Inhuman Resources

This past Friday was my last day at work. Technically, Thursday was, but there were some things left undone, and I felt compelled to finish the tasks I had started. So, in case you wonder what a recently voluntarily unemployed person does, I figured I’d keep you up to date.

I was uneasy about the two telephone conversations I had had with random people in Human Resources. They acted like they didn’t want anyone to actually visit Human Resources. I had major concerns about my vacation and sick leave cashout – about 4 months pay that will sustain me while I figure out what my next step will be. Normally, the university puts it into a 401(a) – whatever the hell that is – and I assumed I needed to take some steps if I wanted to get the money sent straight to me. The HR people on the phone seemed to act as if this would happen magically. Somehow, upon my resignation, everyone would know how to handle my retirement, insurance, leave time, etc. without me having to do a thing. I didn’t believe it, but I didn’t push it on the phone. Heck, as of today, I have nothing else to do, so I figured I would actually go to HR, and take care of it.

It was a beautiful day, so I rode my bike. I might have been a bit sweaty when I arrived, but I did shave at least. Inside there were three women with headsets on, answering the phone, apparently, although I never saw any of them talk to anyone but each other. Aside from that, there is a stark room with two small empty tables and a few chairs. Doors exited from three sides of the room – different departments, I guess.

I walked up to the reception/operator desk, and, attempting to maybe inject some humor into the situation when one of them asked me if I could be helped, I smiled and said, “Yes, I quit.”

Blank stares.

“Um, I resigned, as of last week, and I want to make sure that all my paperwork here is in order.”

Blank stares.

“Isn’t there some form I have to sign or something?”

They looked at each other, as if to say – This is why we try not to let people actually visit Human Resources.

“I’ve heard somebody mention a make-whole form?”

Bimbo number one came to life, “Oh, you haven’t signed one of those yet?”

“No. That’s why I’m here.” In my life, I’ve had many opportunities to practice resisting the urge to punch people. Practice makes perfect.

“Let me e-mail someone in retirement, and have them come talk to you.” Bimbos number two and three looked at each other, and nodded in silent agreement. That would probably be the best way to handle it. God forbid I should actually have a chance to visit one of the offices behind closed doors and find out everything I needed to know all at once.

“Great. Thanks.”

Assuming I would have a few minutes to wait, I decided to call the business manager of the department where, until recently, I worked. She didn’t really know anything about these HR procedures. She was apologetic. Wished she could help. Then it dawned on both of us why we didn’t know; in our ten years in the department, no full-timer with accrued leave time had ever left. We were a small, tightly-knit group, even though we all had very different personalities. Nobody knew the procedures to deal with someone leaving because no one had ever left.

After that conversation, one of my recently former co-workers called me to tell me the day’s developments at the office, and curse me admiringly for the umpteenth time for having the good sense to get out. I walked. I talked on the phone. Nobody from retirement appeared.

Feeling suddenly self conscious, I attempted to apologize to Bimbos one, two, and three. “I hope you don’t mind if I talk on the phone and pace”, I said. “That’s been my job for ten years and I’m still winding down.”

Blank stares.

Finally, a woman appeared through the doors from one of the offices that evidently conceal the nation’s nuclear launch codes. I repeated the earlier conversation about signing forms, and finally got her to understand that I needed to sign a “make-whole” form – which I still don’t understand, but it has something to do with the university withholding 10% of something, and then giving 2.35% of it back to me in a different check from the one for my vacation pay. I’m not kidding.

Finally, she asked if I had signed a “Disbursement Request Form” for my leave pay. No, I hadn’t.

I turned my head slightly to my left, and said, partly to the woman from retirement, and partly to the Bimbos, “See, I knew I had forms to fill out.”

They looked at each other, clearly wishing that no one would ever actually visit Human Resources.

“Will my last pay check be a paper check or direct deposit like all the rest?”

No idea. I should ask someone in my department.

Nobody in my department could say for sure. And both of the people who would gladly run interference for me are likely candidates for the coming layoffs. As it turned out, the folks in Human Resources weren't much of a “resource” at all.

After that, I went to Traffic and Parking to turn in my “Official Business” parking decal. I won’t be needing that anymore, and didn’t want to be charged for the balance due, since I paid for it by payroll deduction. The woman there was very nice.

“Why are you leaving?” she asked, when I told her I had resigned.

Without wanting to spend hours explaining to her the many internal struggles I had fought for some time, since I’m sure she didn’t really want to hear about them anyway, I said, “With all respect due to those who remain here, I think twenty-seven years in Gainesville is enough.”

She smiled, and I detected a hint of a New York accent when she said, “Oh, I know what you mean.”

Tomorrow, I will begin the battle to maintain my health insurance. I can’t wait.