The blood rushed to my face as they mocked me. The skin on my neck and forearms felt hot and cold. I didn’t know what to do with my hands, so I fiddled with the mouse and moved papers around on the desk. I wished I was anywhere else.
I watched them, the two girls, without making eye-contact. I watched them in their dark and baggy sweatshirts, skinny-jeans, scrunchies around their wrists, and long dark hair and nails. They snickered and then acted as though I wasn’t there, seated at a desk outside the principal’s office, working as a temp for the summer.
At 17, I worked as an executive assistant in my high school’s administrative office. I thought it would be fun and then realized I would spend my precious summer at school, behind a desk. But I wanted a summer job with some prestige, and good pay, and I liked the idea of peeking inside my high school’s inner workings.
I filled in for a woman who had just grown a head of bright-red hair, as she recovered from her last round of chemotherapy. She claimed she had never been a redhead before, and her smile suggested she delighted in the odds. The desk was big and sturdy, a carry-over from the previous decade, or the one before that, and sat like a formidable gatekeeper to the principal’s office door. My newly-redheaded mentor, whose low heels I was supposed to fill, dressed in skirts and blazers or slacks and sweaters, and I followed suit.
When the two girls walked in with a school-related question, I acted as though I was more like a schoolmarm than a peer. They found my attempt at maturity and professionalism hilarious, and laughed and joked all the way out the door. They were upperclassmen, and I was nervous. Who did they know, and who could they turn against me?
Jump forward seven years, and I sat at a table in a break-room inside a bank. I sat across from three fellow bankers and waited for our manager to begin our staff meeting. I should have known something was up. Two of the bankers were too quiet, and the other one, Janelle, looked at me with a “gotcha” kind of grin.
The meeting began and, out of the blue, Janelle accused me of sabotage and theft. I didn’t know what she was talking about. Janelle claimed our co-workers would support her story. I looked at the other two in surprise. I expected them to know me better.
Lynette, our manager, raised a hand. “No, wait.”
I exhaled in relief. She knew me better, I thought. But then Lynette did something I will never understand. Lynette said she would be right back. She left the room and left me seated across from my accuser and her supporters.
I looked at them, and they looked away. I asked them why they didn’t come to me with their concerns, and they declined to answer. Long minutes of tense quiet ticked by. When Lynette finally returned, I felt I had two choices: question Janelle’s sanity, or admit I forgot to deliver a phone message to Janelle — which served as the rabbit hole for Janelle’s convoluted theories. In the conversation that followed, guided by Lynette, we determined my mistake and my lack of malicious intent.
Lynette did not, and neither did I, point out the leaps it took to conclude I was out to get Janelle. To me, the thought made little sense. Janelle was a successful banker with a long client list. She was smart, beautiful, and professional without effort. What did Janelle have to fear from me? We didn’t explore her angst however, and the hat of the fool found my head a snug fit, and from then on Janelle treated me as though I was inept.
A banker was a good job, I reassured myself. The position would lead to something better within the banking industry, I felt sure of it. Also, I believed the situation between Janelle and I would resolve itself given enough time.
Two years passed. This was 2002 to 2004, during the height of the circumstances that would lead to the financial crisis, when it was easy for almost anyone to borrow money. Don’t be fooled — bankers are sales people. I thought back to my initial interview. I was asked what the word “integrity” meant to me. I thought the meaning behind the question was plain — as a banker, I would be the caretaker of other peoples’ money. I was mistaken. The interviewer delivered that question knowing I would be placed in a position where I would be expected to encourage customers to buy the bank’s products. I would be given a sales goal, one on which my job depended. The real question was, could I do the job and maintain my definition of integrity?
I struggled with my answer to the integrity question. I paused, looked up at the ceiling, and made gestures involving my heart. I knew where integrity should come from but, in truth, I didn’t know how to define it for myself. If I had known what integrity meant to me, I would have told Janelle, as soon as I realized it, that I forgot to give her the message. I didn’t want to appear foolish, however, and avoided admitting my mistake. My unspecified notion of integrity and my over-concern with appearances set the stage for the conflict, just like my laughable performance behind the desk outside the principal’s office at my high school. Also, when Janelle exposed my mistake, my expectation that my co-workers should know me better controlled my attitude and influenced my decisions.
“Everyone is leaving,” a teary-eyed Lynette mumbled one night, as she and I closed up the bank. Not everyone, I thought– just me, Janelle, and another banker. I had little sympathy for Lynette, though she came to my defense that day at the table. I suspected she, as our office manager, could’ve done something to prevent or heal the conflict between her employees. The potential of my new role as an education assistant at a hospital, and my impending freedom from the situation, prevented me from thinking more deeply about it at the time.
If I could talk to my past self as she went through the conflict with Janelle and discovered the role of a banker wasn’t what she thought, I would say:
- If you had a strong personal definition of integrity, how would it affect the situation?
- How do your co-workers define integrity?
- How would your attitude change if you had no expectations?
- Recognize all the knowledge and experience that got you to this point. Set your concern with appearances aside, and approach the situation with confidence. Be your imperfect but capable self.
- It’s never too late to define what integrity means to you in your job. When you do, you may improve or prevent conflicts between you and your co-workers. You may also discover the job doesn’t mirror your definition. In this instance, know that you have my permission to move on. I, your future self, will be grateful for the experience.