Dont Mince Words

Bonuses and any type of employee recognition can be tricky. I understand that. I come from the school of thought that you should make it thoughtful or make it matter… or don’t bother.

After years of working in dot com, I was used to good bonuses, and I’m not talking about the frozen turkey or the canned ham of the 1980s. Good, new wardrobe or a European vacation kind of money. When I moved to L.A., those bonuses disappeared when I became a contractor.

Flash forward to Christmas 2007 when I was back in the ad agency world. I was so excited when I heard checks were going to be handed out at the party. I opened the envelope, looked up, looked down again and said to my main gay, “what am I going to do with $200 in Los Angeles?” He said, “I know. I heard they were way better last year.” The housing crisis had started to hit then, so I cut them some slack and ordered my bonus online.

“What did you get,” asked my main gay.

“I bought a vibrator with a 12-foot cord. I’m tired of buying batteries,” I explained. Let’s face it. The purchase was very symbolic of my bonus.

Flash forward 10 years later. I checked in with my main gay and wished him a merry christmas and also let him know my bonus was still alive and well. When he asked what my employer gave me this year, I reluctantly had to admit I got the same thing I give my dog walker – a $25 gift certificate to Target.

“Are you kidding me? Why did they even bother?” he said.

I don’t know. I do know my dog walker was much happier than I was, but he doesn’t walk my dog 40 hours a week.

It takes years and years to master the art of trusting your instincts. You don’t take candy from strangers and you certainly don’t take drinks from guys that look like they can get bulk discounts on GHB.

On Friday, I had a job interview that was scarier than a white windowless van with no license plates. I had heard tales. I’d read the GlassDoor reviews. But I needed a reason to get out of my yoga pants and put mascara on.

When I walked into the lobby, I immediately had AIG survivor flashbacks without the Wall Street tinge. Leather sofa and chairs with brass rivots and buttons. Traditional Queen Anne tables. I could smell the middle-aged white guys. They were here.

After I checked in, I sat in the old leather to discover the only reading material in this oh-so-corporate lobby was Jesus lit. There were no trade publications, Wall Street Journal, local newspapers, or even a People freaking magazine. The Jesus lit was on the coffee table, fanned out. It was on the side tables. It was on every horizontal surface I could see. This was the June issue with daily lessons “to help you connect with God every day.”

I don’t have any issue with faith-based organizations or corporations that choose God as one of their core values. Own it like Chick fil-A and Hobby Lobby and let the consumer decide. While I am a lapsed Lutheran, I’ve been a big city girl for too long and crave diversity in the workplace.

My interview hadn’t started and I already had “material” with more on the way. I asked my would-be boss, who has been there 17 years, a standard marketing question.

“I know your competition varies from region-to-region but what would you say is your unique selling proposition in this crowded marketplace?”

Without hesitating, she answered “We are the largest, private, family-owned XX in the nation.”

That’s no reason to believe or buy for the marketing bible told me so.

Rather than take a Silkwood shower after my 2.5 hour experience, I took communion in the form of moonshine. It seemed like the proper thing to do. Then I called friends and asked “have you ever….”  I received a chorus of OMGs and NEVER with a resounding “you can’t work there.”

When you trust your instincts, it’s easy to walk away.

My biggest fear when I moved to Virginia in the winter was exercise.  I know, I know. But in Santa Barbara and Los Angeles I did a lot of walking and hiking. To move and immediately get hit with single-digit temps was scary.

Five additional pounds later and I developed a solution based on my age and physical capabilities. Your Layoff Lady of Leisure / Heiress bought an elliptical trainer. I created a home gym in my second bedroom. I hate going to gyms and this is the only piece of equipment I’ve always loved. In a week, my FitBit tells me I’ve gone 45 miles and shed 2.5 pounds. I credit new sneakers and a reduction in my Cougar Town-sized glasses of wine (except when it snows).

I’m not sure what you are supposed to do when you inherit money, but I know my mom, who has told me to lose weight my whole life, would have approved of this purchase. Giving up excesss volumes of wine? She’d question that.