A young, up-and-coming urban professional—full of utilitarianism and potential—is placed into a work environment near the nation’s capital.
Bureaucracy, greed, favoritism, and corruption eventually upend her life and set into motion a chain of events ultimately cost her her job, some of her peace, and sanity.
A young, up-and-coming urban professional—full of utilitarianism and potential—is placed into a work environment near the nation’s capital.
Bureaucracy, greed, favoritism, and corruption eventually upend her life and set into motion a chain of events ultimately cost her her job, some of her peace, and sanity.
The ambiance in the Nation’s Capital was filled with uncertainty as the corruption within the Congress dominated the fear of instability for America’s public servants. With the federal shutdown on the rise and 2018 only a week away, stepping out this morning felt colder than usual. Looking in my rearview mirror to check the status of my NARS foundation coverage for my pecan complexioned skin, I kept a steady twenty-five miles heading down the empty pathway on Connecticut Avenue as I fixed the black lenses on my face. As I pulled up to the parking garage entrance to the Ronald Reagan Building, I was approached by the entry gateway security officer on duty who asked me for my credentials so I could gain access into the building.
“Nice car,” he complimented as I pulled my C-Class Sedan up to the barrier gate.
“Thanks,” I said as I brought my car to a complete stop, hitting the park option on the lever.
“Mercedes?” he asked as he chewed on his gum while I opened the black Marc Jacobs tote bag, I bought a week ago to celebrate my professional transition set for a few weeks away.
“C Class,” I responded while I went into a manhunt within my purse for my credentials to gain access to the building. “Got it!”
The feeling of relief came over me as I pulled the badge holder from my bag and gave it to him. I always feared coming to the gate and not having my credentials because there was always a chance that something would go wrong, especially when you had a line of cars behind you honking, as you sat there in embarrassment because you can’t find your badge.
“Okay, Ms. Chloe Choyce. Just know you are coming in during the shutdown is giving you more space to park. Go on in,” he remarked as he scanned my badge while waving at the set of physically fit men towards the second barrier entrance.
“Thanks…I had a feeling,” I said as I pressed the up icon on my power window button as I drifted to the next barrier, waiting for the bar to rise slowly. I rechecked my makeup in the mirror, pressing my lips together to assure that the application of my poppy red lipstick was in place and that my glasses were upright on my face.
He was right. There was no one dumb enough to go into the city (let alone work) as there was no agreement on the congressional budget. I was going in for my own purposes, however. Yes, I did not have to be here, but I had to get this out of the way so I could leave what I
considered to be one of the most toxic work environments in the world. I could have just left without the need to do any more, but I needed to escape from what should have been one of the best experiences as a new federal employee within the DMV but ended as an unexpected, forced resignation from a severely corrupt management team who had a vendetta against brown skinned women...especially smart ones like myself. It was already painful enough to see that the administration was a circus tainted with media chasing buffoons. I was already losing my mind, my sense of self, but worse than that – my integrity.
For years, being a federal employee was seen as a hidden gem in the DC Metropolitan Area because it was difficult to get into. But if you did, you were set for life in terms of stable income, stellar healthcare benefits, and household stability. As a single parent of a set of Irish Twins, it was a dream of mine to land a federal government position for the work-life balance, as I am also completing my undergraduate degree at the University of Maryland College Park, and I needed the healthcare benefits as a single parent to two. I remember how excited I was when I first received my offer letter as Project Manager with The Department of Currency. I needed something to make me feel good and whole again after my failed six-year marriage. Truthfully, there was not much I wanted from the divorce beyond my kids keeping his name and my maiden name being restored. After all the lying, cheating, late night phone calls, and fabricated stories of going
on “tour” when he was dallying into extramarital affairs, I became desperate.
It was not until I attended an on campus federal career job fair that I was introduced to a Schedule A coordinator who introduced me to the federal hiring program for people with disabilities and former military spouses as codified in Title 5 of the United States Code of Regulations under Section 213.3102(u). Surviving physical and mental marital abuse resulted in a clinical diagnosis of severe depression and anxiety which then led to years of weekly therapy sessions. All while I tried to manage and maneuver through the crazy day-to-day struggles of being an involuntarily single parent to two kids. Therefore, I did not hesitate to submit my resume for the program which required me to submit a general letter of confirmation from my doctor. After two months of job hunting and traversing through the Office of Personnel Management (OPM) Schedule A hiring portal, I finally got a chance to interview for the Department of Currency.
In fact, I was hired on the day after the inauguration of one of the most controversial presidents, which was poignant as I had hope in my heart as I looked forward to being a part of an administration of pertinent change. My first week with the agency went well...until the political appointee for my office arrived and was assigned as my supervisor. Everything immediately took a turn for the worse.
Carlito initially showed his true colors with tactics of intimidation, deceit, isolation, and managerial insidiousness. Within four months, I began to vacillate about myself as I lost confidence in my work, even after receiving accolades from the agency for my success in project management.
“Is this in your job description?” I remember one of my colleagues asking when venting to her at lunch one day about how consuming my work was becoming to my health and my personal life.
Eventually, it got worse as senior leadership turnover rose over the course of the past year, since the start of the new administration a year ago.
This is one of the reasons why I had to finish this on my terms, the one thing I had control over. Coincidentally, when I chose to submit my resignation letter, my supervisor, Carlito, offered to pay me until my last day with the option to not come into the office. Accepting his counteroffer was no problem, I just wanted out of it all. Considering my mental health, children, and yearning for a new opportunity – I took the next job without reservation and was looking forward to my new life in a non-toxic work environment.
Walking into the Ronald Reagan Building, I was greeted by my second set of security officers, presenting myself in the same manner in my black daisy pumps as I previously did to get into the
garage with my vehicle. The Reagan Building was one of the few that was created with great architectural design while enhancing the construct beauty of the government. The walls consisted of Indiana limestone that parlayed conservative yet sober even in the midst of the saga of the Federal Triangle. The common areas were shared by several government and commercial offices dealing with international trade, including mine.
As I headed towards the tunnel into my agency, I was greeting my third set of security officers, who were less of a hassle in confirming my credentials since I was actually familiar with one of them.
“They got you working today, Ms. Choyce?” one of the other officers, Byron, asked as I grabbed my tote from the scanner belt. I knew him well, since he was the main guard that helped me get badged in on my first week of working here, after the inauguration. This being the exact day and year afterwards, he’s the same person to see me going out.
“Transitioning,” I responded hoping my answer would suffice, as I walked towards the elevator pressing the up button to get to the fifth floor.
“Good luck!” Both men shouted back to me as I walked onto the elevator doors opened for me.
“Too late for luck,” I mumbled as I got on the elevator and pressed the button to get to my anticipated destination. Time was of the essence with the quagmire going on in Congress, so I knew I needed to have my ducks in a row before I could make my next move.
My phone began to ring as soon as the elevator doors closed to head up to my floor, adding to my anxiety. Looking at my screen, I pressed “ignore,” hoping that the message relayed would happen when I arrived.
Are you in the office?
Even through a text message, Carlito sounded so cold when asking me this question. The thought of him made my stomach churn as I stood there passing the floors and contemplated responding in a simple, precise manner. I was so used to being so detail oriented that I forgot what it meant to just be normal and carefree. As my workload got heavier, so did my reporting requirements, which consisted of me creating a list of every single thing that I did throughout the day as requested by my 29-year-old political appointee and 45-year-old federal supervisor.
“Here” I responded, as I pushed up my lenses to my face. I was eager to execute my exit strategy so I may leave in peace without worrying about what was to come. Almost felt like initiating a breakup from a
toxic relationship or setting boundaries with the messed upside of your family or better yet, how I got out of my 6-year abusive marriage. Being able to disappear was nothing new to me, it was just something I understood from beginning to end when it came to making sure the problem could never find me again. This is what I learned as a survivor of domestic violence, and it seemed to help me very well.
The last thing I needed was anyone who was plotting for revenge when I was recovering from any form of trauma, this being one of them. Workplace trauma was new to me, and unbeknownst to me until recently, it is actually illegal.
Ok. Come to my office, he replied. One thing about this building that I was not going to miss, the narrow labyrinth of hallways that I was forced to walk down to participate in meetings or anything that related to any requirements of my job. As I headed down to Carlito’s office, I could not help but notice that every corridor was empty as no one came in for work this week since I was the only one stupid enough to come in on this cold day. Speed walking to the third hallway, I made a right to the Administrative Program Division entryway, fixing my lenses and assuring I had them balanced on my face.
“Hello,” I said as I slowly walked up to the division receptionist desk to see Denise, our senior executive’s assistant, sitting at her desk with her eyes glued to the computer screen.
I scanned the room to see if anyone else was there. Empty. Ironically, Denise’s desk was one of the largest in the office as it was adorned with photos of her family, vacation spots over the years, and the one award she received for her twenty-five years of service with the agency as a GS-05.This was not something many would be proud of, but for personal reasons, I am sure she chose her career as a public servant, just as we all have. Today, her pecan-colored skin was contrasted with her orange lipstick to match her cable knit turtleneck sweater she offset with a pair of light denim low rise skinny jeans. I was intrigued by her dauntlessness to wear such colors even when I was told by Carlito a few months ago that professional attire was only allowed in the office.
“Heeey Chlo’! What are you doing here, baby? You know congress is in session. The shut-down is still going.” she asked, scrunching her thin lined brows as she changed her focus from her desktop screen to my made up melanated face. Occasionally, she would pull together the thinning strands of her overprocessed hair into a lowered pulled back ponytail, but today she had what was left of her hair in its natural state of loose curls. Her look of confusion drew me to the conclusion
that she was not aware of anything that was going on, or at least she acted like she did not.
“Carlito.” I said to her as I nodded my head towards his door.
“Oh,” she responded as she moved her eyes back to the desktop screen in front of her. She pulled her CAC card and stood up to head towards the back of the office space, towards the Senior Executive Service office. “Good luck, Chlo Baby.” she grabbed her coffee and made her way to the back office.
Her bleak tone to my response feigned indifference as even with twenty-five years with the agency, she wasn’t a fan of my manager either, but she tolerated him as they both reported to the agency’s SES.
Walking over to Carlito’s office, I crept up to his wooden door, looking through the vision panel to make sure he was in there. Focused on his desktop computer, Carlito was wearing a navy-blue suit with a crisp white button up. His office was bare...no pictures of his wife or any excess amount of paperwork around his desk.
Looking over the small space at six by twelve feet, there was not much room for him to get creative, but there was enough to fit his executive desk and two guest chairs. The only item on his wall was an award he got a few years ago from another agency that reflected a symbol of some sort that I had never seen before. He glanced over at my presence
at the entryway of his door as I opened it just enough to fit myself into the front of the doorway. He slid the manila folder positioned on the right edge of his desk towards me.
“Here,” he said as I took a silent deep breath before slowly walking up to retrieve the folder. I focused my energy on not outwardly showing a level of intimidation that his presence has crippled me with in the past. I opened the folder titled “Non-Disclosure Agreement” with six documents to follow. I stood there, ferociously scanning what I could as I entertained what I was getting myself into. I was so ready to get myself out of this situation that I did not care about anything else at the time.
“Let this be the last time your presence fills my office—and your existence is in this building,” Carlito scowled as he handed me a pen with a golden circle on the side of it.
I stood there, trying to ignore him, to finish scanning the documents so I could sign it before he even tried to initiate his daily intimidation and gaslighting ritual. After finding where I needed to sign for both copies, I grabbed his pen and leaned on his desk to provide my signature next to my name and title as a GS-09. Seeing that Carlito, the Agency’s Director, Chief Legal Counsel, and Human Resources Director already signed, let me know that this was my time to go.
“Don’t worry, you won’t.” I mumbled back as I closed the folder of paperwork.
“Here,” I said handing him back his copy and white pen. “You can keep the pen.”
Taking his queue for me to leave, I rushed out of his door to begin the process of moving on with my life; this truly was the biggest relief I have ever felt in over the past year and a half. Exiting the building was easier than coming in because I did not have to prove myself anymore.
I only owe myself. It was not long before I got back to my car, opened my Mercedes Me app to start my car, and warmed the seats for my departure out of this treacherous hell hole. While waiting for my car to warm up, I opened the manila folder, I took off my glasses and began to reread what I agreed to as tears started to form on my face, messing up the mascara I articulated before I left my house this morning.
My tears were not just for the relief of leaving my harmful work environment—they were for the months I dealt with this pain and had to be strong and hold it in while I cried myself to sleep every night.
They were for the therapy sessions I was forced to take due to the stress my job caused.
The times I came home angry and took it out on my 6-year-old twins by yelling at them.
The times I was late picking them up because I was forced to work late or not work at all.
The times being denied training opportunities while my peers were not.
The times I was placed in a work environment so mephitic and defeating as I was despondent in thinking that my experience as a first full-time Schedule A federal employee was supposed to be.
The times that I was stuck between a rock and a hard place working for a political appointee and reporting to a federal authority.
This abuse I bore made me the person I am today and why I left this position with nothing in my pocket but a Plan B. All because I needed my sanity back.
“Shit!” I screamed as I rescanned the paperwork, only to realize that there was no date anywhere on it or near the signature pages at all.
Washington, D.C., 2017. Chloe Choyce is a federal employee facing an imminent government shutdown over a congressional budget impasse. She also finds herself mired in “one of the most toxic work environments in the world.” Her “unexpected, forced resignation” has her feeling like she’s losing her mind, her sense of self, and her integrity.
Determined to regain all of the above, she “transitions” to another government bureaucracy, the “Department of Demographics.” This move turns out to be a case of “out of the frying pan, into the fire” as Chloe battles favoritism, corruption and cronyism, and gross ineptitude. Unfortunately, there’s not much else going on here. Nor is there much to compel readers to keep turning pages.
The plot starts out strong but stalls out as it wanders through a seemingly endless parade of government bureaucrats, agencies, and mind-numbing incompetence. As Chloe leaves one dead-end job government job for another, problems pile up almost as fast as government boondoggles.
There are also lots of emails. Forms. Acronyms. Sick leave. Annual leave. Medical leave. And according to Felicia, the Supervisor from Hell, efficiency and productivity are the bane of every federal employee’s existence and are to be avoided at all costs.
The text would benefit from another proofread. Errors in grammar, punctuation and basic usage include: “Taking his queue for me to leave.” “… her pultruding overbite.” “… sine (sic) you are working with…” “… bifocals titled on her nose.’ “…her and Judith walked over.” “… when Judith did not persist that she stay…” “Pin” vs. “Pen.” “I don’t qualify for food stand (stamps).” Such unforced errors bog down the story further.
Bereft of any broad unifying theme, this book is hamstrung by clunky and one-dimensional characters. Ditto wooden, hackneyed dialogue that strains credulity. It also lacks a clearly defined beginning, middle, and end. Few readers will have the patience to see it through to the end, which is also problematic. There’s no “tuck in the tail” resolution of anything. Consequently, it kind of goes “thud.”
This book has potential, but not in its present form. Another re-write and another coat of polish could result in a higher rating.