Stumbling in Flats

The saga continues. Yesterday, I was to go to The Office Of Doom at 9am for one last time (hopefully) to pick up my belongings, the memory stick and finalise details of my employment and dismissal. I’m all psyched up but I have no idea what I am going to face.

I arrive early and call on the off-chance I can get this over with. No reply. Ten minutes later, one of the bosses hurtles out the door, so I go over to see what’s happening. Barely casting a glance in my direction, he shouts over his shoulder that he will call me later, he has to leave. Nice.

I go home. Do I still have my job for two months? What’s going on? My mum comes over for coffee. We go over every possible scenario. At half ten, I call the office. I need to get this over and done with.

The office junior picks up. I ask if I can come in. Of course I can. She sounds bemused. Everyone loves a drama. Coward that I am, I take my mum. We go armed with two bags and an attitude. The office junior is alone in the office. Apparently the boss has gone out to buy a memory stick.

I pack all my things, and while my mum makes the junior a cup of tea (!), I divert my emails, scribble a quick letter explaining I have left my ID card and could the memory stick be dropped off later. Collecting my mum from the kitchen where she is washing up and bleaching the sink, we leave, balancing a plant and two bulging bags between us. I look back, remembering the awful times. It’s history.

But will the memory stick be dropped off? Am I still employed for two months as agreed? There’s been no phonecall, no recognition of my letter, or that I have been to collect my things. I feel humiliated and worthless. Am I really meant to be treated like this?

But no matter what happens, I have my freedom. And dignity. Which is a lot more than can be said for them.

Day three post-job, and I’m feeling great. You don’t realise how crap your life has become until the load is lifted. On Sunday I woke up dreading Monday. Another awful, nasty, bullying week in work lay ahead. A week of being snubbed, excluded, picked on and despised, just because I have multiple sclerosis.

Yesterday, I woke up and the familiar black pall of gloom descended. Until I remembered it was all over. Finito. I bounded out of bed, sang in the shower, skipped downstairs and just felt…good. This is how ‘normal’ feels.

My posture is better and I’m sure my skin is brighter. I’m not constantly wary of the next sly comment or wondering what scheme they will come up with next. I can see now that they had planned a systematic campaign to drive me from my job. First, stripping me of every single duty they could, leaving me with a job that was no longer sustainable. When that didn’t make me leave, a new campaign of exclusion, lies and snide remarks was cranked up. And still I didn’t leave. So I guess I won in the end. They were exasperated enough to sack me on very dodgy charges, in their hurry to just darn well get me out the place.

So, I’m feeling positive and optimistic. I’m looking forward to a better, brighter future. I’ve been whizzing my way through my ‘to do’ list, catching up on paperwork and generally just clearing the decks, mentally and physically.

The final hurdle will be going back to the Office of Doom today to pick up my things. I will just take a deep breath, gather my belongings, sort our some final points and look forward to that brilliant feeling I will have as I bounce down the stairs and leave. For ever.

Think I should tell them I’ve been spitting in their coffee all these months?

(Nah, I didn’t..honest)

And so it has come to pass. I went to work this morning and was called in to the boardroom (after I had made everyone cups of coffee, natch).

Both bosses and little old me. I was told my job was no longer tenable and it was for my own good that I should leave. Bear with me on this one.

I was sacked for two reasons:

First, my job is not viable any more. Thanks largely to being stealthily stripped of my duties over the last year, so I agree with them on that point. Second, my ‘health problems’ mean I can no longer work at the office. What if I were to trip? What if I am too tired one day?

I know this is highly illegal. I know I should fight. And I did, kind of. I asked to be allowed to stay for two months, until I found another job and to see me over Christmas. They will let me know their decision in a day or so. One boss seemed stunned that I couldn’t just go ‘straight onto benefits’ and even suggested the time I would now have on my hands would be a positive thing for me. A bit of space. He obviously lives in Daily Mail world where all disabled people on benefits sit back and coin it in.

I pointed out several times that I should have been offered the chance to bring a representative with me, especially as they are sacking me primarily on grounds of health and they had obviously had the whole weekend to construct a dismissal plan. Gratifyingly, this seemed to alarm them, but it’s cold comfort.

I am still waiting to hear back from my last job interview – hoping to get lucky. But for now, I’m going to take my big box of tissues, a family-sized bar of chocolate and a bottle of red wine, sit on the sofa and cry my eyes out.

(if this is your first visit to my blog – check out ‘Stockholm Syndrome’ post from last week – it’ll explain the background to this sorry tale).