Enough Is Enough
Before I moved to Cleveland, I had a coworker who was going through a hard time. She wanted to advance her career but was being held back, she was having trouble keeping up with her mortgage payments, and she just ended a relationship with another coworker, and that made her work life pretty miserable. I tried to be a friend, and lent her a sympathetic ear.
She wanted to be a programmer, but wasn’t given the training or any opportunity to learn. At the same time, I would be assigned tasks that were to last me a week, but which would only take me two or three days to complete. From the beginning, I had told my employers when I would be moving back to Cleveland (since my husband’s residency was ending at a definite time), so after repeatedly asking for more tasks but being given none, I found ways to make the tasks last longer. I would browse the web, and later was reprimanded for wasting time and not working (despite not being given enough work to do and deciding, after a couple of months of asking, that it was no longer up to me to offer to go the extra mile).
But anyhow, one thing I did to make my tasks take longer was to train this coworker. I could program some small bit of functionality in about two hours, or I could take five hours teaching my coworker and assisting her in the programming. I figured that since I knew I would be leaving, and the group would be down one programmer, that I would save their busy butts (who would stay late every night, while I would leave at 5 and didn’t feel bad leaving since I never got enough work to keep me there even that long) from having to find a new programmer to fill my spot if they already had someone trained and good to go. Well, I got reprimanded for that too. But at least, for a couple of weeks, I could spend the whole week working.
But really, this isn’t about me. This coworker, I soon discovered, seemed to relish the role of the victim. She was miserable, but wouldn’t do anything to improve her life. Fear, I’m sure, had a lot to do with her unwillingness to change, but despite any encouragement I or anyone else might give her, she feared changing and failing more than she hated being miserable. She was poor, yet spent over $2000 on a really romantic Valentine’s Day gift for this coworker boyfriend whom she had been dating for maybe a month (I have yet to spend close to that much on my husband of almost twelve years). When the group we worked for – it was a small division of a larger company that decided to launch a new product (a small division that, a few months later, was down from twelve people to two) – moved to a new space downtown, I decided I had had enough (I was also belittled for having a college education; amongst those in the group who did have college degrees, I had been the only one with a computer science degree) and got transferred to the company’s IT department. My coworker, the one whose ex-boyfriend would be one of eleven people moving to the new space, went with them. She spoke with human resources, but apparently nothing came of it.
We lost touch after the move. We met for lunch once or twice, but since the conversations would always be the same, I stopped trying so hard to schedule the lunches. And, I have to confess I haven’t been in touch with her at all since moving to Cleveland. I wish her well; I hope that she is where she wants to be in life, but honestly, I doubt it.
I’ve discovered that I have very little patience for compulsive complaining. The way I see it – and perhaps it is a bit Marxist – if you’re unhappy with some aspect of your life, do something about it. If it affects someone else (like a spouse), then the two of you should figure out a way to make things better for both of you. Now, if someone doesn’t want to be happy, fine. That’s perfectly acceptable. But part of that is accepting that other people may not feel the same, and may not want their own happiness drained by being around a negative person (at least not me). Change is good. So if, at the very least, you change what you’re complaining about, then maybe I’ll listen with a sympathetic ear.
No, I take that back. If your problems just get bigger and bigger because you refused to do anything to fix them when they were smaller, then no, I probably won’t feel much sympathy. This coworker, after the division moved, would complain via email and instant messenger about how she was an outcast and how lonely she was. Now, she went from being in a building with 300 employees to being around ten people who had worked with her ex-boyfriend longer than with her. She put herself in an awkward, dead-end situation (working for a boss who she already complained was preventing her from advancing her career).
I like to think I’m a good friend, but evidently I have high expectations of my friends. I can tell right from wrong, and will defend my friends’ choices, if need be, and will not judge them. Someone may believe differently than me and that’s fine. It’s not my life to live, it’s not my business to judge. And if my advice is sought, I will give it with no expectation of it being accepted. But if I’m drawn into a situation, and asked advice, then I would expect that the advice be considered. If it’s not acceptable, then I’d like to know why (I too like to grow and learn and keep an open mind). But if my advice (or that of anyone else) is ignored, and life doesn’t change at all (let alone for the better), and six months or a year later, again you come seeking a sympathetic ear for a situation you’ve done nothing to change, then I’m sorry, but I’ll have to start being obnoxious. Sarcasm, ridiculous suggestions, a little ridicule, and changing the subject will most likely be the tools that I use. Perhaps next time I’ll come up with some more. But nice and sympathetic will probably cease to be words that describe me. Which is sad, because that is who I try to be.
But you know what? I’m done. I’ve done my complaining and I’ve moved on. So I don’t think I need to say anymore. Because otherwise, I may have to start tuning myself out.
She wanted to be a programmer, but wasn’t given the training or any opportunity to learn. At the same time, I would be assigned tasks that were to last me a week, but which would only take me two or three days to complete. From the beginning, I had told my employers when I would be moving back to Cleveland (since my husband’s residency was ending at a definite time), so after repeatedly asking for more tasks but being given none, I found ways to make the tasks last longer. I would browse the web, and later was reprimanded for wasting time and not working (despite not being given enough work to do and deciding, after a couple of months of asking, that it was no longer up to me to offer to go the extra mile).
But anyhow, one thing I did to make my tasks take longer was to train this coworker. I could program some small bit of functionality in about two hours, or I could take five hours teaching my coworker and assisting her in the programming. I figured that since I knew I would be leaving, and the group would be down one programmer, that I would save their busy butts (who would stay late every night, while I would leave at 5 and didn’t feel bad leaving since I never got enough work to keep me there even that long) from having to find a new programmer to fill my spot if they already had someone trained and good to go. Well, I got reprimanded for that too. But at least, for a couple of weeks, I could spend the whole week working.
But really, this isn’t about me. This coworker, I soon discovered, seemed to relish the role of the victim. She was miserable, but wouldn’t do anything to improve her life. Fear, I’m sure, had a lot to do with her unwillingness to change, but despite any encouragement I or anyone else might give her, she feared changing and failing more than she hated being miserable. She was poor, yet spent over $2000 on a really romantic Valentine’s Day gift for this coworker boyfriend whom she had been dating for maybe a month (I have yet to spend close to that much on my husband of almost twelve years). When the group we worked for – it was a small division of a larger company that decided to launch a new product (a small division that, a few months later, was down from twelve people to two) – moved to a new space downtown, I decided I had had enough (I was also belittled for having a college education; amongst those in the group who did have college degrees, I had been the only one with a computer science degree) and got transferred to the company’s IT department. My coworker, the one whose ex-boyfriend would be one of eleven people moving to the new space, went with them. She spoke with human resources, but apparently nothing came of it.
We lost touch after the move. We met for lunch once or twice, but since the conversations would always be the same, I stopped trying so hard to schedule the lunches. And, I have to confess I haven’t been in touch with her at all since moving to Cleveland. I wish her well; I hope that she is where she wants to be in life, but honestly, I doubt it.
I’ve discovered that I have very little patience for compulsive complaining. The way I see it – and perhaps it is a bit Marxist – if you’re unhappy with some aspect of your life, do something about it. If it affects someone else (like a spouse), then the two of you should figure out a way to make things better for both of you. Now, if someone doesn’t want to be happy, fine. That’s perfectly acceptable. But part of that is accepting that other people may not feel the same, and may not want their own happiness drained by being around a negative person (at least not me). Change is good. So if, at the very least, you change what you’re complaining about, then maybe I’ll listen with a sympathetic ear.
No, I take that back. If your problems just get bigger and bigger because you refused to do anything to fix them when they were smaller, then no, I probably won’t feel much sympathy. This coworker, after the division moved, would complain via email and instant messenger about how she was an outcast and how lonely she was. Now, she went from being in a building with 300 employees to being around ten people who had worked with her ex-boyfriend longer than with her. She put herself in an awkward, dead-end situation (working for a boss who she already complained was preventing her from advancing her career).
I like to think I’m a good friend, but evidently I have high expectations of my friends. I can tell right from wrong, and will defend my friends’ choices, if need be, and will not judge them. Someone may believe differently than me and that’s fine. It’s not my life to live, it’s not my business to judge. And if my advice is sought, I will give it with no expectation of it being accepted. But if I’m drawn into a situation, and asked advice, then I would expect that the advice be considered. If it’s not acceptable, then I’d like to know why (I too like to grow and learn and keep an open mind). But if my advice (or that of anyone else) is ignored, and life doesn’t change at all (let alone for the better), and six months or a year later, again you come seeking a sympathetic ear for a situation you’ve done nothing to change, then I’m sorry, but I’ll have to start being obnoxious. Sarcasm, ridiculous suggestions, a little ridicule, and changing the subject will most likely be the tools that I use. Perhaps next time I’ll come up with some more. But nice and sympathetic will probably cease to be words that describe me. Which is sad, because that is who I try to be.
But you know what? I’m done. I’ve done my complaining and I’ve moved on. So I don’t think I need to say anymore. Because otherwise, I may have to start tuning myself out.
posted by BrainHickey | 11:27 PM
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