Tag Archives: urine test

Jul20

Frying Pan (Part 2)

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Blog bonus day! Today I’ll tell the rest of the story of my experience at a very strange interview for a job at a souvenir shop. As the saga continues, I’m about to get the details regarding the drug test I have to take.

You’ll have to pass a drug test, the manager told me, which I already knew from my friend who worked nearby. Can you pass one today? she asked in a lowered voice. I told her I could.

She handed me a thick stack of papers. In the stack I’d find the company handbook and forms to sign saying I accepted the cash register policy as well as the other policies in the handbook. There were other forms to sign granting permission for the drug test and the background check. She left me at the lunch counter to sign the forms.

Reading the company handbook made me privy to more policies.  Any employee parking too close to the store would be fired. Employees’ purses, backpacks, and lunch bags had to be made from clear plastic. If I lost my nametag, I’d be charged $25. If I lost my timecard, I’d be charged $25. If I forgot to punch in or out, I’d be docked 60 minute of pay. If I quit before I’d worked there 90 days, I’d be charged for my drug test and background check.

I’d never had an employer charge me for a lost nametag or time card, and a $25 fee seemed excessive. Also, losing an hour’s pay for not punching in or out seemed like a harsh way to teach a lesson. I wondered if these policies were even legal. Who were these people I was considering signing on with?

The manager came back, and I had a few questions for her. What hours was the store open? How much did the job pay?

Her answers gave me hope.

The store was typically open from 10am to 6pm; occasionally it was open a couple of hours later. She thought new hires started at $11 an hour, but she’d have to double check.

I gritted my teeth and thought I could deal with some weirdness for $11 an hour and a schedule that didn’t require a 4am wake up.

The manager wanted to know when I could start if I passed the drug test and the background check. She said an employee had quit and the store needed a new worker right away. I told her the new schedule for my current job had just come out, and I’d want to give notice and work the days I was expected there. The schedule was only for a week, so essentially I’d give five days notice. I also offered to come in to the souvenir shop for training a couple hours on the days I would be working at the fuel station.  I figured getting some training in before I started working at the souvenir shop full time would give me a head start when I was actually on the schedule.

The manager had a urine specimen cup in her hand. I’ve only been drug tested for work a couple of times—once for a temp job and once when I was trying to get hired for a work-at-home job with U-Haul. (I got the temp job, but was not hired by U-Haul because the internet was too slow where I was staying.) In both cases, I was sent to a business that specialized in urinalysis. I was handed a cup upon arrival and was sent to a bathroom stall where I provided my sample. The whole process was quite professional.

Now the manager handed me the cup and ushered me into the employees’ restroom. I carried my (small) purse in with me. The manager left me alone in the dark, damp room. If I’d need to provide a clean sample from someone who didn’t use drugs, I had ample opportunity.

The sample cup was unlike any I’d ever seen. It had some kind of protrusion on it, almost as tall as the cup and maybe 1½ inches wide. I think the protrusion was what showed the results of the test.

I peed in the cup, no problem. I wiped off the cup with toilet paper. I set it on the sink while I washed my hands and adjusted my clothing. Then I stood and stared at the container of urine. The manager hadn’t told me exactly what to do with it.

 In medical offices, there is sometimes a small metal door in the wall. The patient opens the little door and leaves the sample behind the door. A medical professional can open the door on the other side of the box and retrieve the sample when it is convenient. There was no small metal door in any of the restroom’s walls.

When I’ve given samples for jobs or drug studies, a professional wearing latex gloves had been just outside the door of the stall, ready to take the sample as soon as I walked out. But what to do today? Should I leave the sample in the restroom? Should I carry it out to the manager? I felt awkward in my uncertainty.

I decided to take the sample with me. I poked my head out of the restroom door. The manager was not standing there waiting for me. I walked over to the lunch counter. The manager was not waiting for me there either.

The young woman (perhaps still a teenager) working at the lunch counter indicated a napkin on the counter. She said to leave it there, the young woman said, so I set my cup of urine down a few feet from where tourists were enjoying hot dogs and Frito pies and milkshakes. Gross! I don’t know much about health codes, but setting a cup of urine on a lunch counter where people are eating has got to be against at least one of them.

When the manager returned, she peered at my urine sample, pulled up a photo on her phone, and compared my sample to the photo. Wait! What? The manager of the souvenir shop would by analyzing my urine? She would be the one to determine if I was drug-free? Was she trained for this?

This interview was growing increasingly weird.

The manager said this was going to take a while. Did I want to wait?

I really didn’t, so I said I thought I’d head out.

She said she’d call the company’s secretary and give her the information for my background check, but the results might not be ready until Monday since it was already almost 3 o’clock on Friday afternoon. She said if I hadn’t heard from her by Monday afternoon, I should call to check in.

I left feeling really weird about the entire situation. The manager talked as if I were already hired, but I still had the results of the drug test and background check hanging over my head. Was I in or was I out? I suppose I was officially in limbo.  

I spent the entire weekend going back and forth about the job. On the one hand, $11 an hour was more than I was currently earning, but on the other hand, I didn’t agree with having to cover drawer shortages that I didn’t cause. On yet another hand, the hours at the souvenir shop were much better than what I was currently working, but on the other hand (how many hands was I dealing with here?) there were the policies about being charged for losing things. Was I about to jump out of the frying pan and right into the fire?

On Monday afternoon, I called the manager of the souvenir shop. She hadn’t heard back about the background check, so she couldn’t offer me the job. She asked again when I could start if I was offered the job, and I again told her I felt like I needed to finish out the week I was already scheduled for.

The owner of the company is really on me to hire someone who can start immediately, she told me. Everyone I’ve tried to hire wants to give two weeks notice, she complained.

I felt she was pressuring me to walk out on my current job. I didn’t want to walk out for a number of reasons. First, I thought it was unethical to leave everyone working in the fuel center in a lurch. Second, I didn’t want to burn my bridges. The company I was working for is a huge corporation with stores across the country. Walking out without notice would probably mean I could never get a job with the corporation again. Third, I wasn’t even sure I wanted to work for the souvenir people.

I’m sure the owner doesn’t like it when his employees quit without giving two weeks notice, I told the manager. Surely he can understand people wanting to give notice.

It happens all the time, the manager sighed, referring to people quitting without notice.

I wondered if because it happened to him all the time, the owner of the business had come to think of this behavior as normal. I also wondered why his employees walked out without notice all the time.

The manager and I agreed I’d check in the next day, but the conversation with her didn’t leave me feeling good. I discussed the situation with The Man and my sibling.  The conclusions I reached? I didn’t appreciate being pressured to do something I thought was not right. If the manager and owner of the company thought I was a good fit for their team and a good investment, they should be willing to wait five days for me. I did not feel good about several of the company policies. I decided I didn’t want to work in the souvenir shop after all.

I chose to text the manager. I didn’t really want to talk to her again. I didn’t want to discuss the situation or my concerns. I just wanted to be done.

Here’s what I texted to her: I understand your need to fill the position immediately. Since I am unable to do that, I am withdrawing my application. Thanks.

Several hours later she responded, I’m sorry to hear that, but thanks for applying.

It looked like I was staying in the frying pan for a while longer.

Jul19

Frying Pan (Part 1)

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This story of a job interview gone weird turned out to be a long one, so I’ll only tell half the story today. I’ll make tomorrow a blog post bonus day and tell the rest of the story then.

After a couple months in town, I needed a job. I applied online at a dozen chain supermarkets, drug stores, and low-end department stores. I also handed my resume to a half dozen locally-owned businesses. Most of the local places weren’t even hiring, but took my resume anyway.

A large bear carved from wood sits next to a wooden chair and holds a sign that says "welcome."
I worked a seasonal job in this mercantile housed in a yurt.

My resume was not very impressive. In the last ten years, I’d only worked seasonal jobs for two companies. Sometimes I included my house and pet sitting experience on applications, but it’s not like I have a business; even my self-employment is casual. I worried my resume wouldn’t get my foot in the door, but didn’t know how to better my chances of getting an interview.

I got an email form a corporate supermarket. I was instructed to call a phone number, which I did. I had a pre-screening phone interview with a very friendly woman from the corporate human resources department. She told me the only job available at the local store was in the fuel center (aka gas station). I told her I’d take the job. I figured working in a gas station couldn’t be much different from working inside the main store. My conversation with the human resources lady went well, and she approved me for an interview in the local store.

An assistant manager conducted the in-person interview while the local human resources lady sat in. He told me the job would be part-time with no guaranteed number of hours each week. It was the only job offer I’d had, so I took it.

I got four days of training; other workers told me that was a lot more than most people got. My first five days of work started at 5:45 in the morning, which meant I had to get out of bed around 4am so I’d have time to dress, eat, and brush my teeth (all at my early morning snail’s pace) and then make the 40 minute drive to my workplace. It was not an easy work week.

The job turned out to be a lot harder than I thought it would be. By the third day, I wanted out of there.

One of the places where I’d applied during my job search was a souvenir shop in the historic district. A friend of mine worked nearby and told me the manager was always hiring because of high employee turnover. My friend chalked it up to the fact that employees had to pass a drug test, but I wondered what else might be going on. Maybe the shop wasn’t such a great place to work. Despite my mild misgivings, when I decided I didn’t like working at the gas station, I called the manager of the souvenir shop to check in.

Can you come in Friday morning for an interview? the manager asked me right away.

I told her I had to work Friday morning but got off at one o’clock in the afternoon.

Can you come in at one? she asked.

I laughed a little and told her it would take me some time to get from my job to her shop. I wondered if she thought I’d teleport to her place, but kept my little joke to myself. I told her I could be there at 1:30.

On Friday my replacement was late, so I was late starting my task of getting merchandise from the main store to replace the items we’d sold at the fuel center. It was my first time doing the task alone, so it took longer than expected. Instead of getting off at 1pm, I didn’t punch out until 1:15. I hurried to my truck and changed out of my work clothes and into a skirt, nice shirt, and my red cowgirl boots. I looked nice but a bit frazzled.

 The interview was conducted not in an office or a break room, but out in the open in the store. There was an old-fashioned lunch counter in the store, where I perched on a little turquoise-colored stool while the manager stood on the other side of the counter. While the manager talked to me, a worker served hotdogs and Frito pies and milkshakes to customers sitting a few feet away.

It wasn’t an interview in the traditional sense. The manager didn’t ask me questions about my goals or my work experience or my strengths and weaknesses or what I could contribute to the team. Instead, she listed the things I needed to know about working in the store.

  • Wear comfortable shoes because there was no sitting down.
  • My significant other was not allowed to hang out in the store for hours at a time.
  • The store was open 365 days a year. It did not close for Christmas, Easter, or Thanksgiving.
  • Workers did not get a lunch break. Workers were paid for the entire time they were at work, but no one took an hour or half an hour off for lunch. No one was allowed to leave the store for lunch. All eating was done in the store, between helping customers.
  • I’d have to be able to count money. I don’t know what they’re teaching at the high school, the manager said, but kids these days couldn’t count money.
  • There was always something to do at the store. If there were no customers, there was something to clean or t-shirts to fold.
  • The door to the store was open during business hours, even in the heat and even in a blizzard. I should dress accordingly.
  • If my cash register was short, I had to replace the missing money. If two people were on the register and the drawer came up short, each person put in half of the missing money.

Some of the policies were par for the course (most businesses don’t allow employees to sit during a shift and of course I’d have to know how to count money when working in a store), but others really surprised me. No lunch break and no leaving the store? Was I signing up for indentured servitude?

The short drawer policy really stopped me in my tracks. I’d never worked anywhere that required drawer shortages to be covered from the workers’ pockets. If drawer shortages got to be a recurring problem, a worker might get reprimanded or even fired, but no employer had ever stated replacement of missing money as a policy. Actually, I could understand being held accountable for my own cash register mistakes, but I wasn’t too keen on having to pay half of someone else’s mistakes (or thievery). Other places where I’ve worked had cashiers sign on and off the register so if someone was careless or stealing there was a hope of figuring out who was the responsible party.  This pay-out-of-pocket policy was a huge red flag to me, but I disliked my current job enough to sit there and continue to listen to what the manager had to say.

Stay tuned. The story will continue tomorrow with the strangest drug test circumstances I’ve ever encountered.

I took the photo in this post.