read.  Articles to write.  At least once a week, I'd fire off a job application.  A couple times, I landed interviews, but no offers. 

Then, I settled in.  This was the job I was going to have and do.  I made decent money and had plenty of time to spend with my family.  We could take trips and I wasn't stressed at all. 

Until I was told I was grossly underperforming.  That it was now clear that I had not been doing all I could for the team. 

Again, if I brought my full ability to bear, we'd need about 3 less staff people.  And, I was comfortable.  I was nailing everything because it didn't require too much focus and I could get it done and do it very well.  Better than my predecessors. 

I'd often hear that it was clear I'd leave sometime soon. 

And then.  This.

So, job applications went out.  Some to jobs I didn't want at all.  But, I had to get out.  She knew when I came in and when I left every single day. 

My lunch hour was monitored. 

I couldn't leave to do the things that so often resulted in good outcomes for our team because if I left it was assumed I wasn't working. 

There were a couple times when I thought of just walking out.  Like I had done one summer when I got tired of a crappy job where I'd been mistreated.  No one every talked to me there, and one day, mid-shift, I just walked out. 

I didn't walk out, of course.  I just kept looking for jobs.  And coming in right on time and leaving right on time and taking exactly one hour for lunch every single day no matter what. 

10

I walk into the Dollar General Store. 

The one I walk past nearly every work day.

The one with the clear scent of despair begging you to come inside and share.

I walk in.

I go to the refrigerator and grab a glass bottle of something.  Snapple, I think.  Lemon Tea.  I actually kinda like Snapple Lemon Tea.

I take it to the back of the store near the diapers.

I pour the entire contents on the floor so they seep under the shelf and into the next aisle. 

I go the back corner and smash the bottle on the ground.

No one comes back to the back and I slip into the far aisle, two away from where the spill is.

I browse near the candy.  I like candy.

I grab a glass jar of Planters Peanuts.  Nuts go great with tea. 

I walk to the middle section.  Near the cokes.  Or, some people may call them sodas or pop or whatever. 

I dump the full contents of a jar of peanuts onto the stack of cokes.  Then, I take the empty jar back to the back, opposite corner, and smash it.  I can still see the shards of glass in the dimly lit corner on the other side. 

I walk toward the front.  I pick up a bag of pretzel M&Ms.  And then another bottle of Snapple Lemon Tea.  I pay for the items with a $20 bill and hand 37 cents to the guy standing near the line of people who just needs 50 cents, he says, to buy his lunch.  Now, he just needs 13 cents. 

I walk out of the store and smile.  I have always wanted to be destructive.  I've dreamed of walking in and tearing everything down in a grocery store or dollar general store.  This was more clandestine.  Black ops, I guess.  I've wondered what would happen.  Would they ask me to leave? Would they call the police? 

These are the thoughts that wander around in my head as I walk.  My life full of a good-paying job and a comfortable home and ample time to consider things like how I can be destructive at the crappy downtown store.

I can't seem to figure out what to do with all the ideas in my mind.  Should I write them down? Or act on them? Or leave them alone until a later time. 

Tomorrow I will go back to the Dollar General Store.  I'll buy a Lemon Tea and keep eating on the pretzel M&Ms I purchased today and left in my desk drawer.

That will be the highlight of my day.  The rest is really unreportable.  Unremarkable.  And I will go on.  Another day, another week.  The next year.  Perhaps in 3 months or 3 years, I"ll be similarly destructive.  Or, so busy with activity I won't have the time to devise such schemes. 

For now, I'll smile inside each day when I visit ... or even pass ... the Dollar General store downtown.