Either that or he's just trying to save face in front of his boss by using me as a scapegoat.
"I don't need someone to check my work, I need help in general," I say firmly. "None of the other marketing teams are made up of only one person. The company has grown significantly in the past year, which means marketing demand has increased, and I'm not able to give each document the attention it needs because of that. Every document should have at least two eyes on it to avoid situations like this. And with the engineers not providing enough information, the time spent on these documents is—"
"We can't hire anyone else right now," Mr. Templeton cuts me off. My eyes widen at both the rude interruption and the blatant effort to shut me down. "We can revisit that idea at another time but for right now, we need to deal with the issue in front of us. And going forward, I expect you to pay closer attention to your work."
A red haze clouds my vision and I'm sure they can see that I'm seething. But I'm so beyond caring that I just nod.
Mr. Templeton turns to the lawyer on his left and motions for him to begin.
The lawyer opens the folder in front of him before fixing me with a firm stare. "The first step here is obviously to remove that datasheet from the website and anywhere else that we can pull it down. Our team is handling that. The good news is that the competitor caught it quickly, so your customers haven't had a chance to share the document very widely. That might work in our favor—they might not be able to claim damages or much of a loss of revenue. I'm going to push for a settlement so that this doesn't make it to litigation, but if they find any way to prove that this was willful, or if they really want to push this to the max, they might take us to court for statutory damages. It isimperativethat you do not talk to anyone about this. You say one wrong thing to the competitor or their lawyer, and we get taken to court for hundreds of thousands of dollars.Do not talk to anyone without me present.Do I make myself clear?"
I glare at him. I know he needs to talk to me this way, but I hate it anyway. "I understand."
He nods in approval and turns back to Mr. Templeton, who fixes me with a stern look. "Make sure you do as Sam says. This is costing us enough money as it is, so we don't need anything making this even worse. Please let myself and Sam know if anyone tries to contact you about this." He motions to Brian. "For the time being, you will submit all of your work to Brian for approval. Please check your work going forward. You won't be let go because of this, but I expect that it won’t happen again."
I'm so furious that all I can do is give a stiff nod. I know I made a mistake and that they need to do damage control, but I'm being treated like an incompetent child. Not to mention this could've been avoided if my boss cared to listen to any of my suggestions. And on top of all of that, I should begratefulthat they're not firing me. I can barely hold back my angry sneer.
Brian is the last to chime in. "You and I will meet again later today to discuss this further."To further scold you and to talk about your punishmentgoes unsaid. But the message is clear: even though companies hire lawyers and have money set aside for exactly these kinds of issues, I'm still going to be severely punished.
The meeting ends abruptly. At some kind of unspoken signal from Mr. Templeton, all three men stand and exit the room, leaving me sitting in shock at the conference table.
I didn't exactly expect someone to tell me'it's okay, it could happen to anyone,'but I can't help but feel hurt that there wasn't a single positive message or appreciative comment throughout that whole meeting. No one to tell me I do a great job otherwise, or that the company is perfectly equipped to handle this kind of thing. After all, copyright lawyers exist exactly because this is a common issue.
Instead, I once again feel like I'm undervalued by my company, and like the only purpose I serve is for others to bash me. It's the same story with my boss, the engineers, even the people that sit in the cubicles around me that don't care enough to talk to me unless they're teasing me for one thing or another. I'm completely unappreciated in every part of my work. Even though I'm damn good at my job.
Eventually I stand from my seat and go back to my cubicle. I spend the rest of the day on autopilot, working normally while my brain is lost in very different thoughts.
I think about my dreams in college. I think about my career up until this point. I think about my 5/10/20 year plan and where I want to be, and what I want to be doing.
I think about what makes me happy, and what makes me miserable. I think about the fact that I spend almost sixty hours a week doing something that I absolutely hate, and only eight hours a week in the gym being actually happy.
I think about what a horrible ratio that is.
I'm lost in my thoughts all day. I'm quiet throughout my entire existential crisis—as I work, as I go out for lunch, even as I talk to coworkers. I dissect and analyze everything in my life for my entire Monday workday.
Brian sends me an instant message at 4:00 to come to his office. I no longer feel angry or hurt—I just feel calm and sure of myself. I close my laptop and make my way to his office.
"Have a seat, Remy," he says by way of greeting. I close the door behind me and sit down in the chair he indicates. My calmness remains even as my boss leans forward on his desk, a smug expression appearing on his face as he clasps his hands together and gets ready to deliver what is most likely a verbal lashing.
"As you're aware—" he begins.
"I'd like to give you my official two-week notice," I interrupt, much like he and his boss kept interrupting me this morning.
Brian's eyes go wide. He clumsily leans back in his chair, looking physically taken aback.
I wait patiently for his response.
"Remy, just because you're in trouble doesn't mean you need to make any rash—"
"That's not why I'm doing this," I interrupt again. "This is not me trying to get away from any kind of legal consequence. I will still deal with my mistake. But I no longer want to work here, so I’m giving you my two weeks’ notice."
He stares at me, wide-eyed, for a few seconds. I'm sure this isn't the way people usually resign, so it looks like he's struggling to figure out what to say to me.
"But… why?" he finally asks.
"Because I'm unhappy. I don't like what I do." I spear him with a steely glare. "And without trying to burn any bridges with this company, I have to admit that I did not mesh well with anyone here."
He swallows roughly, and I'm sure that he caught my not-so-hidden meaning. Despite his comments this morning, he knows how unsupported I am and how much the engineers take advantage of me. Not to mention he has to be aware of his own role in this game. Or lack thereof.