I have been sacked twice in my life. Both times, I didn’t deserve it but I did nothing about it on either occasion and have let it fester in my mind ever since. Today was one of those days when I remembered how I had been mistreated and this time I decided I would do something about it – blog it. Whether this post has any use for anybody I don’t know, but feel free to comment your own experiences below. We can all have a grumble together. How very British!
The first time I got sacked was when I was 14 and the job in question was a paper round. Hardly something I could take to an employment tribunal I know, but it still stung nonetheless.
I quite enjoyed my round, the money was OK and the Christmas tips were excellent because most of my round was council estates. I had previously done a round of much more expensive dwellings in the countryside and received almost no tips. Certainly it’s true that the working class share what little they have whereas the upper class hold on tight to what they’ve got. I digress. The problem came when I broke my leg. It was quite a bad break and I spent a few days in hospital and had a minor operation as a result. This was followed by about 10 weeks in plaster. Obviously, this injury precluded me from being able to do my round, so I phoned the paper shop I worked for to tell them. I was wished a speedy recovery and thought nothing more of it.
When my leg healed and I was ready to resume my morning round, I phoned the shop again to let them know I could restart and was told to come in the following Monday. Now that I look back, there was probably some surprise in the voice of the lady in the shop, but being young and innocent at the time it didn’t really register. The shop was owned by a chap and his daughter and prior to this experience they had always been pleasant enough. When I went back to start the paper round again she was definitely off with me and I put it down to me leaving them in the lurch by being off for so long.
After about a week back on the job, I was introduced to another boy one morning who I was to take on my round and show him the ropes. I was told that he would be a cover boy for the days when any of the regular boys and girls were ill, so he was learning all the rounds. He was with me for a few mornings, during which time I ascertained that he was related to the owners of the shop. Then, one day after completing the round as usual the lady (I use the term loosely) in the shop phoned me to “let me go”. I asked why, and she responded that there had been lots of complaints of papers not being received. I knew this to be a complete falicy. I was conscientious in my work and did my round efficiently, quickly and accurately. But what do you do? I was 14. I didn’t have a clue what to say and I was already panicking about what to tell my parents. Sure enough, they weren’t happy at all, and Dad was so unhappy with the feable explanation given that he phoned the owner of the shop, who proceeded to tell him that I looked “half asleep” when I came in the shop in the morning and that because of this he had concluded that I was “on drugs”. My Dad then proceeded to grill me on where my “stash” was. I had to start work at 6am, of course I was tired! But drugs? What a horrible thing to say!
Of course it’s completely obvious what happened. The boy I had to show round was none other than the boy that my round had been given to, because they never expected me to return to work. When I did, they simply engineered a way out of it, slandering me in the process and ruining my relationship with my father. I think the word we are looking for here is “arseholes”.
After I left school, and more by accident than choice, I ended up working for a double glazing company as a canvasser. I worked there with two of my friends, Andy and Chris, and we spent many happy days walking the streets of Somerset having a laugh and getting paid for it. The money wasn’t great. £50 per week plus 2% commission on any sales that resulted from our leads. This equated to about £12k per annum, which back in 1995 was a reasonable wage for a 16 year old. We all wanted to be proper salesmen though and actually sell the product rather than get the leads. Salesmen were self-employed and paid commission only at 10% of the sale. We could see how much the other guys were earning and we wanted a slice of the action. So, when we turned 17 we all started driving lessons. Chris took his test and failed. I passed. I was given the opportunity to step up and I took it.
I sold the first 4 leads I went on, which included one order for about £12,000. I think that I was being indulged up until this point, but when I started consistently selling better than 1 in 3, the company took notice. I was the blue eyed boy. It wasn’t to last though. Good salesmen get given increasingly crap leads in the hope that they will be able to turn them around. I wasn’t happy working so hard for very low returns, when others were being given real opportunities that they failed to close. I was also fed up with the canvassing side of things. Whereas previously the three of us canvassers were ferried about by the owner’s son (also a salesman) and one of his friends who had come to work for the company, as soon as I could drive, I became the canvassers’ taxi service. And whereas the other salesmen’s reward had been the leads we canvassers obtained for them, I was expected to canvass and get my own leads, whilst Chris and Andy’s were given to the other salesmen. Remember that I was self employed, therefore I had to buy all my own petrol. Further, I then found that the factory manager (a brother of the owner) was visiting my leads to survey them for window fabrication, and was selling extra stuff (i.e. fascia boards) without giving me any of the commission.
Clearly this could not continue, so I went for an interview with a rival Bridgwater based double glazing firm that our sales manager had moved to previously. I was foolish enough to discuss this one day with Andy, along with airing my general grievances, and he went straight to tell the owner’s son.
The following day I was called into the boardroom along with Chris, Andy and the other salesman. The owner’s son then proceeded to repeat some of the things I had said in confidence to Andy to embarras me. He questioned me about my going to see the other company, then made some comment about confidentiality (I had certainly not breached any confidentiality, and it is everyone’s right to attend a job interview) and sacked me in front of everyone. Of course, the reality is that my contract of employment to which he referred had been made when I was actually an employee and not a self-employed contractor.
He told me to empty my “company car”. This wasn’t a company car, because I paid for 100% of it at £50 per week. This for a Nissan Micra that had 70,000 miles on the clock. I was being ripped off but I was too naive to know it.
He refused to let me use the office phone to arrange a lift. My mobile wasn’t working properly, and he didn’t believe me obviously. I walked 3 miles down the road to find a telephone box. When I got back, my stuff had been thrown out of the car and was blowing around the compound – this included my suit jacket which was ruined as a result. Later, I discovered that my mobile phone had been vandalised.
The number of laws that were broken in this whole episode beggars belief. My rights were trampled all over. I just saw it as a huge relief. The family are Italian and frankly it felt a lot like some sort of mafia outfit. I was glad to leave and get on with my life without being kneecapped.
I finally pursued my career as a programmer, something I had always wanted to do, and never looked back. I don’t regret doing a sales job, because that has been hugely beneficial to my business efforts over the years, but I do regret ever getting involved with that particular company.
Being dismissed from a company sucks, but when it’s totally unfair or even illegal it sucks even more. Don’t just take it like I did whatever you do.
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