The Ultimate Stretch

I went to dance class last night. The class is called “Dancers Stretch” and it’s a combination of ballet and yoga. It ties in nicely with my gym schedule and overall goal to tighten and tone my body. It felt so good, to stretch and ease the tension in my shoulders, back and legs. As a classically trained ballerina, with an array of dance experiences ranging from African dance to tap, modern to meringue, and jazz to lyrical, it’s nice to get back into the groove of dancing.

My friend “CiCi” introduced me to the class last Thursday, and I went back on my own yesterday. I learned about muscles I never knew I had. We became acquainted with one another this morning through a little concept called “soreness”. It’s a nice pain, though. The kind that proves you accomplished something the day before. The kind you want to feel again…

Then, this morning, I ventured to my Chiropractor for an adjustment. I know it sounds high-maintenance but it’s my cousin’s practice, and he has assured me that I “need” these adjustments regularly… so, I go. And again, more with the stretching. My vertebrae, which has some detectible flaws and needs realigning, is being stretched and coaxed into a more suitable position with each visit. I always feel more relaxed when I leave the office. I guess that means it is working.

But the stretching and tension came to an all-time high when I reached the office. I withdrew cash for tomorrow’s hair appointment, and was dismayed by the balance listed on the teller receipt. Where was my paycheck? It wasn’t showing up in the account, and I KNEW today was payday. So, again, where was my check? Ah! It hadn’t posted yet. That’s it. This is the money Mom promised for my flight to DC in two weeks. My real paycheck was just a little late posting on my account. Cool.

I went to Wachovia.com to check on the status of the paycheck. I mean, it had surely been deposited; I just needed for it to clear. I then called my mother to thank her for making the deposit into my account (she was so thoughtful). Just as she was answering the phone, I read the transactions in my account. This money wasn’t from Mom… it was from the company…and they hadn’t paid me nearly enough. I was going to have to call her back.

I had had the foresight before transitioning into this position to call HR, my new hiring manger, and accounting to ENSURE that my paychecks would continue to flow, without interruption, as I moved into my new department. Everyone and I mean everyone, reassured me that my concerns, though valid, were taken care of. My paychecks would remain consistent, and I needn’t worry. Right.

Welp. Those heifers were wrong. I was immediately enraged. How was I going to make $300 dollars stretch for two weeks?! My phone bill was due on the 29th; rent on the 1st; Visa bill on the 1st; gas and power due on the 10th… next payday: JULY 11.

What. The. Ham-Sandwich.

How was I going to stretch this check? It was impossible. Even if I dug into my Wachovia savings, withdrew my ING savings, and charged frivolous things like gas and groceries… I’d still only be getting by. Granted, I’ve been “getting by” for awhile now and am neither immune nor averse to doing it… but WHY should I have to? Couldn’t this company just give me my check?! I’d done the work. I’d posted the hours. I needed my compensation.

I called accounting. Evidently, full-time employees were paid ahead of schedule, and overtime was paid in the rear. Which means, each two weeks, I was paid for hours scheduled to work, and awarded overtime from the previous pay cycle. Freelancers, however, were not so fortunate. They received payment in the rear, which meant I would work for four whole weeks before ever seeing a dime. Somebody shoot me.

So I called my mom back, with sobering calmness, to tell her the news. As she prodded for details and clarification, I felt them. Tears. I tried my hardest to hold them back. "Arionne" (the intern) was sitting two feet away in our shared cube, and I couldn’t bear for her to see me cry within the first two weeks of our meeting. But… down they came. So much so, that I had to abruptly end the conversation with Mom and pardon myself to use the restroom. I was just so frustrated. Why was this happening? I admit, I take serious issue with things I cannot control. And, there will always be situations and circumstances beyond my control… but I SWEAR. I have worked diligently, tirelessly and paid more than my fair share of dues. Was it really too much to ask that this dim-witted company remain consistent in its pay cycles?! People have bills to pay. They have rent to pay. They have GAS to buy. And entry-level employees, try as we may, can only save fractions of the pennies we receive to begin with. I considered digging into my savings to piece together bill payments. I did consider that. But there was a principle that was being blatantly neglected. Just because an employee transitions from full-time to freelance does not mean that her obligations shift as well. Am I the only logical person on the planet?

But my mom, my saving grace, came to my rescue. After initially promising to deposit sufficient funds into my account to carry me over for two weeks, she called again with better news. She was depositing a truly significant amount of money into my account (more than I needed or would have asked for)…“just because”. She said that I had worked hard throughout college and she was overdue in giving me credit. She and my father had not paid a dime for my education. She applauded my efforts in seeking out grants and scholarships during school, graduating with high honors and achieving accolades to last a lifetime. She applauded my continued efforts to prove my independence as well. I’m incorporating my own business, taking evening French classes at a local university, freelancing at a local travel agency (to feed my traveling fetish), applying for business schools, and networking and in my downtime, dancing…all of my own volition, no less. I may not make much, but I don’t ask for much either. She appreciated that, and offered financial support as a short-term fix, long-term “I’m-proud-of-you”, and possibly, a figurative Kleenex. Though my emotions had shifted from frustration to relief, those tears just wouldn’t stop.

Mom is, indeed, the Single Aesthetic. And this is but one instance where she has come through in the clutch. What would I do without her? Where would I be without her? WHO would I be without her? My Mom: an amazing person, an extraordinary parent, and a remarkable friend.

http://www.dance101.org/
http://www.viningschiro.com/