I was staring off into space this morning (as one does in retirement), pondering what I was doing exactly one year ago. And it wasn't pretty.
I had just spent the previous two years plugging away at (no lie) the absolute shittiest job I'd ever landed -- and after multiple careers spanning more than 40 years, that's saying something. The previous January, I had given them a 60 day notice (sixty days, who even does that!?) because I knew it would take awhile to recruit and train someone new, and at that point I still cared enough about my program to want it to succeed.
Sixty days came and went as I hired and trained my replacement. They asked me to stay on a bit longer, because it was time for state monitoring, wherein they conduct a full audit of your documentation for the previous year. It was stressful, because I had been the only person assigned to the program for the previous year. It had previously been a 5-person team covering 5 counties -- but for a host of reasons (Covid, a tight operating budget, etc) throughout most of my tenure I covered the 5 counties myself, showing up in churches, senior centers, nursing homes doing education and outreach, while also recruiting, onboarding and managing about 30 volunteers, and of course, documenting every little detail for the monitors.
Everyone expected the audit to be a disaster, but it turned out I had done a passable job on the documentation.
By that time, my relationship with [one of our grant funders] had become untenable. I could spend vast amounts of pixels harping on what a disaster it was, but I have neither the time nor the stamina. You'll just have to trust me on this: I tried absolutely everything to deliver for those people, to reach them, to be one of the team! And I have never, not once, not ever, worked with a team of people more bereft of basic life skills.
Perhaps this explains why things went awry when I, my immediate supervisor, and the executive director of our agency were called before the Grant Managers Tribunal (not its real name!) to "clear the air about some things." It seemed they didn't much like my attitude, and even hinted darkly that that they thought I was inflating our reported numbers.
At which point, after two years of steady abuse from them, I kindly invited them to go fuck themselves. I stopped all work connected to them from that moment on. I don't think I ever responded to another email from them, since by then I had already hired my replacement to do that.
Contrast this with what followed the next month in another meeting, with a completely different set of grant funders from the [the other grand funders.] The relationship with this team was much better and more productive. Under their grant, we helped screen older people for eligibility for food stamps and Medicaid. That program had been shuttered by covid and also by new rules with the Department of Children and Families that crippled our program. Nevertheless, we'd been able to reopen for business and had begun that work again. And we were assured that the grant for this work would continue.
I dutifully wrote up the proposal to renew the secondary grant, compiled our documentation from the previous year, and sent it up the chain of command.
On my last day of employment, I sent a reminder to all of the stakeholders: So long maddafackas, and DON'T FORGET TO SEND IN THE OTHER GRANT RENEWAL!!!
Two months after I had left the organization, I got the word: the secondary grant had not been renewed. No one had bothered to send in the paperwork. The result was they lost a quarter million dollars in grant funding for this year. A couple of my former staffers had to be let go. My former supervisor was fired. None of us have spoken since.
* * *
I'm a big boy. This wasn't my first time at the rodeo, I had taken on difficult situations before. Back in the day, before I'd gone back and finished the degree, before I had any real "career" experience, before I had any real track record of delivering the goods as promised -- well, I had made a career of the thankless. I took on the ugly projects, the gnarly SNAFUs, I worked for the impossible bosses no one else liked, and I made them like me.
But this gig? This one ended me. To be honest, I really thought I could turn it around. I had always been "a fixer," and I was confident I could fix things there. Sadly, I had underestimated how determined DOEA and our own inept senior executives were to drive the program further into the ground.Yes, yes, I know how that sounds: "Was it not possible that the problem wasn't them, Dumbblog? Is it not more likely that the problem was you?"
Listen, I've made my share of mistakes, plenty of 'em, but I've always been willing to take my lumps. I'll just point out that prior to this experience I'd had nothing but glowing reviews from my colleagues, and also that for those two years, I delivered the goods for them. Our client contacts remained consistently high, our corp of volunteers remained stable and active, we sailed through a very detailed audit, and I had the other program's funding secured for another cycle -- until they lost it.
I beat myself up constantly at that place, agonized over every bad thing. Everything that went wrong was (in my mind) entirely my fault. I went home every day from that place with acute anxiety. I literally lost fucking sleep over it. There are a lot of reasons for how and why that environment triggered tf out of me, and that was in addition to my parents dying, my relationship ending, and my trying to stay sober.
But here's the thing: I delivered. The fact is that despite everything, I not only performed the entire operation myself two years, I actually did surprisingly well. The numbers don't lie. When I finally left, eight long months after my notice of resignation, the program was humming along nicely.
The fact that I didn't kiss their asses enough is entirely beside the point.
* * *
Living well is the best revenge, or so the old adage goes. And I do live well. I have my groups, my hobbies, this seemingly endless book I'm writing. I'm in the (early, still very early!) twilight of my life, I'm in good health, and not entirely broke. I'm content with my past career(s) and their outcomes. I'm doing quite well, thanks for asking.
But it still bugs me. I'm not used to my gigs ending badly. The whole experience there, almost from the first day, was truly surreal in its awfulness. And it bothers me that my former crew lost their jobs. It bothers me that old ladies, my former clients, still call me needing help these long months later (pro tip: never give your personal phone number to elderly, home-bound clients -- they will never stop calling you.)
I've let it go. Really, I have. But jeezus, I did everything I could to save that program. It didn't need to be this way, and it still bugs me.
Anyway, shut up all of you. Let's never speak of it again.
No comments:
Post a Comment