Perfect Attendance for 20 Years!
by Liz Mathews
You could say morale is low. Variations on the phrase, “I have to get out of this place because it’s eating my soul,” are commonly heard at my second job, where I have the opportunity to work two shifts per week to add padding to my income. Coworkers commonly call out, others have ulcers, and still others are constantly muttering appalling things about customers under their breaths.
Kenneth does not work at our store. Kenneth has probably never worked at our store. But Kenneth has worked for our same company since 1989, and he has never missed a single 
one of those days. For twenty years, Kenneth has not been ill. Kenneth has not been hungover. Kenneth has not had a family emergency. Kenneth has not felt too depressed to get out of bed. Kenneth has not pretended to be sick so he can go to a movie instead. Kenneth claims that guilt spurs him to go to work, and plays a large part in his perfect attendance because he doesn’t want his absence to burden the people he works with. He would rather be useful, he says, instead of sitting at home and thinking about all the others having to carry on without him.
From the standpoint of our company, Kenneth should be an inspiration to the rest of us, one who we should all strive to emulate.
But at my store, at least, Kenneth’s story had the opposite effect. “Did you read about that shmuck who’s been here for twenty years?” my supervisor asked as I clocked in on the day Kenneth’s story broke. He pulled me to the nearest computer, and called up Kenneth’s article. “Never missed a goddam day. What the fuck.” He gave the computer monitor a solid flick with his index finger.
This display of bravado drew a crowd of coworkers.
“There’s got to be something wrong with that guy, Kenneth.”
“Wow. That is so depressing.”
“I wonder what they gave him. Like a bonus or anything?”
“Not like he’d use any extra vacation days.”
‘He’s not even a manager—just a lead! ‘This is a great place to craft a career,’ my ass! Dude hasn’t moved up at all!”
“What’s wrong with him! We should call that store—see if they gave him anything.”
“We should track him down and punch him in the face, is what we should do; see if he goes to work then. Maybe kick him a few times, give him a reason to use his sick leave.”
On that note, we dispersed.
But for the rest of the evening, Kenneth hovered at the back of our minds, his twenty years of perfect attendance flashing like a strobe light behind our eyeballs. But none of us did our work any better or more efficiently. It’s possible we did an even worse job that evening, to prove a point.
If we were not who we are at my store, Kenneth might be an inspiration. But as it is, you could say morale is low.
