Page 8 of Defying the Crown
"Thank you for coming to see me. I just wanted to go over your performance recently. I pulled several recordings of your calls, and looked at your KPIs and I have to say that I am disappointed."
Her face doesn't look disappointed. In fact, she looks like she just won the lottery, hit the jackpot, and found a golden ticket to Willy Wonka's factory all at once.
"I'm sorry to hear that. I thought my performance was perfectly acceptable." I reply neutrally, channeling every ounce of customer service voice I can muster.
"Well honey, things change. Your claim denial rate might have been enough to scrape by a year ago, but with new targets from management you're under performing badly. We expect a denial rate of at least fifty percent, and you're barely cracking twenty eight percent. You need to do better, or you might not have a job here if things continue like they are."
That little not so subtle threat lingers in the air between us like a bad smell, and I take a second to control my facial expression. I'm not going to give her the satisfaction of seeing how she has upset me, though my stomach is doing somersaults worthy of an Olympic gymnast.
"I see, well I suppose I will need to think about this and how I can do better. Was there anything else you wanted to discuss?"
Cassandra's smile drops from her face, the facade of sweet southern hospitality gone faster than free donuts in the break room.
"No darling, you can get back to work now."
I nod and leave her office, numbly navigating back to my cubicle and flopping down onto my firm worn out office chair. The ancient cushion squeaks in protest, probably plotting its own resignation.
"You cool bro?" Piper asks, his head popping up over the cubicle divider like a particularly concerned meerkat. Piper is my next door work neighbour, and is probably the only person in the office that I actually get along with. With surfer vibes and long tangled blond hair he looks completely out of place in the office, but he has been here for longer than I have and somehow hits top performer targets every month while making it look effortless.
"Yeah I'm fine," I say absentmindedly, shuffling papers around my desk just to look busy.
"Really, cause you don't look fine," he says, raising an eyebrow. "What did the Dollar General Barbie have to say that has you so upset? You look like someone just killed your houseplant."
"Oh just the usual doom, gloom, and torture. Basically threatening to fire me if I don't increase my rejection rate. Apparently they want us to reject fifty percent of our claims now," I reply, trying to act nonchalant as I'm feeling a rising feeling of panic inside. My hands are shaking slightly as I continue to reorganize the same stack of papers.
"Fuck, she is the Wicked Witch of the West isn't she? Can you imagine paying what our clients pay for the shitty health coverage we provide then half of them getting told that their claims are denied for some bullshitreason every time they try to use it?" His usual easy-going expression morphs into one of genuine disgust.
I snort, trying to hold back my laughter at his indignant response. My anxiety eases slightly at his righteous anger on behalf of our clients. "Funny enough I can, our health insurance goes through us as well remember? They reject all my claims almost every go around. Last time I tried to get my prescription filled, it took three appeals."
"Ah, I almost forgot. Well fuck her and fuck them. If she fires you, maybe that's a sign there are better things out there for you then! Either way, this place isn't the final destination for you or me," Piper replies decisively, before ducking back down behind his cubicle wall, leaving me with that small nugget of hope to cling to.
"Thanks Piper, I guess we'll see what happens," I reply softly, finally letting my hands rest on my keyboard.
I collapse onto my bed face-first, still in my work clothes. The memory of Cassandra's smug face haunts me like a particularly annoying ghost. My phone buzzes - probably Jayda asking about dinner plans - but I can't bring myself to check it yet.
Instead, I roll over and grab my laptop from the nightstand. The forum loads up instantly. My fingers hover over the keyboard before I start typing:
"Today was absolute garbage. My boss threatened to fire me because I'm not heartless enough to deny people's insurance claims. Sometimes I wonder if there's any point trying to be a decent person in a world that rewards being awful."
I hit post before I can overthink it. Usually these kinds of rants disappear into the void, but within minutes a notification pops up. It'sDePrimeretPrins- or whatever his real name is.
"I understand completely. Currently dreading a meeting where I have to sit through hours of people talking AT me rather than WITH me. They all expect me to just nod and agree, even when their ideas are terrible. Sometimes being 'professional' feels like slowly dying inside."
I sit up, surprised at the quick response. My fingers fly across the keyboard:
"At least you're important enough to be in meetings. I'm just a cubicle drone who's apparently not evil enough for corporate America. Though your meeting soundsmind-numbingly boring. What's it about?"
His reply comes faster this time:
"Trade policies and economic forecasts. Riveting stuff. I'd rather watch paint dry. And trust me, being 'important' just means more people watching you fail. At least in your cubicle you can roll your eyes without making headlines."
I laugh despite myself. There's something weirdly comforting about commiserating with a stranger who seems just as trapped as I am, even if we're trapped in completely different ways.
My fingers hover over the keyboard as I consider my reply. I want to match his wit and snark, but in my own charming way of course.
"At least your day can't be worse than mine - unless you're stuck in a meeting with Satan's middle manager too? My boss told my team today that all of our reports need to be color-coded by 'emotional resonance.' Whatever that means...maybe I need to get my chakras aligned to understand it?"
I hit send with a smirk, feeling pretty pleased with myself. Take that, anonymous stranger on the internet. Your turn.
