On Friday, with one hour until I ran from my office with arms flailing, screaming "FREEEDOM!" with Mel Gibson-esque precision, the overly-wrinkly and under educated Office Manager shuffles out to my desk and leans over me like a buzzard. Only not as pretty. I have the rogue thought of "If I spray her with Febreeze wrinkle releaser, will that make her taller?"before she annnounces, "Well, Holly, I hate to do this out here, but..."
Five minutes later she has explained to me that I will be doing all the duties as required as well as coming in for the additional 2.5 hours a week.
"So... they aren't compromising at all," I say.
"No, not right now. They will review it later and make a decision based on your work," she says, peering down on me with eyes that have seen some 70 years of history pass by.
"So... that means they will never give me a higher raise," is my retort.
"They are under the impression that there is a lot of idle time out here," she began before the phone rang, interrupting her now defunct point.
"Sometimes, yes, other times, no," I say and smile. "Listen, I'll think it over and let you know first thing in the morning. I'm sure you did everything you could to help me out and I really appreciate it," I lie through my teeth.
I can either compromise myself and tuck my tail, accept the raise and bow my head.
Or I can quit.
With heavy heart and fast-typing fingers, I drafted a detailed email to the partners letting them know that my decision was not an easy, or expected one.
I will then issue my two-weeks' notice.
I will be the ninth person to leave the tiny law firm in my three years of employment, and the third one in recent months.
Wish me luck....