My days at work are numbered?

My days at work are numbered.

That statement no longer is the question I often turned it into when the thought of leaving this place first surfaced. Fueled by the unknown (can I find another job?), accelerated by the uncertainty, (how will I pay my bills?) and strangled by the fear of hopelessness and danger (NO HEALTH BENEFITS!), I remained at this depressive and stagnated job for two years.

The Director I adored working with is gone, driven out by VP’s who were not impressed with her leadership style and fancy excel data spreadsheets. She made the place tolerable and kept me busy with work, so busy that no time existed to socialize with staff I did not care to socialize with. She was fair and treated staff who gossiped about her horribly with fairness even though she overheard what they said. She understood my personal trauma, took the time to find out about its source and although we did not discuss it, it was understood that working at this place was in some way therapeutic.

The Director who took her place does not deserve to earn 70 grand a year but he is here and she is not. He had connections and smooth talking ways. He’s a peacock.

All fluff, wearing all the colours of the rainbow suits lacking in substance. He’s also a pimp daddy for he wore a full-length mink coat all winter.

To wear such a get up to a homeless, mentally ill and substance abuse women’s’ shelter, in my opinion is disrespectful and insensitive.  But, I guess he can for he is the Mack daddy-who can’t work a Xerox! He gossips about staff, mimics the speech of clients’ in front of them, and passes his workload down the line of staff until it is all gone. Then time to sit back, close the office door and watch movies on the tablet.

I do not work for a city shelter. I work for a non-profit organization that is funded by Medicaid and the city. The ex CEO is under investigation for embezzlement of Medicaid funds and earned approximately 60 grand a month while the staff received no cost of living increases or raises. Our Christmas party was potluck!

I will miss the clients who at times are inspirational in their
accomplishments against such unfavourable odds.

I will miss my easy 2-mile walk to work.

Will I miss working for this company when my day comes? No. Will I miss my co-workers? No. Will I miss Big Peacock Daddy? H to the ell and n to the o!

Most importantly, I will not miss the metal detectors that greet me every time I step through the doors of the place I will not affectionately remember as ‘the place where I used to work’.

**Pictures courtesy of the internet.