Passed Over

This story is by Mary Gould and was part of our 2024 Spring Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here.

“Passed Over”

 

 

“Always the interim, never the manager.” The words like an irritating tune would not leave my head and the knowledge that Friday afternoon meetings were famous for bombshells did not lessen my anxiety. I looked at the colorful balloons, congratulation and best wishes banners and my insecurity resurfaced. It was curious that neither the cake nor the banners had a name or occasion. This fueled further speculation that the managerial position could go to another candidate. The sumptuous spread of different cheeses, sandwiches, chicken wings, chips and dips, shrimp, and various finger foods begged the question why the Director deviated from the typical ice cream and cake celebration.

“The food is excellent. You should try the shrimp.” Doris said to me. Her plate was loaded. Always the first in line at every food spread.

“I’ve a gut feeling, you got the position.”  Supervisor Downing said. In the ten years I have known her, her gut had never been right. I thanked her and turned to greet employees with pretended nonchalance. I could feel eyes on me and hear whispers; employees were taking bets against my getting the position. Everyone knew I wanted the job, interviewed for it, and expected to get it. After all, I was the acting manager. “The interview is a mere formality.”  The Director had assured me.

My friend Cynthia interrupted my reverie. Her red mohawk made her look like a superhero. “I dreamt you were at a huge feast last night.”

“Was I hosting or serving?”

“You were eating.”

“So, what does that mean?”

“Prosperity and abundance, my dream book said.”

“Could mean I was stress-eating.”

“She squeezed my hand. “I am getting some food. Want anything?”

“Water.”

“Be right back.”

I nodded.

In the last ten years, I was passed over for  manager not because of my performance but because the Director’s friends or family wanted the positions. And of course, I was relegated to be their assistant until I was transferred again to manage and develop training tools, find solutions for customer service problems, and improve employees’ morale. I had become the fixer unworthy of validation and promotion. My consolation prize was an outstanding performance evaluation and directions to seek promotional opportunities as they become available. The irony.

Do I sound disgruntled? You bet I am.

Ever the optimist, I hoped this time would be different.

“If the Lord wants you to have this position, you’ll get it.” Eloise said loudly. Her platitude for every disappointment or failure.

I retreated to a corner trying to be inconspicuous.

“I wouldn’t accept this job, if they pay me three times my salary.” Thomas announced. He too had interviewed for the job.

“I’m back.” Cynthia whispered as she handed me the water. “I see Thomas is preparing himself for disappointment.”

“Thanks.” I said taking the water. “Can’t say I blame him.”

“Here she comes.’ Cynthia said, indicating the Director.

The Director was not wearing her usual black suit; she wore a red dress.

“Power play.” I whispered.

“Insecurity, I rebuke you.” Cynthia said, imitating Eloise.

“Hush, she is speaking.”

The Director greeted everyone and then said. “As you know, Sandra Green has been doing an excellent job running the Real Estate Division. Give her a round of applause.” My staff  hooted and hollered their approval. My eyes were fixed on her, my anxiety coordinated with my tumultuous heartbeat.

The Director gestured and a young woman wearing a red dress walked to her side.

“Meet my daughter Theresa, the new manager of the Real Estate Division. Sandra will be her assistant and for all her hard work she will be given a five per cent raise.”

A gasp could be heard around the room. Someone shouted, “Duped Again. Girl, you need holy water or something.” Laughter and pretended coughs dominated the room.

Once again relegated to assistant manager, this time to a millennial boss ready to crack the whip with Mommy’s blessing.

I ran from the room, crying. Humiliated. Again.

Cynthia followed me. “I’m so sorry, Sandra. Did the Director told you she changed her mind?”  Cynthia asked.

“No, but I should have seen it coming. You know from my experience and her patterns. Will I ever learn?”

 

                                                            #

 

A year later, I sat in Theresa’s office reading my annual evaluation. My eyes scanned the pages hitting the highlights, quantity, and quality of work, interpersonal, people, and customer service skills. All satisfactory. I needed an Above Satisfactory score or better to get a raise.

“Why have you reduced last year’s rating from outstanding to satisfactory?” I asked.

“This is not about your long tenure with us.” Theresa said.

“Tenure? This is about performance.” I said harnessing my temper. “ This is not fair. Not only did I manage fifty employees as an interim manager, but I also  trained you to take over the job?”

“Satisfactory means you are doing your job.”

“I know what satisfactory means.”

“Obviously not or you wouldn’t be questioning your evaluation.”

“Be reasonable Theresa, I’m the one who….”

“Taught me the basics. Why does everyone keep reminding me of that?” She plopped a piece of gum in her mouth.

I smiled.

“What are you smiling about? I will have you know mom; I mean the Director gave me an outstanding rating across the board.”

“My training must have counted for something.”  I continued. “I don’t agree with the ratings. You haven’t pointed to a single instance where the quality and quantity of my work warrants such punitive reduction.”

Her mouth hung open. At least she stopped that incessant chewing. I signed my name and in the comments section, wrote that I didn’t agree with my evaluation. My passion for the job   rewarded me with outstanding evaluations from my superiors and glowing testimonials from customers and peers─ I could always count on that much. Until now. I was at a crossroads. They would never fire me, but they would not promote me either. And claiming discrimination would short circuit what is left of my career.

I looked at my boss, young, beautiful, and realized management was getting younger and younger. For a decade I worked without a promotion or a substantial raise, selling my self-respect and hoping team play resulted in fair play. Pigeon-holed as the office joke, the punchline and the Boss’ punching bag, the damage to my psyche was considerable. How could I work another year for my gum-chewing, cellphone obsessing, self-serving boss? My fingers digging into my left palm gave me a clear insight into work-place violence.

Resisting the urge to snatch the cell phone from Theresa’s hands and yell, didn’t your mother teach you manners? I took a steady breath and said to her. “I’d like a transfer to the North branch.”

“That’s out of the question. I need you here.” Besides the Director must approve transfers.”

“Then run it by her.”

“Why do you want a transfer?”

“Oh, the usual, a promotion, a raise.”

“I see. I like to anticipate questions from my boss, so I’ve all the facts when she asks for them. Oops, I’m giving away one of my trade secrets.”

“You mean one of the trade secrets I taught you?”

Her face reddened.

“Come on, Theresa; the transfer will do both of us good.”

“Or else?

I laughed. “I  know the Director does not like discrimination suits. I expect word about that transfer in two weeks.”

She didn’t  reply.

A future without Theresa. Nirvana. No more looking at that blank face when a decision or strategy is needed. No more cringing, when she opened her mouth to ask a dumb question or implement an unintelligent idea that I had to tell her was no good to prevent her from embarrassing herself and the department. No more stealing my ideas and passing them off as hers. Do not get me wrong. I like young managers but hate unprofessionalism. I picked up my copy of the evaluation and headed to the door.

“Good afternoon, Theresa.” She neither answered nor looked at me, riveted to her infernal cellphone. I wished I had the power to set it afire  and watch it burn her hands. As I left Theresa’s office, I realized being passed over was a crutch to justify my complacency and fear of taking risks. What happened to me? My expectations bottomed out. It had taken me ten years, but change was imminent.

 

A month later, I opened my own real estate company, turned out my knowledge, experience and customers’ testimonials counted with the bank. When I resigned, Theresa begged me to stay. I was offered a managerial position with a twenty percent increase.

I declined the offer and added. “You are mistaken, Theresa. A Satisfactory evaluation does not entitle me to a promotion or a rase.”

Surprised, Theresa dropped her cellphone breaking the glass.

The cellphone had not burned her hands, but the fantasy was close enough.

More importantly, I finally became the manager of my own career advancement.

 

*****