Let There Be Work

The computer screen glows with a soft blue backdrop. The table with the notepad sits at my left, as does my landline phone (yes, such contraptions still exist). I’m ready to work…except there is no work.

Is there any sadder, more pathetic tableau than an eager worker ready to work with no

work?

The foretold email came Monday morning. Changes were afoot, we were forewarned from the masters at the part-time, at-home copyediting job I’ve toiled at for a year. The harshness of those changes become painfully apparent after reading the email. My hours were cut, and not just by a little, but a lot.

My hours have fluctuated from between 18 to 24, an acceptable rate for a part-time job. This time, however, the cut in hours dropped to a shocking fewer than nine. Egads! Not only that, the editing queues I was switched to were clearly the dregs with very little copy to edit, ensuring I wouldn’t even reach that puny limit.

Thinking it may have been a misprint (yeah, right), I inquired whether those hours were correct. I sent another email to another supervisor, again asking why my hours were slashed so dramatically.

The responses I received were both hurtful and confusing. The one supervisor said the head honcho was concerned over my “mistakes” (more on that in a bit) and wanted me to improve my editing before I would be given any more hours.

Yet that very same head honcho later replied that those hours were the best they could do and that more editing opportunities may open up in the future. No mention of “mistakes.”

What is going on here?

Let’s first address the “mistakes.” (Apologies at the onset for what is surely self-serving and passive-aggressive excuses on my part.) Did I make mistakes? Yes, as does every copy editor. It’s the nature of the job — you only get noticed when you make a mistake, never for the numerous times you caught a misspelling or corrected a wrong fact or rewrote a horrible piece to make it readable.

Some of the mistakes were legitimate and on me. I misspelled a proper noun. Others classify as more subjective, and based on the preference of the head honcho. In some instances, style points were not clearly defined, at least in my mind. I could argue those points, but to what end?

To what end, too, can I ever hope to get back in the good graces of the head honcho? I know from painful past experience, once you get a reputation as a “bad” worker, it’s very difficult to change that perception (especially when your workload has been slashed to near nothing. How am I to prove any improvement?). Indeed, it’s nearly impossible. When I asked the head honcho twice to clarify what he meant when he told the supervisor about my mistakes, I never received a reply, which I think is disrespectful.

Yet I’m also getting a feeling there is more going on here than my mistakes. The head honcho’s first reply indicated there were cutbacks in assignments from the clients. And the supervisor also mentioned in a later email that the head honcho was under pressure from his bosses.

Yet as someone who has been laid off twice due to corporate budget cuts, I’ve become accustomed to being jerked around by bosses. None of this surprises me. In fact, the signs started about six months ago when they outsourced some of the writing responsibilities to the Philippines. (I kid you not.) Then they pulled out the go-to corporate cheap trick of hiring an intern (aka free labor).

This is merely the logical progression of vicious, zero-sum corporate cost-cutting. What’s next? Robots to write and edit the stories? What happens when those AI marvels make mistakes? Slash their hours? Replace them with a newer technological model?

I also wonder if the other copy editors’ hours have been slashed similarly. I thought about asking them, but thought better of it. It would be intrusive and they are under no obligation to tell me. Since I was the last one hired, I stood to lose the most hours versus the more senior copy editors. They have seniority.

I wonder as well, why go through this pretense of stringing me along? Do they want me to quit? If there is no money to pay me, then lay me off. Or, tell me there is no work right now, but there may be in two months and I can start up again at that time.

Hey, I’m a part-time 1099 worker for this company. Meaning, I receive no benefits nor do I possess any employment rights. When an employer wants to rid itself of a full-time employee, they typically make his or her life miserable in the hopes they will quit, thereby freeing them of any unemployment payments or severance pay. I know how this game is played. I’ve been there myself and seen it happen to co-workers.

But in this instance, that is not the case. They can let me go without any explanation or payment. Just a fare-thee-well email. So why jerk me around like this? It’s unnecessary and frankly, cruel.

Now, I’m thrust back into that same bad place I fell into after my two layoffs. One night, as I nestled my head on my pillow, tears stung my eyes: I’m stupid, I’m incompetent. I’ll never work again.

What do I tell my family and friends? That I was let go because of my mistakes? Then, they’ll think I’m stupid and incompetent. I know my sister. If I told her, and I haven’t yet, she’ll profess sympathy to my face, then cut me to piece in front of her friends. “Oh, my sister, what a stupid idiot.” Better to say my hours were cut and leave it at that.

I’m also irritated and ashamed of myself. I worked hard for this godawful company. I took on extra work when asked, toiled over the weekends, declined other jobs when offered, all because I felt loyalty to these bottom-line loving jerks. Ha! I was the jerk, thinking my hard work and loyalty would ever be reciprocated. When will I ever learn? Maybe now I have.

This whole distressing incident underscores how precarious my financial situation is as well. Between this part-time copy editing job and my content marketing writing duties, I was pulling down about half of what I made in my previous full-time job. Not flush by any means, but I was able to pay my bills without dipping (too much) into my savings. Now? Well, it’s going to be a lot tougher, and I’m not sure I can survive much longer.

Right now, I don’t know what my next move is. Right now, the fall chill has descended and my beloved Mets’ mangled season came to a jolting yet fitting end. I need time to think and let my simmering depression lift. Perhaps my hope of cobbling together two or three part-time jobs is no longer financially viable. Do I try for a full-time job — even though my chances of getting one are pretty much zilch at this point?

For now, I’ll wait a bit to see if the head honcho comes through on his hint of more editing opportunities and therefore, more hours.

Until then, I sit ready to work.