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I lift up my left arm—which is still in a cast—and show it to him. “No, Mr. Doyle.”
“Are you coming tomorrow?”
This is like talking to a monkey. Only worse.
“Mr. Doyle, does it look like my cast is going to magically disappear by tomorrow? And that I’ll suddenly be able to lift boxes?”
“Don’t. Talk. Back. To me!!” he barks.
“Then don’t ask me these questions!” I reply, feeling like I’ve truly reached the end of my rope.
“Are you trying to tell me that you actually expect me to sign something that will allow you to miss more workdays?”
“No. Nothing’s changed. I have two months of medical leave because my left arm’s in a cast. This has been the situation from the beginning. I don’t understand. Why are you angry right now? You knew about this,” I tell him.
“Did you do this on purpose?” he asks me idiotically.
“Did I do what on purpose? Break my arm?”
He waves a hand through the air as if to point out the obvious. “I have the suspicion that you did this on purpose to get out of work. And to sabotage my business!”
This feels like déjà vu.
I stand there, in front of him, still holding the papers, not entirely sure how to answer him. “Mr. Doyle, please, this is ridiculous. Are you actually accusing me of breaking my arm on purpose? How would I even do that? Just so I could take two months off?”
“You just wanted me to be forced to pay you for two months off so you could do nothing but be lazy!” he continues. “You’re sabotaging my business!”
“No. I’m an employee who was injured in your store while working for you. I’m not sabotaging your business. In fact, instead of accusing me of such nonsense, you should be thanking me for not suing you!”
He looks startled for a moment as if this thought never crossed his mind. His face softens a little, but he refuses to back down. “Miss Williams, why don’t we forget about this whole thing? Come back to work today and I’ll sign your papers. Maybe.”
I feel a wave of resentment wash over me. The conversation I had only a few minutes ago with Carol prepared the grounds for my frustration. “Mr. Doyle, I’m done. You are the worst boss in the world. You can’t even show the basic signs of human decency and compassion for an employee who broke her arm while working for you. Not only that, but you seem to think that there’s some sort of conspiracy at play here to sabotage you—as if you and your store are the most important things in the universe. It’s truly disgusting. And I don’t want to spend another minute in your crummy store. I quit. I’ll email you these medical papers. And don’t you dare not sign them! Because I will sue you!”
I storm past him and rush out of the beauty store without waiting for his answer. Thoughts mingle madly in my head—pieces of the conversation I had with Carol, my fight with my boss, the questions she asked me about Evan … It’s like a choir that will not stop singing in my mind.
Outside, the Boston traffic makes it all worse.
Buzz. Buzz.
I startle at the sound of my phone ringing before collecting it from my purse.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Dolly, it’s me. How’s your day? I called to remind you that you have an appointment at the hospital in a few days. The cast is finally coming off!!” Evan hoots over the phone.
“Evan? I just quit my job.”
“What? What do you mean you quit your job? Are you alright? What happened? Did that Doyle man do something to you?” He sounds alarmed.
“No, no … I mean, yes. But no, not like that,” I babble.
“What happened?”
“I don’t know. He refused to sign those papers from the hospital and then he accused me of breaking my arm on purpose to sabotage his stupid store.”
As I tell the story to Evan, I feel tears coming through, not of sadness, but of frustration and exhaustion.
“What? He said that to you? Emmy, listen to me. This was the right decision. That was not a good job, and you know it. That man has been exploiting you for years. I’m proud of you for finally quitting!” he says.
