8.
He declined the opportunity to try for the position. Then, two weeks later, as the interviews were about to begin, he was called in for his performance evaluation with Sandra.
It was pretty dismal. Although judged to be performing at a satisfactory level, there were numerous criticisms of his typographic detail, proofreading and following of instructions. Most insulting was the addition, at the end, of a performance plan specifically requiring that Carl not spend time talking with fellow workers about anything but work details.
He bristled inside. Sandra tried to blunt the edge on her critique, but her attempts only convinced Carl that her supervision performance was being judged here, by Kris, and perhaps Laura, too. She was being required to crack down on him. Of course she said nothing about this, and Carl stubbornly refused to ask it. But at the end of the document, below the places where Sandra and he had to sign, there were two other spaces with typed-in names of reviewing authorities. Kristin Fulton, administrative analyst, who was Sandra's direct supervisor, and Laura Schwartz, assistant director, who was in charge of all personnel matters for the Purchasing Department. They would review and sign the evaluation after Sandra and he were finished. The gods who sit in judgement of mortal clerks. Artemis and Hera. Diana and Juno.
The same two women who would choose the next contract aide. The same two women who had previously chosen Cerise. He gritted his teeth and signed the damn evaluation, even as he promised himself that within the required two weeks, he would submit an appeal.
He also refused, from that day forward, to talk with anyone in the office about anything except purely work-related matters. Within two days Sharif himself appeared at his desk and asked why "Doctor Carl" had become so glum of late. Where were the jokes, the funny greetings, the puns and double entendres Sharif had regularly heard second hand, via others?
"I was told in my performance evaluation that I talk too much during work time," he answered.
A tiny nervous tic flinched at the corner of Sharif's mouth. The typist decided to let his biggest boss know that he -- Carl -- was only playing a game. Smiled at Sharif, and with a condescending tone of voice, said, "I suppose it's a little case of sour grapes, actually, on my part."
Rakelford relaxed. Carl imagined he now realized there would be nothing worse than bad feelings from his little typist. Not anything particularly dangerous. No post office massacres here. "Well, my door is always open, Doctor Carl, if you have to talk."
As the director walked away, Carl Wilson' eyes followed him back down the hall toward his office. Sharif leaned over to mutter something to his secretary, then went into his private quarters, and shut the door behind him. Carl burst out laughing at the irony of Sharif's words and actions -- his door is always open -- Pero no! -- But not! Then he clamped a hand across his mouth and looked around. The other clerks and typists were smiling wryly at him. They are wondering how long I can keep up my show of sullen spirit, he thought. How long before I crack and fall back to my normal, joking self.
One day before the required deadline for filing an appeal (according to the City of San Miguel Personnel Manual) Carl gave a memo to his supervisor, Senior Clerk Sandra Graves, informing her that he was thereby appealing the performance evaluation she had given him. He was feeling particularly peevish as he noted in the memo that she was required to furnish him with certain materials, including full explanations of the appeal process. He wrote down the page numbers of the Personnel Manual where it said she must give him that information. He laughed, silently, bitterly. Felt like Jean-Luc Picard quoting the treaty to the Shellioc Corporate. "Pursuant to article such-and-so, sub-item thus-what...."
Of the many petty bureaucratic actions Carl Wilson has performed in his life, that memo was right up there among the most petty of all. But he was protecting himself. The performance evaluation would sit in his personnel folder until the end of time, and he was not about to let stand the worse criticisms without fighting to have them erased or re-written. This was a question of sheer animal survival, raised to a level of petty bureaucratic sentience (if indeed it is conceivable to use those two words -- bureaucrat and sentient -- in conjunction with each other). Nevertheless, in the best Darwinian sense, when the choice was presented of fight or flight, Carl chose now to fight, within the narrow limits allowed by the Personnel Manual and City of San Miguel Civil Service Commission.
He continued being very quiet at his desk, refusing to join in the other clerks' verbal joking whenever it broke out. They were beginning to get a little upset with him for being so morose, and a number of the buyers, too, when they came to ask a question about the bids or quotes he was working for them, mentioned his seeming bad spirits. One buyer appeared to become infected with Carl's glum temper when he wouldn't banter small talk with him. Another turned her head and departed in a huff, muttering something about the damn department management.
Meanwhile, the interviews for Cerise's replacement continued. But Carl could not care less about that, now. That was the sourest grape of all. He had waived the opportunity to interview because he believed Laura and Kris would never select him. Now that he was being utterly sullen, refusing to engage in small talk with anyone, and insisted on appealing his performance evaluation -- which they had already signed and returned to him -- he knew more than ever that he would never be chosen for anything by those women.
To be honest, Carl believed that even he would not chose himself for anything, after the way he was acting. But he also was sure that this was the only way to achieve his end: to change the text of the evaluation. Still, in the evening, at home, writing in his journal, he was surprised by the amount of frustration that poured out onto paper. By shutting his mouth he had deprived himself of one of his greatest pleasures. He wondered whether the price he was paying was worth the question of a few words bending one way or the other. After all, he had been judged satisfactory. There was no way they were going to fire him. But he screwed his courage to the sticking point, and persevered, and waited. I might never have another chance to play Hamlet, he reflected... or was that Macbeth?
Besides, one day this year he would go to Hollywood. He certainly had no illusions about that future escapade ever solving anything, but... it was a pleasant daydream.
On the last possible day for a response to his notice of appeal, Sandra called him into her office. She was smiling as she gestured for him to close the door and sit down. He was relieved, in that instant, to feel that he actually liked her. If they had not been able to communicate and share many laughs in the preceding year, this moment might have been extremely uncomfortable. But the subtle curve of her smile told Carl that she thought things would work out. He also thought he detected in that smile a certain victory she may have gained in her struggle with Kris over the proper way to discipline her typist.
"Carl, I have had to talk at length with Kristin over how we should handle your appealing the evaluation."
Bulls-eye, he thought. It would take all of their heads together just to decide how to deal with one little clerk. He smiled, selfishly thanking God that he was basically a likeable guy, believing himself one of their easier problems to deal with. In that instant he heard -- in his head -- an echo of Laura Schwartz mouthing a classic piece of management propaganda: There Are No Problems, Only Opportunities. Carl nodded to Sandra, silently asking her to continue.
"I did not realize that a satisfactory evaluation could be appealed, but after researching the regulations, Kris decided you were completely in your rights."
Excellent. Sandra had convinced Kris to do the research and make the judgement call. His brain was racing, the engine of intuition shooting flames in every direction. Kris was in this process, right up to the top of her head. And Sandra wanted him to know it.
After the briefest of pauses, Sandra continued, "Evidently any comment contained within a performance evaluation can be appealed, regardless of the overall rating given."
Carl nodded, intensely curious how they were going to handle this. In seven years with the City he had never gone this far with any personnel action, never had cause to feel so unjustly criticized.
"We decided it would be appropriate to change the wording of some of the comments you find more objectionable, but still give you an overall satisfactory rating." Now she waited for him to respond more concretely.
Savoring the subtle taste of a very petty victory, Carl spoke at last. "I think that would be acceptable."