‘Going
Postal’ is an American English slang phrase referring to
becoming extremely and uncontrollably angry, often to the point of violence,
and usually in a workplace environment. The expression derives from a series of
incidents from 1986 onward in which United States Postal Service workers shot and killed managers, fellow workers, and members of the police or
general public - all because they had been threatened with the sack or had
actually been sacked.
We all react differently
when our jobs are on the line and when we have been terminated. Going on a
shooting spree is the extreme. Here in Uganda, most will probably grovel, plead
or cry. Some will do it with a degree of dignity while others just lose the
plot.
In my early days at The New
Vision when William Pike was still Editor-In-Chief, I heard whispers in the
corridor of a damsel who had been fired. Obviously she wasn’t going to go just
like that. She was going to fight for her job so she took herself down to
William’s office and sought to meet him. William being Irish and very
accommodating agreed to see her and no sooner was she was in his office, than
her Muganda self, fell to the floor and started wailing in the same manner as
happens at funerals. The wailing aside, she pleaded and rambled like she had
been hit by demons. The story goes that William had never seen anything like
that, and as so startled, didn’t know what to do except, offer her job back.
Of course I didn’t believe
the story! However, when the millennium broke, I got a gig in Munyonyo. Natasha
Karugire was launching her fashions – House Kaine and I was asked to supervise
the catering staff. In the pre-function area, as guests mingled including Mr
and Mrs M7, the catering staff walked through the guests offering finger bites.
However, there was Waitress with a platter of fish fingers who just looked
suspicious. Then all of a sudden she vanished. Scouting the room, she was
nowhere to be seen. I let it slide. Going for a drinks refill, behind the
counter, there is somebody crouching and when I peer over properly, its
Waitress with the platter popping fish fingers into her mouth like there is no
tomorrow. Is there any need to tell you that I fired her on the spot? No!
As I mingled, through my peripheral
vision, I see her making a bee line for me and without warning, she drops to
her feet, clings to my ankles, sobs and begs to be forgiven. With guests
looking on, I was snookered. There was nothing to do but tell her all is ok and
to go back to work.
A few years ago, and after
numerous warnings, I summoned Junior Colleague to my work station to tell her
that that her immediate future with the company was in doubt. Obviously she
apologized but this time another apology was not going to save her. Her file
was thick of warning letters, there were no signs of improvement and she had to
go.
In following with the theme
of today’s tale, is there any need for me to tell you what happened next? For
those who don’t get the gist, she ‘fell’ out of the chair and on to her knees
and started wailing. In between the wailing, came her life story of ‘being a
single mum, how life would be difficult for her and her kid, and that she would
be out on the streets because she has nobody to turn to. I had a quick glance
round the floor to see who might have noticed – one person had.
Waitress, as soon as the function was over
and the guests had departed, I re-fired her. And Junior Colleague? To be
continued...
Pictures: 123rf.com, nbcnews.com, houstoncronical.com
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