Playing with Power (Part II)

Anne C. Woodlen, CEO

 Caring for Annie, Inc.

3.         Get the facts.  Make factual statements, in chronological order, about the employee’s violations of proper work behavior.  Make sure it is so true and so devoid of emotion that you could stand and swear to it in open court.  You may have to.

 4.  Document the facts.  Record incidents with names, dates, times and places.  Always ask for and write down the names of the people with whom you speak.  If a person refuses to identify him- or herself, go after that person.  Hiding in anonymity is the fortress of cowards; they believe they cannot be held accountable if you don’t know who they are.

5.  Act from reason, not emotion.  Edit all the emotional stuff out of your complaint.  How you feel as a result of the employee/agency’s action is rarely actionable; forget it.  However, you can occasionally let a sob creep into your voice.  Let the listener glimpse your terrible pain, guess at how deep it goes, and admire your self-control.

 6.   Everybody has a boss.  When a person persistently causes trouble for you, go over the person’s head.  Routinely, I give a person three tries to get it right, then I say, “What is your name and job title?  Your supervisor’s name and title?  Please transfer me.”  My size nine sneakers have left track marks on top of a lot of heads.  My friend, a retired Army sergeant, only gives people one chance to get it right before he goes up the chain of command.

 7.  File the complaint in writing.  Words on paper don’t go away.  Jimmy Breslin wrote in How the Good Guys Finally Won:  Notes from a Watergate Summer: 

“Paper will slash to pieces the life and career of any man who so much as brushes against its edges. . . . Paper does not lose interest, nor does it get tired.  Paper never goes away. . . . What is on paper remains constant. . . . Take months, take years, it does not matter at all.  The paper does not go away.  It is there and everything is on it and there always is somebody ready to pull the paper out of the file and cause it to be acted upon.”

 8.  State the solution you want.  End your complaint with a statement:  “I want my case transferred to another nurse . . . I want an investigation . . . I want the doctor sent back for retraining.”  I always ask for a written apology.  I’ve never gotten one, but wouldn’t it be lovely to have a file of paper wherein people acknowledge they hurt you because they did something wrong?

 9.  Give the person motive and incentive.  Motive is getting something good, like a pay increase; incentive is preventing something bad, like getting fired.  Let the employee know how pleased and confident you are that s/he will take care of the problem, because you really don’t want to take it over his or her head.

 10.  Establish a deadline for response.  “Can you give me a ballpark estimate of how long this will take?  Then if I haven’t heard from you by the 17th, I’ll follow up.”  Leave it open as to whether you will follow up with him or his boss.

 11.  Don’t expect much.  Rarely, if ever, will your complaint result in complete success and satisfaction—you are, after all, working against an overpowering system.  Sometimes success is measured by how far you get from the starting line, not by how close you come to the goal.

 By complaining appropriately and effectively, you will improve your circumstances to some degree and, more importantly, you will change your perception of yourself as a person of power.

You must continually push back against the system if you are to maintain any personal rights, including the right to control your own life.  To give up is to die.

About annecwoodlen

I am a tenth generation American, descended from a family that has been working a farm that was deeded to us by William Penn. The country has changed around us but we have held true. I stand in my grandmother’s kitchen, look down the valley to her brother’s farm and see my great-great-great-great-great-grandmother Hannah standing on the porch. She is holding the baby, surrounded by four other children, and saying goodbye to her husband and oldest son who are going off to fight in the Revolutionary War. The war is twenty miles away and her husband will die fighting. We are not the Daughters of the American Revolution; we were its mothers. My father, Milton C. Woodlen, got his doctorate from Temple University in the 1940’s when—in his words—“a doctorate still meant something.” He became an education professor at West Chester State Teachers College, where my mother, Elizabeth Hope Copeland, had graduated. My mother raised four girls and one boy, of which I am the middle child. My parents are deceased and my siblings are estranged. My fiancé, Robert H. Dobrow, was a fighter pilot in the Marine Corps. In 1974, his plane crashed, his parachute did not open, and we buried him in a cemetery on Long Island. I could say a great deal about him, or nothing; there is no middle ground. I have loved other men; Bob was my soul mate. The single greatest determinate of who I am and what my life has been is that I inherited my father’s gene for bipolar disorder, type II. Associated with all bipolar disorders is executive dysfunction, a learning disability that interferes with the ability to sort and organize. Despite an I.Q. of 139, I failed twelve subjects and got expelled from high school and prep school. I attended Syracuse University and Onondaga Community College and got an associate’s degree after twenty-five years. I am nothing if not tenacious. Gifted with intelligence, constrained by disability, and compromised by depression, my employment was limited to entry level jobs. Being female in the 1960’s meant that I did office work—billing at the university library, calling out telegrams at Western Union, and filing papers at a law firm. During one decade, I worked at about a hundred different places as a temporary secretary. I worked for hospitals, banks, manufacturers and others, including the county government. I quit the District Attorney’s Office to manage a gas station; it was more honest work. After Bob’s death, I started taking antidepressants. Following doctor’s orders, I took them every day for twenty-six years. During that time, I attempted%2
This entry was posted in activism, advocacy, Depression, disability rights, Fraud, Government Services, Housing, Medicaid, Medicare, Poverty, Power, Powerlessness and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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