I’d already had quite a gruelling year. I’d travelled overseas, had a good dose of measles, turned eighteen and there was the sudden death of my best friend — so career choices certainly weren’t on my list of priorities.
Once things settled down I began seriously thinking about what I ought to be doing — earning some money. I plumped up my resume and began to write to local businesses, as well as perusing the papers in search of a stimulating ‘real’ job. I must have written in excess of seventy letters but no one seemed willing to take on anybody without experience. I wondered how on earth I was going to get experience if no one wanted to hire me.
Then, flipping through the newspaper for the millionth time, I came across what I thought might be the job of my dreams — “Dental Assistant Required”. I read on eagerly and to my delight I saw the magical words “no experience necessary”. I wrote a charming cover letter and attached my resume. Three days later I received a phone call from the dental receptionist who informed me an interview had been arranged. I got the job.
A month into it I began to realise what my employer was really like. The nurse who was supposed to be training me when I working with the boss would spend most of her time writing little notes about the client, literally behind their back — scathing comments about their dandruff, nasal hair, or their shoes — and the boss would chuckle behind his mask, and sometimes even write a reply. It didn’t sit well with me.
I was shifted between three dentists in such a way that I was barely able to absorb what each one expected from me. I always seemed to be in trouble! My wage was laughable, a stingy $370 for an eleven-day fortnight — it might have been justified if I was to be formally trained. The job itself was pretty boring and quite revolting. Every day I would watch the eight hours slowly creep by on the clock. Mouths are loaded with bacteria so I caught every cold and flu under the sun — no fun when you have to wear a surgical mask!
When I had to work in close proximity to my boss it was worse. He intimidated me and I could not eat my breakfast on the days I had to face assisting him. Even my rumbling stomach mid-morning would annoy him. Should he be feeling particularly nasty, he wouldn’t hesitate to belittle me in front of his clients. My presence simply irritated him.
The breaking point came when my boss approached me one Friday afternoon and suddenly announced I had two weeks in which to clean up my act or I was out. I was in tears by the time I got home and didn’t want to go back to the clinic. My parents persuaded me to stand my ground and see out the fortnight. I returned on Monday filled with unease, my boss said nothing and the day seemed to go as smoothly as it could, given the circumstances.
When I walked past the front desk on my way back from lunch, I saw in plain view, an advertisement for a new assistant! I was outraged but kept quiet about my discovery. I stewed over it for the better part of a week, wondering what I should do. My parents still maintained I wait, and armed me with all the know-how for when it came to the crunch. It didn’t seem to help how I was feeling, though — waiting calmly for the end to come somehow didn’t seem right. I had to do something to make me feel better about the situation. The opportunity to do so arose sooner than expected.
Over the course of three months I had come to realise many things about my boss that I did not like, the main one being the fact that he was so stingy. There were only two high-speed drills between three dentists. As I finished another awful day in his company and stood to collect the instruments for sterilizing, I accidentally dropped one of these on the floor, snapping a small part of the top clean off. Not wanting trouble again I said nothing; I just pocketed the damaged bit and sterilised the rest of it.
My final week was filled with fun and games. The hunt for the broken drill part had everyone — including my boss — hunting through bins, the sterilizer, and in every corner of the clinic. Had I seen it? No, I lied. I knew he’d love to blame me. A replacement cost around $400. Wow, that’s more than my wage, I thought with glee. Ordering another would take a month. There wasn’t a scrap of remorse in me for his lost tool.
My last day arrived and I wasn’t sorry to go. I told my boss I knew what was coming, that I’d already seen the advertisement for my position. Walking past my now ex-boss’s office I considered leaving the drill part on his desk as a farewell present, but chickened out at the last moment. I’d just got a tiny severance pay and wasn’t at all interested in the prospect of having to dip into it to pay for a replacement drill — no way. Instead, as I made my exit I had a secret moment of satisfaction as I surreptitiously dropped it into the depths of the aquarium in the waiting room.
I later heard that I was not an isolated case; apparently he hired and fired girls regularly. I could have taken him for unfair dismissal but I didn’t have the energy. Besides, I like to think a small piece of revenge lies at the bottom of a large fish tank and Karma can take care of the rest.
Picture posed by models.
Related stories
Native ad body.
Native ad body.
Native ad body.
