Milton Waddams-ed. v. to have one’s job responsibilities and job slowly and systematically taken away from you without one noticing or acting.
At one of my former places of employment, we had a Director. We’ll call her Melinda. She was in charge of different events that were put on throughout the year, namely two large events, one really big and one suburban.
The organization at the company was such that there was the Big Boss, then a few directors, then associate directors and so forth and so on. She was, given that structure, considerably senior in the organization.
As I mentioned, her main duties were two large events throughout the year. Nice woman, Melinda. Sweet and dumb as a stump, but a bit of a worker and knew how to get people to do a lot for her. Other than one event failure in three years, she generally met and exceeded the requirements of her job. She wasn’t, as was the office culture, embroiled in any of the nonsense and avoided gossip. She was generally innocuous. Until it was time to throw someone under the bus.
The Big Boss, who will surely be the topic of columns in the future, had made a habit of throwing people under the bus to avoid too many glances in her direction. She couldn’t lead a fish to water, but she was in charge of our company and whenever it became evident that under her leadership we were failing MISERABLY, she predictably found a charge to go after, build a case against and fire.
Melinda was her latest Target.
And thus, our office became a living, breathing version of Office Space and her systematic Milton Waddams-ing commenced.
Step One.
A new Director – a Senior Director (a shiny new title!) – was brought on to oversee Melinda and one other Director. This was a brand new position that made absolutely no sense and wasn’t affordable given our financial failures at the time. Furthermore, as the responsibility had been hers before, it meant that Big Boss had less to do (which was saying something) while maintaining her significant salary.
Step Two.
The office space itself was small and there were only a handful of offices with doors. I, who was not a Director, but an Associate Director, had one as did my neighbor, who was also an Associate. We were the only two non-Directors with offices, if you don’t count the ghetto-ass but untouchable “admin” who worked only to find ways to avoid work. (She clearly had an office with a door, how else was she to shop, talk on the phone and IM without interruption?! Be sensible.)
The new Senior Director had been hired and was starting in the next week. Clearly with a title as big as that, they would need an office. Big Boss played like she was considering moving different employees but at the end of the day, Melinda would be moved. To a cube. People junior to her, including the waste-of-a-salary “admin”, and to be fair, myself, were left in offices with doors.
Step Three.
Of the two major events Melinda was responsible for, the largest of them, was taken away from her and given to an outside firm – one that costs money to use. Her MAIN JOB RESPONSIBILITY was being given to another and they were paying them in addition to paying her. More than that, and without telling her, the new Senior Director was the liaison for the event, looping Melinda out of all talks about the event, meetings, everything.
Watching from the sidelines for the six months that they Milton Waddams-ed her, I was growing increasingly furious with her for not seeing what was being done to her. You would try, as much as you possibly could, to say, hey, doll, they’re packing you up over here, notice anything? Ever seen Office Space? Hang on to your Swingline, sister, you’re in for it.
Step Four.
Then came That Friday. I had heard grumblings that after six months of torture they were finally, mercifully going to give Melinda the heave-ho. Knowing that information makes going to work that much more nauseating.
When I got to work, I learned almost immediately, that when Melinda got up that morning she immediately went to check her bank balance, as she did every payday. When she signed in, she was perplexed to see not one, but two pay deposits in her account for approximately four to five times her normal earnings. Honest to a fault, she chalked it up to error and decided to call payroll when she got to work.
When she got to work, she dutifully called payroll immediately. She explained that something was wrong and, after reviewing her pay stubs online, she had been accidentally paid out all of her vacation. The clever and classy Human Resource representative jumped into action and inquired: “Have you not spoken to Big Boss yet? Today is your last day.”
She then went to Big Boss to learn what on earth was happening to her only to find Big Boss and Senior Director in a meeting. That lasted hours. They made her wait. And wait some more. They waited until after lunch to tell her to her face that she was being let go, even after having received the call from Human Resources that she was aware of what was happening to her.
She’d been Milton Waddams-ed.
I still hope she sets fire to the place.
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