Ah, yes. Freedom.
Just around the corner...
The company's doing everything in it's power to make sure I don't regret this decision.
They accidentally paid me for the full two weeks I was gone, where they'd meant to just use up my vacation hours and pay me for those. As it turns out, I spent that second week at a job-related conference, and brought back training materials and special show pricing for the benefit of our graphics department. Their policy has always been to pay for your time off when it goes that way, but since we didn't explicitly discuss this event ahead of time, and I'm not scheduled to come in anymore, they opted out of this gesture, instead deducting the difference from today's paycheck.
Now keep in mind, I hold their life in my hands. They've gone out of their way to not bring in a qualified replacement, and they've buried everyone they expect to take over for me in so many unrelated tasks, there's been no time to train them. Despite all my efforts to document everything, I'm the only person in the world who can help them when things break down.
I have no obligation to do so.
I've done everything I could. My conscience is clear.
So, it's really in their best interest to treat me nice on my way out.
Now, this all relates back to a few conversations I've had with the bosses.
- Most recently, one expressed her frustration that one of the accountants keeps having to call me to redesign reports because the business model keeps changing. "That's just the reality of the way you do business," I explained. "If you just decided on a plan and stuck to it, everyone's job would be easier - especially yours." She knew this, of course. But what she wants is a magical back-end interface which allows her untrained employees to make unpredictable root-level changes on a whim without disrupting everything that's come before. And to my credit, I have since designed that. It's part of the new database, and will never be implimented. Anyway, she had one such employee in mind, because that person surfs the web all day every time a wacky decision out of left field causes me to rebuild everything from the ground up, and they don't want to pay both of us for that time. Which makes sense. But, if one of us was superfluous, I have to think it's the accountant whose job function I've reduced to three mouse-clicks a month (but who still brings home over twice my salary).
- The last conversation I've had with the other boss was in October. He had asked us to write essays about what gets in the way of doing our jobs, and what can be done to change that. I took the assignment more seriously than he did, apparently. I offered suggestions like "Taking lunch from 1-2 saps our productivity for about an hour every day while all we can think about is how hungry we are. We would accomplish more if allowed to eat earlier." So, he singled me out for a "How dare you complain when none of you are worth what I'm paying?" lecture. And that's a hard question to answer, since he's not paying most of us half of what our replacements will cost, or a tiny fraction of what we're worth.
Simply put, they don't respect what I do for them.
And that's fine. I'm leaving.
But, I could destroy them in an instant with three lines of code, so it's probably better to not fill my last moments at the console with reminders of all the reasons why they deserve it...
I won't, but I could. It'd be so easy...
Ah well. I'll just have to content myself with watching them drown later when they're begging for help because all the life preservers floated away while they refused to reach out for them.
I'll cringe at the run-on sentence, but I'll still enjoy the metaphor.