The Aerie

Fuming

Oh, it's like they're trying to drive me mad.

I'm working at my current client thanks to a consulting firm I've never met. Everything has been handled by telephone. I've never set eyes on one of their representatives. Which is too bad, because at this point I'd like to slap one of them.

It was bad enough that when I took this job they gave me a flat rate that was 20% less than when I was doing the same work for my prior client. When I pushed back and noted that their rate hadn't changed since a colleague of mine held this position five years ago, they were unimpressed and unwilling to discuss raising the rate. Unfortunately with no other prospects immediately available, my bluff was called.

However, my current rate appears to be 100% lower than my prior position, because so far I'm not getting paid.

Their invoicing process was explained to me when I called in at the end of the first week: go to a website, fill out a web form, get your money two weeks later. I did that. Three weeks and three web forms later, no money. So I call their accounts receivable.

"Oh, we don't log into that website, it's too difficult to get access."

WTF?

"No, you have to print out a copy of the web page and fax it to us."

Well, this was new. So I contacted my manager at this firm, and explained my need for payment. She agreed to immediately take my faxed invoices over to payroll. I zoomed home from work on Friday, painfully aware that the consulting firm in Michigan was an hour ahead, and faxed the invoices over. I called the manager, who said she'd immediately get them off the fax and process them.

Fast forward to Monday. Being busy at work all morning I didn't get to phone the manager until 2:00.

"Oh, I'll go see if those are on the fax machine."

Apparently "immediately" has a different meaning in Michigan. In Michigan, Jesus was crucified and died "immediately," e.g. three days later. I waited an impatient half hour while she claimed to be dealing with the situation, and called her back. She put me off, claiming she needed to return to her desk, and eventually called me back.

"Okay, it's all ready to go, they're ready to cut you a check."

Great.

"Unfortunately the Vice President who signs the checks is out of the office until Wednesday."

At this point I'm vibrating so hard with anger that my molecules are starting to slip through those of the floor and I'm in danger of sinking straight into Hell. Considering that my life is spent in a taupe cubicle amidst a field of identical taupe cubicles, a quarter-mile from the nearest window, about the only difference I might notice in Hell is that I would apparently have a better chance of seeing a paycheck.

"About how happy should I be right now?" I whisper in my most hoarse and dire tone.

She mumbles through some lame apology and makes helpless comments when I suggest that any senior executive must be able to sign checks. What would happen if this vacationing fellow was hit by a bus, does the business just shut down? She signs off, promising to "look into it," which of course is a promise I find just about as compelling as Bush's promise that after one more Friedman unit we're sure to see the victory of his victorious victorosity in Iraq.

I take a short walk to recover my senses, and when I get back to my desk I decide to cut to the chase and called the central number. "Accounts receivable, please."

There I spoke to the same sneering accountant that told me last week that logging in to their billing website was too much bother, and that I should print off the web pages and fax them in. She lectured me on their billing processes, while my newly-recovered cool threatened to evaporate: I was only able to keep calm by reminding myself that anyone this self-righteous was bound to be a twit. Finally she shut up for long enough to say "I'm not really concerned about future invoicing, I'm concerned about my paycheck."

"We'll mail that Friday."

"I'm leaving for England on Friday."

Hem. Haw. Point at rules. Oddly, no mention of missing Vice Presidents.

"We'll get your check in the mail for you to receive on Thursday."

"Okay: please mail me a confirmation when you send it so I know to expect it."

Like turning off a burner on a whistling teakettle, my fury began to drop in pitch.

"Urge to kill fading... fading..."

Then I got the e-mail from my soon-to-be-former accountant... Then I got the e-mail from my lawyer who is handling my five-figure lawsuit against a fellow who didn't pay me three years ago...

"Urge to kill rising... RISING..."

(Update: my cubicle neighbor across the aisle is on the phone discussing her husband's failed vasectomy and her own ovulation-related medical issues. I may soon run screaming from this place...)

Posted by Albatross at March 19, 2007 3:23 PM | TrackBack