This diary began as a long comment in Monday’s CUA diary about bad bosses. I decided to expand it, and make it the topic of today’s post.
Back when I worked for the timber company that I sometimes refer to as Irrational Paper Company, I had two bosses who were role models for how I shouldn’t behave. One of them never took responsibility for anything. He always managed to be somewhere else when things went wrong. He never did anything bad to me personally, and he gave me no reason to hold any grudges against him. But even though he was 30 years my senior, he certainly did not have that many years’ worth of maturity on me. I definitely didn’t want to be like him.
The other boss, whom I’ll call Controlling Dude, seemed to be nice enough when you spoke with him. I’d known him for a year before being transferred into his department, and I was taken aback when a secretary told me, “Watch out, that guy is a tyrant.”
She was right, of course. For whatever reason, Controlling Dude chose me as the person to pick on more than anyone else. He called me “son” and attempted to be a strict father figure. At one point, he tried to force me into a lateral transfer (which had not even been approved by his bosses!). No raise, and “maybe” he could help with moving expenses. He was adamant about my moving to one specific small town that sat beneath the acrid smokestacks of a giant paper mill. It wasn’t even our company’s paper mill; it belonged to a competitor. I refused to go along with his game. He wanted to fire me, but he had no authority to terminate me for refusing something he didn’t even have the authority to demand.
Later on, I was legitimately transferred to that position, with a nice raise and a month’s pay as a moving bonus. Controlling Dude still tried to make me move to that one town, even though a larger city was within my work area. No other forester in the company was under any such restrictions. After several futile meetings with Controlling Dude, I drove to the regional office, and told the head of Human Resources what was going on. This was a total breach of protocol, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
It was the death knell for my career, and I knew it. The informal slogan for Irrational Paper Company was “Don’t rock the boat.” I had rocked the boat until water was spilling over the gunwales. The Powers That Be put notes into my Permanent Record, that I was not a model employee because I was unwilling to meekly accept injustice and indignity.
About two years later, Controlling Dude (a two-pack-a-day smoker) decided to actually leave his office long enough to observe one of his crews as they conducted a controlled burn. He had a massive heart attack, and was dead by the time they got him to the nearest hospital.
There are various sayings, attributed to Mark Twain and others, about attending a funeral to make sure the guy was dead. I didn’t need to quote Twain. I did it all on my own.
Controlling Dude was replaced by one of the most professional bosses I’ve ever had. But my fate had been sealed by bucking the system. When it came time for another round of layoffs, my name was prominently featured on the list.
When I was let go, I had mixed feelings about the event. Had I stayed on with Irrational Paper Company, and somehow remained in the good graces of upper management, my career path would have been blocked by older foresters whose offices had been closed. They had been shuffled into other positions, and now they sat above me in the company flow charts. Raises would be few and far between (or far and few between, as folks in that part of the country were fond of saying). Promotions would not be forthcoming until the older cohort of foresters retired, if they came at all.
I was ready to move on with my life. But moving on was complicated by the fact that I had a house and a couple rental properties. This was the mid-1980s. Interest rates had been astronomically high (I was paying 10-12%), and they were finally coming down. But I couldn’t refinance because I had no job and no credit. Property values had plummeted in east Texas and nearby locales, and some of the properties were underwater. It was a very tough time.
But I got through that tough time. I ended up in Oregon, where I found work with a forestry consulting firm. I really did not try to find work with another timber company. The handwriting was on the wall – the big companies were laying off employees, and using consultants on a part-time basis to replace them. It was time to reinvent myself and go to the consulting side of the fence.
Working for the consulting firm gave me the chance to see how a small business operated, as opposed to the mega-corporation I’d previously worked for. I saw the good and the bad, the successes and the mistakes. I learned the value of billable time, and the importance of finishing a job when it was promised. And I learned not to be embarrassed to put the invoice on top of the stack of documents that were sent to the client.
After a few years, I was sent to Georgia to open an office. I was not eager to leave Oregon, but the money was good. I had to reinvent myself as an office manager in the South. But that wasn’t as difficult as it might seem, because I had lived in the South before, and had run a small office before.
Eventually the time came for me to go into business for myself. That was 15 years ago. It was a smooth transition because I had prepared myself. At first I worked exclusively with Georgia clients. The brutal Georgia summers caused me to question that business plan. Why not work in the Northwest during the summer? I had business contacts there; I knew my way around the countryside; I knew about the timber species and markets. Why not put that knowledge to use?
Beginning in 2005, the Pacific Northwest again became a big part of my life. I’d drive across the country, making myself at home wherever the work happened to be. There have been plenty of adventures and misadventures, making for great memories (and more than a few DKos diaries).
Each time I make a transition, I try to use it as an opportunity to reinvent myself. I try to leave some emotional baggage behind, and replace it with thoughts and habits that make my life better. Make new friends, have new adventures.
In about five weeks, I will hit the road again. I’m already thinking about what to pack, and what to leave behind. How about you? Do you reinvent yourself from time to time, or do you prefer to keep things the same?
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