It happened again last week. I came across another coworker. carrying a loaded box. By their side stood a stern looking manager. Coworker sobs revealed the soul-ectomy taking place in a public hallway. Executive glares indicated I'd encroached on a confidential interaction and that I needed to do one of two things, leave or cease to exist.
This is hospice, where staff go to extra lengths to preserve people's dignity. Yet, a worker's core identity is at constant risk for random attack from above. Harsh judgement occurs in an instant, the penalty phase not so fast. It can take months for the wheels of mendacity to grind one's livelihood to litter.
Sitting in the eye of the discipline hurricane gave workers the impression things had improved, until devastating force struck from the complete opposite direction.
It seems two people are always on the hit list. When one leaves, another rises to take their place. Two left. That means two new names have ascended to the gates of executive judgement.
Toxic management: It's the Generic Hospice way. BYOB. Bring your own box, because, if the timeline's long enough, everyone will be gone.
StrangeTony
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