#8 The Accountant, the Boss and the Lawyer

 

I lived in France for three years. Much of that time was spent working for a business school as the incoming students’ coordinator. It was a really interesting job. There was rarely a dull moment as I dealt a lot with students who were from another culture and who often had random questions they came by my office to ask. In some ways, I was a kind of therapist to them, helping them solve problems and providing an ear when they wanted to talk.

In that role, I wore several hats. I organized orientation sessions a few times a year; I helped to smooth out housing issues; I organized one-week-long field study tours for visiting MBA and EMBA students; and during the summer, I organized and ran a summer school program for my boss and his wife.

During the month that I ran the summer program, I organized several dinners, outings to businesses and European sites, and visits to historical buildings. It was fun, but it was also exhausting and required a lot of attention to detail.

My boss was an interesting man. He is German and has many of the “typical” German traits: no-nonsense, exacting and straightforward. He had high expectations, and he counted on me to meet them. But he was also playful and had a good sense of humour. (I don’t know if that was just a him thing or a German thing.) For example, he knew I spoke English, French and Creole, and yet he often threw in a request in German, just to mess with me. I would laughingly tell him that I didn’t understand. At the time, I was attempting to learn Spanish, and then Italian, so German was not a priority. Still, he continued, never deterred for a moment by my protestations. Maybe he thought I would learn by osmosis.

While I really enjoyed my job, I was paid minimum wage. This wasn’t my boss’s decision. This was what the university, as a government-run entity, paid. I lived hand to mouth in those days, my paycheque barely deposited into my account before it was siphoned out again toward rent or some other bill. I learned how to budget very well in those days because I only got paid once a month. Regardless, by the end of each month, I still found myself in overdraft.

I lived alone in Strasbourg, so I didn’t have anyone I could count on to help me with the monthly bills. It was just me and my wits. So, it was understood that working weekends, evenings and when other people were otherwise on vacation would be compensated. My boss and I were on the same page there. It was never a question.

But after running the summer school that first year, I didn’t see the extra work reflected in my paycheque. Concerned, I contacted the accounting department. I was told I could either wait until the following year for them to process this special circumstance, or I could take vacation time instead.

Here’s the thing. That job had crazy amounts of vacation built into it. In fact, I have never worked anywhere else in the world where vacation was any better. I had . . . brace yourselves . . . ten weeks of vacation per year.

I know! It’s practically unheard of in North America. It’s just not a thing. But the university shut down several times a year, and everyone was forced to take that time off.

So, I already had tons of vacation. I didn’t need more vacation. That might sound like a silly thing to say, but hear me out. When you live hand to mouth, a lot of vacation time doesn’t really help much because you can’t afford to go anywhere or do anything.

What I needed was money.

I didn’t want to have to go into my overdraft every month the way I had been. Plus, I had university debts I was trying to pay off. And I really wanted to have a bit of extra cash so I could splurge on a nice meal every once in while.

As I spoke to the accountant on the phone, my frustration rose. She showed no compassion for my situation. I explained that had she worked extra hours in the course of her job, she surely would have expected to be paid for it, so it didn’t make sense that she was so nonchalant about my predicament. Not only did she not offer any empathy, she didn’t offer any solutions either.

Her response was essentially: Suck it up.

 

At my wit’s end, I approached my boss.

In the two and a half years I worked for him, my boss proved time and again that he believed in my abilities, my ideas and my personhood. It was immensely healing to work for someone like that. I felt safe with him, which was a bit of a miracle after having been around a lot of men in power who had abused of that power. But my boss always treated me with respect, and he knew I wouldn’t approach him with nothing things.

As a no-nonsense man, my boss never seemed to care what people thought of him. I found that quite inspiring. How must it be to occupy the world with little concern for how one is perceived! That being said, he was an honourable man, so it wasn’t as though he used his powers for evil. He just did what he thought was best in the context of what he was trying to accomplish.

When I told him about how accounting had refused to pay me for the summer school overtime I had done, he said it was totally unacceptable.

“Let me see what I can do,” he told me.

I don’t remember if it was the same day or within the same week, because it was a long time ago now, but he got back to me very quickly and said,

“Come, we’re going to go see the dean of the law school.”

I was perplexed. What was some dean going to do? I had expected that my boss would maybe go to the accounting department and throw his weight around over there, but that didn’t happen. Perhaps he didn’t have contacts there.

France works on a foundation of contacts. To be fair, it seems the whole world works on contacts. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from all of my travels it is that knowing the right person can make life a whole lot easier. I don’t call it right or fair, but it is often the way of things.

So, my boss may not have known anyone in the accounting department, but he certainly knew the dean of law, and so we went for a visit.

It is entirely possible that I’ve distorted things over the years, but the dean’s office was much like what I would imagine a lawyer’s office to look like: dark with chocolate leather seats and lots of wood panelling.

I was so out of my element when we got to her office, not really knowing what to expect from the meeting, so I let my boss speak. He explained my situation while the dean listened carefully.

When my boss was done, the dean/lawyer declared that what the accounting department was doing was illegal. She said she would contact them immediately and explain to them they couldn’t withhold payment the way they had.

My boss smiled and thanked her. I thanked her as well, my mind spinning from the whole scenario.

Had that just happened?

Had a lawyer declared something to be illegal, and would something actually be done about it?

The answer was “Yes.”

And the lawyer actually spoke with the accounting department and told them they were in the wrong.

Do you know how I know?

All of my overtime payment was deposited in my account in a lump sum in my next paycheque.

Just like that.

 

That boss was the first boss I had ever had who went to bat for me. In fact, I think he is the only one who has ever gone to bat for me in such a significant way.

I learned a lot from that experience. I learned that I had an ally in him. He was honest and pure, and he demanded a lot from me, but he was also loyal, and he taught me I could trust him. I knew he had my back.

He showed that compassion and can-do attitude toward me again, in a very significant way, over the next two years. But that’s a story for another time.

What I can say now is that more than twenty years later, I remember his kindness and his loyalty with a lot of humility. He and I, and his lovely wife, have stayed in touch all of these years. They are good, good people, and I am lucky to have them in my life.

The ancient Greek storyteller, Aesop, once wrote:

“No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted.”

I agree, Aesop. I agree.

Until next time.

P.S. I also want to acknowledge the wonderful dean of law for her very big role in resolving my issue. I don’t remember her name, but I remember her actions, and they meant and still mean a great deal to me. Thank you for your generosity of spirit and the time you took to right a wrong.