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

I find that when one is unemployed, after some time the days just seem to meld one into the other, where Tuesdays become Thursdays and Saturdays Mondays, where time can come to a crawl if you stare long enough at a clock or speed past you unnoticed as you doze lazily in your reading chair, on and off throughout the sunny workday afternoons.

Just the other day, in fact, my wife was reminding me that it’s been a month and half since my contract as a software developer was terminated. My termination couldn’t have been nicer, though. The CIO of the small Pittsburgh software company I worked for called me himself (I was able to telecommute from the comfort of my home office and so rarely did I need to actually go into the office). Although he said my work was exemplary, commendable, a model for all software engineers to follow (well, perhaps he didn’t use so many words … and maybe they weren’t actually these particular words), my services were simply no longer needed. Cut to my face and imagine a look of sheer astonishment. What? Was it something I said? No. Was it something I did or didn’t do? Um, no. What, was it that joke at the company picnic that I cracked about your wife? Silence. Well, I guess you can’t win ‘em all.

This is the third time in three years that I’ve been unemployed. My new-found nonchalance has been upsetting my wife, but it has been affording me a lot of needed reading time what with several hundred books in various locales about my study awaiting my attention. I’ve also been sitting back in quiet contemplation (my wife just calls this pure laziness) and pondering my future, wondering if, in this “present climate,” where jobs such as mine seem to be flocking eastward toward the rising sun, I’ll find anything. So far, “the pickins have been slim.”

The first time I was laid off, however, I was working as a full-time, permanent, salaried employee. The entire company, to the surprise of the entire company save the CEO, of course, went under, and my wife, myself and our bird, Sammie, all went into a panic. I’d never filed for unemployment before, didn’t even know how to go about it, and wasn’t sure that I’d qualify. Then there was the daunting prospect of contacting headhunters, building relationships, polishing the resume, sending them out with cover letters by snail mail and email, and checking if the only suit and dress shoes I owned still actually fit me. I suppose we just expected, after buying our humongous house, that I’d forever be making those boatloads of cash that once seemed to flow so freely from the pockets of employers. We assumed that, despite 9/11, our small company would persevere, ride out the depressing, crushing waves of uncertainty, doubt and the streams of perspiration pouring from the brows of upper management.

Well, like a lot of businesses that were going belly-up at that time, we weren’t spared. In thinking about it, there seemed to be this cascade effect going on, like business dominoes of a sort. Investors stopped investing, larger companies began laying off and cutting out critical projects, thus smaller companies in partnership were affected which caused them to either cut back or close shop, etc., on down the line all the way to the small fish, such as the company I worked for.

The second time I was laid off, a year ago now, things were simpler. Although it was more of a shock to me than the first time (the story of which would take an entire blog entry in itself), going about making arrangements for unemployment and contacting headhunters, friends and acquaintances was much easier and less stressful, especially on my wife and the bird. This third time, however, which seems like it was going to be old hat, is beginning to have its stressful effect on the family.

In terms of software development jobs, Pittsburgh seems to be drying up — it seems like we’re under some sort of business drought, or perhaps it’s all the offshore outsourcing. Most of the people I worked with at recruitment firms are no longer there; all of my friends and acquaintances seem to be happily employed at places that are filled to capacity, and the telephone, which used to ring off the hook when word was out that I was looking for work, now rarely rings at all, and when it does it’s usually some wily telemarketer who has somehow figured out how to bypass the system here in Pennsylvania in order to save me money on my long distance or to sell me light bulbs, or my mother, whose first words to me are “Have you found a job yet?”

This time, although I can feel the subtle waves of stress wash over me and through my abode, I’ve decided to put a lot more thought into my next job, sit back and take in the fresh air of my country dwelling, and try not to make any rash decisions. Who knows? Maybe this is a kick in the butt telling me to get out of the standard nine to five, make-someone-else-rich kind of job, and to just do for myself, make my own way, start a new company, become an artist, or get my Ph.D. in ancient languages and philosophy. I don’t rightly know, but I do know this: It’s mid afternoon, the sun is out, the breeze is flowing, and I hear birds chirping and kids playing, so I think it’s time I get out of the house, sit out on the porch with an iced tea and a book, and ponder my next move.

Thomas J. Clancy