When I went to see about my job, I was completely unsurprised to find that I was still on the schedule, even after all these months. My floor supervisor came over and asked me to sign off on several hundred coaching tickets, 198 of which were concerned with my AWOL status. I signed each one with the same copy and pasted statement:
I will remember to call the toll-free sick line whenever I am going to miss or be late for a shift.
“Your stats are pretty low, uhhhh … what’s your id number again?”
He glances at his Palm Pilot, “Right, Morton, your stats are pretty low. I’m putting you on a Quality Improvement Plan (QIP), let’s work on your call time today, ok?”
“Alright, get to the phones, I’ll be back to monitor later.”
Geez, not even progressive discipline? I was expecting at least a verbal warning. Gun nut Billy waves to me from the opposite desk. “Hey Mort, I’ve got another dumbass on the line, begging me for credit - can hardly speak English. Nya-myum-blam-blehmmmm! Learn to talk right, you dumb fuck!”