The HR Lady
No one likes HR, but she didn't deserve this
I had to read Moby Dick in high school. It was a terrible book, honestly, but I loved the opening line: “Call me Ishmael.”
Even at the tender age of fifteen, I knew I’d have to adopt similar language when introducing myself. It would never be, “Hello, my name is Theresa Cooper.” Instead, I resigned myself to the cagey, nonspecific greeting, “Call me Tess.”
And they all do. They know to call me Tess. They know I’m an HR consultant and that’s it.
In an odd way, I’m lucky to have acquired my stalker so early, before I had invested in a career, bought a house—all that. I knew when I reached adulthood that living in one place, having a stable nine-to-five, having a relationship… these things were not for me.
Freelance human resources is the ideal job when you don’t want attachments. Traveling from city to city, mitigating people’s work-related squabbles. The company I contract with sends me a file for a company, usually somewhere in the Dallas/Fort Worth area. I make an introductory phone call to the client and then I’m in my truck on the way to the worksite. Nobody bothers me, nobody questions me, and nobody remembers me after I’ve gone.
The client I’m working with now, Excelsior, is a large nonprofit with a multitude of personnel issues and walking in those doors every morning exhausts me, more so even than other nonprofits.
Those types of companies don’t have their own HR departments. Or if they do, it’s one overweight lady who’s just wiling away the next three years until she can start collecting social security.
Here’s a free tip: If you interview for a small company and they tell you “we’re like a family here,” run away and never look back. You’ll thank me later.
So far, I’ve resolved a lot of the issues at Excelsior with minimum difficulty, but today, we’re dealing with the hard one, and I’m ready to be done with the company, to be honest.
All of their problems could have been easily avoided by acting like adults, which is why I hate most of them. I get through my days by keeping my face neutral and my mouth shut. The clients think that means I don't judge, so they like me. They sing my praises and write me good reviews on my contracting company’s website. But they're wrong.
I judge them unrelentingly. Just silently.
Dwight was waiting for me when I walked through the double glass door. I don’t remember Dwight’s last name because when I tried to use it, he waved his meaty hand at me and told me they were a first-name-only shop. Because they’re like a family, you see.
Dwight was the CEO and founder of Excelsior and I strongly suspected he started the company with his daddy’s money. He stood with his hands on his hips in the entry-way, out of breath from the brief walk from his office. Overweight and with small, piggy eyes, Dwight was the type of guy who probably had a hat with a Confederate flag on it and had at least contemplated buying those truck balls for his tow hitch. So gross.
I plastered my most convincing smile across my face and held out my hand. “Good morning, Dwight. You look ready to go this morning.” It was a statement, but I raised my pitch on the last word, giving it the sound of a question. No one can ask WTF as politely as I can.
“Well,” Dwight huffed. “We’ve had another incident.” His cheeks were mottled and red, both from his anger and from the effort of walking from his office. It’s an unfortunate complexion to have. I have the same one, but being a woman, I can coat my face with foundation and color corrector, mostly avoiding the tell-tale flush of anger.
“Okay,” I said soothingly. “Let’s talk about it in your office. Can I grab some water for the two of us on the way?”
I had barely bumped his office door closed behind me before Dwight started ranting. “It’s bad enough she filed that bullshit lawsuit. That’s bad enough. But now she’s defaming my character on TikTok!” He screamed the last word, smashing his fist into the wall for emphasis.