Stumbling in Flats

After waiting a whole morning, the memory stick is shoved through my letter box in a plain envelope. The boss knew I was in but couldn’t be bothered/wasn’t polite enough to knock the door and have a civil conversation. No acknowledgement of my letter, of dropping my ID card off, clearing my stuff from the office. No ‘hey, thanks for working for us for two years’.

I can quite honestly say that I have never, ever been treated so shabbily in my whole life. Being sacked for having multiple sclerosis is bad enough without all this game-playing on top of it. At least I have been polite, left without a squeak, but in my own way I have kicked ass. I defended myself in the boardroom when I was unexpectedly sacked on Monday, when the two bosses had so obviously been planning it for weeks.

I specifically told them I should have representation but was turned down. I negotiated two months grace. I calmly collected my belongings. I kept in touch and was blanked.

This has been a humdinger of a week. I am an emotional wreck, high on coffee and stress. After a year of bullying, they got me out. I am angry, sad, grieving, furious, melancholic, all in equal measure. I need to calm down, think rationally and create a new plan. I am struggling not to take it personally. How can I not?

Maybe the writing was on the wall when I spent a week in hospital for MS treatment over the summer, and was on sick leave for three weeks (statutory sick pay, the bare minimum). Not a Get Well Card, not a phone call or visit. No communication whatsoever.

It’s the small things that hurt the most. In our little office, we buy chocolate eclairs when there is a celebration. Guess what I found in the fridge on Thursday when I was clearing out my stuff? A big box of them. Wonder what they were celebrating?

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.