by Ruth
I’d been working for a major pharmaceutical company for over twenty years before I was laid off. Throughout those years, I had many memorable experiences, but none stayed with me as much as an otherwise routine performance review issue that happened in the year of my layoff.
This incident haunted me so much that I wrote it into my memoir, The Way We Forgive. The following is an excerpt:
Familiar footsteps echoed in the hallway. Andrew halted outside my door. “Great. You’re in your office.” He entered and pulled out a chair to sit. “I stopped by earlier and didn’t see you.”
I rocked back in my chair. “I was in the lab.”
He broke eye contact. “You’ve been with the company long enough. You should know well about the process of our annual performance review.”
What? Was he serious? Didn’t we conduct our performance review in March? It was only October.
While I kept quiet, he coughed and laced his hands together in his lap. “I know it’s still early. But the guideline is that you can’t wait till the last minute to tell your subordinate he doesn’t perform. Every department must identify poor performers each year. I took a look recently. Suzuki is my first pick. Starting today, you need to talk to him about his poor performance.”
Heat crept into my chest. I knew the process well. If an employee received a lousy performance rating for two consecutive years, he would be fired. But Suzuki? One of the best researchers I’d ever encountered. His data were always accurate.
I straightened my back and swallowed hard. “Suzuki’s performance has been excellent. Before we joined your department, he received the highest rating continually. He hasn’t lapsed. Everyone appreciates his work ethic and his outstanding data.”
Andrew inclined his head, then wagged a finger at me. “I don’t care what he used to have. In my department, having good data isn’t enough. Suzuki lacks communication skills. He can’t give a proper update about his results. Think about it and let me know your decision.”
The ice in his voice skittered down my spine. Yet I understood his point. Suzuki spoke English laced with a heavy Japanese accent.
After Andrew left, I paced around my office, then dialed my husband’s number and told him what’d happened. “We all know Andrew is a bully. To be honest, I fear for Suzuki and myself.”
Ken’s audible sigh reached my ears. “I probably shouldn’t say this. Since you gave in to his unreasonable request and added his name to your papers last month, I suspect he’ll demand you do something unacceptable again.”
I couldn’t find my tongue and twirled my hair around my finger instead.
Ken spoke in my silence. “We try to honor God in whatever we do. It isn’t easy. But you shouldn’t give in because you’re afraid. I will pray for you and ask the Lord to give you courage and wisdom.”
Come back next week for Mediocre Evil (Part 2).
