Never underestimate the power of the powerless

When I was a kid, we didn't have a lot of money. I worked a string of crap jobs, usually with other people who didn't have a lot of money, either. In most of those jobs, I was one in the lowest stratum my employer possessed. As a lawn mower, bag boy, entry-level landscaper (read: a lawn mower with a big mower), an unskilled construction laborer, and so on, I had no power over what I did or what my employer did, and those above me usually made sure I was very clear on my own lack of importance or power.

What I learned from my older co-workers, however, was something very different indeed: even the most powerless people in an organization have some power.

That bush wasn't a weed? I'm so sorry I ran it over.

I was only trying to bag faster because you were yelling at me. I'm sorry your eggs are broken.

You didn't tell us to get the big mower repaired, so we had to do the main field by hand. I guess it'll take an extra two days. Sorry.

We were supposed to finish cleaning those concrete forms where they were? We thought you wanted us to move them under this tree first, so they wouldn't be in the way. Sorry.

You get the idea.

Many apparently stupid acts and inefficient approaches that leave bosses scratching their heads at how dumb their employees are represent nothing less than the skillful and passive-aggressive exercise of power by the powerless.

I hate passive-aggressive behavior with a passion, but I've used it in such situations.

In fact, I used it today.

My ENT doctors have, as I mentioned in my post on November 11, instituted a new allergy serum delivery program--one for my protection, of course. They know I'm at their mercy, powerless if I want my serum, so they're manipulating circumstances so they make more money--and cost me more time. Recently, they gave me three options for picking up my serum: 8:00 a.m. to 9:00 a.m. on Monday, Tuesday, or Friday. They also told me they would not guarantee my serum would be in the office nearest me when I arrived, but that the only way I could find out if it would be there was to show up.

As anyone who knows me can tell you, I hate the mornings, in large part because I work very late. I also hate the ENT people lying to me about what they're doing, and I really hate it when receptionists treat me like something they want to scrape from their shoes.

This morning, I fought back in a way I'd learned from the past, one that no one at the ENT office could directly accuse me of doing.

I worked from home yesterday. I exercised first, then worked all day in my sweat clothes. I slept dirty; no shower for me.

In the morning, I was a giant smelly beast. You could sniff me across a room. I got dressed in the same sweat clothes, skipped brushing my teeth, drove to the ENT office, jogged in place a few minutes so I'd be good and freshly stinky, and marched proudly into the ENT office. I leaned over the counter of the same snotty receptionist--a clearly recognizable voice, this one--who had informed me of my powerlessness, and kept my face straight as she sniffed me and rolled backward to avoid my stench. Too bad for her, though: she had to print and hand me an appointment form, and I leaned forward so I could hear her better and get my form.

After they tested me but had not yet checked that all was well, I walked back and forth in front of her window, muttering to myself incoherently.

Was it juvenile? You bet. You know what, though: You treat people like they're worthless and stupid, and they will find a way to repay you. I've done it before, I did it today, and in a petty way that no doubt indicates I need to grow up, I enjoyed it each time.

I left smiling, despite the early hour.