YEARNING FOR FREEDOM IN A LAND OF THE FREE

Katarina Tepesh

I have a history of being in prison: I am an immigrant who was raised under an oppressive communist dictatorship.

Now, in New York, my office is a prison.

I count somebody else’s millions for a living. I love my job, but my boss dictates the rules.

Even though I’m middle management, I must be in by 9 A.M. sharp.  Sign in.  Sign out for lunch. Sign back in an hour later. Finally, sign OUT at 5 pm or later.

A hidden camera, when it works, records our every move. Computer software monitors our emails and blocks most of the personal stuff.

I had to sign a legal paper promising to use computers strictly for official business, never for personal use. 

Follow the rules is the motto for all of us underlings. The top honchos set up their own rules and think nothing of breaking them.

As soon as I open my office door one Monday morning, I find a memo from my boss: “Please give me a summary of what your Department did during April. Include both quantitative and qualitative details, as well as status, i.e. completed, expected date of completion. I would like this report before you leave, or I leave (6:15 P.M.) Friday. This report is due the first Friday of every month for the proceeding month.”

The boss calls me into his office, “Cut the budget! Reduce the legal expenses by at least 20 percent.”

“But, sir, the legal expenses are accumulated due to your calling the lawyers, err, often.”

Oh, sure. Cut the budget. While the top honchos continue to use the limos, enjoy lavish lunches at the exclusive private Yale club with fine French wine flowing and use the best Manhattan hotels.

I work in the finance department; all confidential bills pass through my hands. I see what they are doing.

Paying $37,674.82 monthly rent for an office on 46th floor in an old building not well taken care of, was a lousy idea.  We paid a million dollars to renovate and my boss signed a ten year lease.

Now we have ceiling leaks, a mouse and falling debris from construction. We actually purchased construction hats for protection.

A couple of years ago, when the stock market nearly collapsed, employees’ raises were frozen for an entire year.

Never mind the cost of living increases. But the top honchos gave themselves a Deferred Compensation Plan of $13,000 each!

I often meet my friend Carmen for lunch and we exchange office jokes.
She says “Help me to be careful of the toes I step on today, as they may be connected to the feet, I may have to kiss tomorrow.”

At my age and with my experience, I finish my work much faster than a beginner and would like to go home when I’m done. To do laundry. Pay bills. Clean. Attend to my medical appointments. Visit a sick friend in the hospital.

But no, I cannot, because I am not free!

Yet this is the best job I ever had! God bless America!

                                                            ****

Urban writer's workshop in New York City, January 22, 2005