For philosophical reasons, I am opposed to mandatory drug testing, but not necessarily because of issues dealing with privacy. When I think about drug testing and when I’m told that I must go through it in order to ‘get the job,’ I become offended. The message I hear is not that “we want to pry into your private life,” but rather “we don’t trust you (e.g., we don’t believe you).” So in order to earn their trust and assuage their fear, I’m told that I must prove to them that I am clean and sober. But I am clean and sober. Why must I prove it?  

When I think about employers and becoming an employee, I often think about trust among other things. Seldom have I worked for an employer that I hadn’t trusted, and always I trust from the outset. I believe in trusting until I have reason to distrust, and then, of course, it’s difficult to trust again. So for instance, when I join a company, I don’t go to each of my superiors and demand from them results from new drug tests (my thinking, I’d imagine, being that management on drugs isn’t such a good thing. Colleagues, fine.  But not management.) I mean, don’t I have that right to know if my superiors are clean and sober? Apparently not: this I found out firsthand, but I’ll leave that for another time. The reason I bring all of this up is that I’ve discovered the harsh reality when one decides to try and stand by his convictions, and I was caught completely by surprise — I’m still reeling from it, actually.  

A week ago, I interviewed for a position with a fairly large company out near the Pittsburgh Airport, which would have been a nice, leisurely morning and evening drive. I was being presented to this company by a recruitment firm (which, of course, shall remain nameless) that I’ve dealt with in the past. The job was a simple six-month contract, but it meant money and some semblance of security, which is something my wife and I need at the moment. The interview went very well and earlier this week, I got a call from the woman who, at the recruitment firm, had been representing me. She told me that I’d gotten the job. What she’d failed to do when she first presented me with the job proposition, however, was to tell me that they require a mandatory drug screen.

Of course, given my philosophy, my convictions as I’ve just stated them, you can imagine my response. Yes, I did actually say “Whoa!”, which stopped her from speaking, and then I explained to her my feelings. We talked back and forth for a while, and at one point, I did say no to the offer, but then she talked me out of it, and I asked if I could take the day to think about it and call her later in the afternoon (besides, I had a phone interview with another company that day and so wanted to keep my options open.)  

As the day progressed, I began mulling things over. I feel ashamed to say this, but I did in fact decide to take the job, drug screen and all. I felt ashamed, as I said, but I also felt that I was doing my familial duty. Not that I have children, but I have a wife, and we have a nice home and nice things and I wanted to keep providing this for her. I didn’t want to be the bum she was seeing me become, something which she seemed to enjoy reminding me of.

Just as I was about to make the phone call to give my rep the good news, however, I received an email — they didn’t even have the courtesy to call me (and they still have not returned my calls) — that stated that the account manager, a different woman who represented the actual company, had decided, without even bothering to consult me or await my answer, to rescind my offer — although I can neither confirm nor deny this, she probably thinks I’m a crack-smoking, cocaine-sniffing, heroine-shooting junky and didn’t want to take a chance losing them as an account.

I was told by my rep, much to my relief (who still won’t call me or take my calls), during a few back-and-forth emails that the account representative, rather than telling them that I was opposed to mandatory drug screening, simply said that I decided to consider other opportunities, which was true, of course. I mean, I had no choice, and I still don’t.

I suppose that if there is a lesson to be learned, and there really is, when it comes to choosing between your convictions and life itself, think very, very carefully, and deeply, before opening your mouth. You might just be doing yourself a favor.  

Thomas J. Clancy