Deja Vu

by Michal Hartstein

  “So how do you explain it?”

  “That's what I keep on telling you. There’s no justice! If you enter the boss’s office, bang your fist on the table and threaten to leave, you get what you ask for. If you just keep quiet and accept reality as it is, you just go on getting screwed over.”

  “So go into Gideon’s office and bang your fist on his table!”

  “And if he fires me?”

  “He could’ve fired the engineer. If he doesn’t want you to go, he won’t fire you.”

  I was afraid to go to Gideon. I didn’t know what I could say to him. I’d barely been working there a year, and the first salary adjustment for workers in the company happened only after two years, certainly not less than eighteen months. I knew I wasn’t going to wait another whole year, but half a year of waiting seemed like an eternity too.

  When I started working on payroll, it never occurred to me it would entail such emotional difficulty. I didn’t see workers; I saw numbers. I could rate all the workers from the most expensive to the least expensive, just like grades pinned on the bulletin board in the principal’s office. Next to each name was a number. The higher the number, the more that person was to be respected. That analogy between pay scales and school grades ran through my mind again and again. During my studies at university, my ranking gave me confidence. I wasn’t always in first place, but I always knew that the list was realistic. The best student received the highest score. The employee list was very different. Those who received the highest salary weren’t necessarily the best employees, at least not in my opinion, and it bothered me. It was more than just the financial reward. The payroll was a simplistic way for me to rate the company's employees.

  I didn’t like my position. I thought I deserved to be ranked higher.

  A year and two months after I started working at Smart Green, I knew I couldn’t continue with the way things were. I decided to go to Gideon, even though my contract stated clearly that I wouldn’t be considered for a raise until I’d worked there for two years.

  I decided to take a chance.

  I entered Gideon’s office after practicing my speech for a week. He smiled at me and asked what I wanted.

  “I want to talk about something personal,” I said.

  “Please,” he gestured to the chair opposite him. “Come and sit down.”

  I had a feeling he thought I was going to tell him I was pregnant.

  “I'm not pregnant,” I blurted out immediately. “At least, not as far as I know,” I smiled.

  “That's fine,” he said with a look of appreciation. “You know that Smart Green respects mothers. You must have heard that Deganit, who works with you, returned from a nine-month maternity leave just before you started your job.”

  “Yes, I heard.”

  “But you're not pregnant, so what did you want to tell me?”

  “Gideon,” I cleared my throat. I didn’t want my voice to tremble. I wanted to sound as assertive as I could. “I think you know how much I enjoy working for this company.” He nodded. “This job is everything I dreamed of and more. I'm learning a lot and enjoy helping in any way that my training and experience allows.”

  “I'm very pleased with you too,” he said immediately. I knew he was very pleased with me. He never hid it and made sure to praise me with compliments and reassurance.

  “But there are two things that bother me. Really bother me.”

  “What?” he asked a worried tone.

  “The first issue is my job description. In many other companies, what I do is considered the job of an accountant and not the work of a bookkeeper.”

  “Chief bookkeeper!” he immediately corrected.

  “And I think, as a result,” I continued my speech, “my salary is inappropriate for my role.” He looked at me, shocked, but I knew I had to finish what I came there to say. “I don’t know why my role’s entitled chief bookkeeper [I made sure to add the ‘Chief’] and not an accountant.” The truth is that I had a pretty good idea why my job title wasn’t ‘accountant.’ The salary of an accountant would be almost double. “Maybe it’s because Shoshana, my predecessor, was a bookkeeper by profession.” I tried to come up with a logical reason for Gideon.

  “You're doing exactly the same work Shoshana did.”

  “I have to tell you that Shoshana’s knowledge wasn’t that of an ordinary bookkeeper, or even of a chief bookkeeper,” I hastened to add. “And since I came here, I’ve added quite a bit to the content of management reports, additional material that Shoshana didn’t put in.”

  I watched Gideon. His gaze was frozen. I didn’t know how to interpret it. I continued, as I’d practiced. “I know it's not fair to use the knowledge I’m privy to about other employees’ wages, but I think it's just not fair that I earn, just as an example, four thousand shekels less than Ofer Kaduri.”

  Gideon frowned. “Hasn’t Ofer just had a 2000 shekel raise?”

  “Yes,” I replied passionately, “and he’s a practical engineer. He doesn’t even have a college degree like I do.”

  “So you think you deserve an extra 4000 shekels?”

  Honestly, I thought I deserved more than Ofer Kaduri, but I was embarrassed to say the exact amount I thought I deserved. “Something like that,” I said, and I tilted my head from side to side, as if trying to weigh the money in my head. Gideon checked something on the computer. I thought it was a good sign, that maybe he was calculating how much he should give me.

  He turned away from his computer, looked straight at me and said in the angriest voice I have ever heard, “I have to tell you, you are rude!” He swallowed and continued. “So rude! You compare yourself to Ofer Kaduri or Shoshana? How dare you?”

  I hunched down in my chair and he continued. “Ofer Kaduri has been working here for six years and this was his first significant raise. The raise you’re asking for would bring you, more or less, to Shoshana’s wage level, and she worked here for more than fifteen years! How do you even dare compare yourself to these two workers? While we’re at it, how dare you use other employees’ salary data to your personal ends?”

  I felt tears welling in my eyes. I couldn’t answer him because I knew that if I opened my mouth, I'd cry.

  “You think I don’t know your wages here are about fifty percent higher than you earned with your last employer? You came here and dramatically improved your working conditions and signed an agreement that stated you wouldn’t be getting a salary review for two years… and now you want to break the rules?”

  “I don’t want to break the rules,” I managed to say without bursting into tears.

  “Maybe you don’t, but I would really like to fire you right now!”

  I was shocked. I couldn’t believe the conversation had come this far. Now, without even uttering another word, I burst into tears. Gideon was stunned. Like many men, he didn’t know how to respond to a crying woman.

  “I'm sorry,” I said, sobbing. “It was bothering me, and I thought it would be best to talk to you… It was beginning to interfere with my work.” Gideon got up from his chair. I was afraid he was going to throw me out, but he went to the dresser behind him and took out a pack of tissues for me.

  He stood next to me, folded his arms, leaned on his desk and said calmly, “I apologize. Maybe I overreacted a little, but you really made me very angry. I do want you to come to me when you have a problem and not bottle things up, but I also expect you to use your discretion - and you absolutely did not use it today.” I nodded in agreement, even though I still thought I was right. “I’m very happy with you and your work, and I believe you can have a great future in this company. I’m also sure that, if you keep at it, your wages will go up, but all in good time.”

  I left the room. Rina, his secretary, couldn’t fail to miss my red eyes and immediately picked up her phone and dialed, probably to announce the hot gossip to one of my bookkeepers. I didn’t want to let the story escalate, and I left the building. Across the road was a small café. I sat down
and ordered a cup of coffee. I drank it slowly, to calm down and let the tears stop before I went back to the office. I thought to myself that maybe I did over exaggerate and some of my demands were not legitimate after only a year with the company, but Gideon's reaction blew me away. I was really offended. Is a request for a higher salary reason enough to threaten an employee with dismissal? I was sure it wasn’t. If I hadn’t needed the job and the salary, I’d have gone right up there and collected my things.

  When I got home and cried into Amir’s shoulder, he was forced to agree with me that Gideon's response was a bit extreme. However, he reminded me that he thought I should wait patiently until at least the end of my second year with Smart Green, and he also thought that I should stop making comparisons between the employees, but compare my salary with that of colleagues in other companies.

  “But I’m the chief bookkeeper, not an accountant,” I said tearfully.

  “Tell me,” Amir said quietly, stroking me softly. “Is there anything you’re missing?”

  “Yeah, I’m not an accountant!” I answered immediately with bitterness.

  “Let the title go,” he said almost angrily and then returned to speaking calmly. “I mean do you lack for anything?”

  “I could use more money...”

  “I don’t lack for anything. We do pretty well for our age. We both have stable jobs, and I think you enjoy your work very much. How many people can say that?”

  “I don’t know,” I shrugged. I didn’t like the logic in Amir’s words. I wanted to wallow in self-pity.

  “Not many, I assure you. You do this to yourself all the time, Rose. You compare yourself with others instead of focusing on what you have. Stop imagining others have it better all the time, and start enjoying and appreciating what you do have.”

  He was right. But it was hard for me to get off my high horse. I’d been up there for so long. I found it hard to get my feet back on the ground.

  CHAPTER 7

  Four months after Adi, Inbal and David’s second daughter, was born, Daria and Asi also had a daughter, Shira. According to my calculations, Daria became pregnant immediately after Inbal announced her second pregnancy. Like always, she didn’t want to be left behind.

  Daria didn’t miss the chance to flaunt her wealth and the fact that she’d managed to get back in shape in less than two months, so she organized a lavish party to show off the baby and her figure. After Inbal and I finished admiring her remarkable weight loss, her revealing dress and the flashy pink decorations of the venue, she led us to our tables, but not before she had us swear to “try everything” from the buffet, although we had no doubt that she wouldn’t put even one grain of rice in her own mouth. We couldn’t sit quietly for more than two minutes: David and Amir were busy chasing Nofar and little Coral while Inbal and I couldn’t exchange even one sentence without baby Adi bothering us. When Adi began to scream incessantly, our fragmented conversation ended officially, and Inbal took Adi out to calm her down. I sat and played listlessly with my iPhone.

  “Didn’t you study accounting at the University of Tel Aviv?” the girl sitting across the table asked me in a cautious tone.

  “Yes,” I replied, looking up. She seemed familiar to me.

  “I knew I recognized you!” She smiled a satisfied smile. “My husband and I also did accounting in Tel Aviv. Maybe you know my husband? He’s just running around after Guy, our son. When did you graduate?”

  “I graduated in 2004, but then I did an extra year. How about you?”

  “Lior graduated in 2002, and I finished up in 2003. I think we did a course together… perhaps it was Managerial Accountancy?”

  “Maybe. You finished your extra year or your degree in 2003?”

  “I didn’t complete the extra year.” She rose from her chair and moved to sit next to me. “I'm not a CPA.”

  “Really?”

  “I did a degree in law and accounting, and I chose to specialize in law.”

  “So you’re a lawyer?”

  “Yes, both of us are.”

  “Oh. I studied economics and accounting and specialized in accounting.”

  “Lior and I debated the matter and in the end we chose to specialize in law, but I don’t regret it.”

  “I don’t regret my choice either,” I said. In truth I wasn’t sure whether I did or not, though I hadn’t had the option to specialize in law.

  “We didn’t throw away our accounting studies.” She smiled. “After I finished my internship, we went to New York for a year and got our master’s in management, so it was very helpful.”

  “Very nice,” I said, feeling a green cloud of jealousy began to hover over me.

  “How do you know Daria?” she inquired.

  “We're childhood friends. How about you?”

  “My son’s in the same kindergarten as Roy.”

  “So you live inDaria and Asi’s neighborhood?”

  “Just two buildings over,” she said. She spotted Lior from afar and signaled him over. “Lior, you remember...” She looked at me and she remembered that she’d forgotten to ask my name.

  “Rose Yanku. Actually, in school I was still Rose Lerner.”

  “Rose Lerner,” she finished the sentence.

  Lior approached, a golden-haired boy bundled up in his hands. “Hello,” he smiled at me. He looked at me and smiled sheepishly. “The truth is, I don’t really remember you.”

  I didn’t recognize him either.

  “Rose studied a year below me and two below you, maybe that's why.”

  The blond child didn’t let Lior join the conversation, and we were left alone again.

  “How many children do you have?” she asked.

  “One daughter.” I pointed out Nofar, who was watching a clown modeling balloons with interest. “Nofar.”

  “We also have only one child,” she said sadly. “Excuse me for asking, but do you have problems?”

  “What problems?”

  “You know...” she stammered, “fertility problems...”

  “Why?” I looked at her, stunned, “I’m only thirty, and I have one child already.”

  “Oh, sorry,” she said, embarrassed. “She just seems to be a big girl and you don’t look at all pregnant,” she tried to flatter me.

  “I don’t understand,” I said. I was confused by her slightly embarrassing questions.

  “Forgive me,” she said, and I saw that she was on the verge of tears. “It’s just that almost everyone I know is having their second child.”

  “So?” I asked nonchalantly, as if I never compared myself to others. “Just because everyone has another child, I need to as well?”

  “Absolutely not,” she smiled and blew her nose. “If I didn’t really want another baby, it wouldn’t bother me at all.” I looked at her with empathy. I knew how she felt. I’d never longed for another child, but I knew how it felt to not get what you want. In recent years, I always felt like I was chasing happiness and yet always unable to attain it.

  “You must forgive me,” she said. “I barely know you, and here I am dumping all my troubles on you.”

  “It's okay,” I smiled. “Sometimes it’s easier to talk to strangers.”

  “Yes,” she laughed, “but you’re not really a stranger.”

  We continued to talk and laugh. The conversation flowed, mainly because we began to talk about our professors and classmates. It was hard to say goodbye, and we decided to meet again for a breezy brunch at the weekend.

  “I saw you were sitting with Aya Steinfeld the entire time.” Daria called me the next day and proved for the umpteenth time that she never missed anything.

  “She’s very nice.”

  “They’re a ridiculously successful pair,” Daria hurried to update me.

  “Who?”

  “She and her husband.”

  “Yes… she told me they’re lawyers.”

  “Right. What did you talk about for so long?”

  “We were at school together.”
>
  “Why would you have been studying together? She studied Law.”

  “They studied both law and accounting.”

  “Really? You can learn it together?”

  “Yes, the two subjects really overlap.”

  “Her husband’s a partner in a firm that specializes in tax law, to the best of my knowledge, so it makes sense.”

  “He’s a partner?” I asked in amazement. “How old is he?”

  “He’s thirty-five and, to my knowledge, she’s thirty-three.” Now I understood why she was so stressed about parenthood - they were a little older than Amir and me.

  “He’s still very young to be a partner.”

  “Extremely young! I told you they were a successful pair. I don’t know exactly who she works for, but I heard that she’s working for one of the most prestigious firms in the country. She goes off to meetings in the Knesset in Jerusalem.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know… she represents very big companies who probably deal with the Knesset members and give them a hard time.”

  “Wow!”

  “Yeah, they’re a very impressive couple. I keep trying to have Roy and their son play together, but their son’s too laid back for my son,” she giggled.

  “We’ll be seeing them this weekend,” I put in. “We'll see how Nofar gets along with the Crown Prince.”

  “They have a fabulous house. You’re sure to be impressed.”

  “Good for them.”

  “It really is good for them. Most people here in our neighborhood inherited their money, but they really earned theirs. She’s originally from Kiryat Gat, and I think he’s from Netanya.”

  I didn’t know if she told me all this to make me jealous, but I was flooded with negative emotions again. My background was much more privileged than those who grew up in a remote, developing town, but I didn’t see how we could possibly buy an apartment in an upscale neighborhood in northern Tel Aviv in the coming years. Aya, Lior and I had started at the same point, educationally. The three of us studied at the same school, I was even an outstanding student, none of us had any connections or a rich daddy and yet they’d been able to steer themselves higher than me. Maybe I’d made a mistake by choosing to be a CPA. Maybe I should have gone to law school. I didn’t feel I was missing anything material in my life. Amir and I made a good living, and we lived in a cute apartment (with a choking mortgage). We lived the Israeli dream. But for me, this dream was too trite and didn’t aim high enough. I felt that I should be achieving more. My mother told me that I’d always been like that, even before the accident. She and my father tried occasionally to moderate my need to be constantly in first place, to no avail. In my childhood and youth, the disappointments were smaller and the successes were easier to reach, but as time passed, it was harder for me to reach that summit, and I had to feel the bitter taste of disappointment again and again. The sense of 'what if’ paralyzed me once again, as it had when I found out I was pregnant with Nofar.