I was at home helping my daughters with their online schooling when a text arrived on my phone.
"Attention, salon employees,' the text said. "We are reopening this week. All employees are required to report to work. Contact your manager with questions."
My heart sank. It was the late spring of 2020. The Covid-19 pandemic was upending life all across America. The salon where I worked as a skin care and makeup specialist had closed 45 days earlier. Now the owners were reopening the salon.
Leaving aside my safety concerns about resuming in-person work, I faced a more pressing practical challenge.
My husband, Luther, and I have four daughters, who ranged in age from 9 to 15 years old that year. Their schools were operating remotely, and I had become my girls' in-home assistant teacher.
Maybe my teenagers could handle at-home schooling on their own. My younger ones, not so much.
Luther managed a team of technicians at a telecom company. He mostly worked from home, but sometimes he had to leave unexpectedly when a tech needed help. We couldn't just leave the kids alone.
I had worked at the salon for 13 years. It was a high-end establishment, 4,000 square feet with about 50 employees, located in an upscale suburb of Fort Worth. Staff were expected to cultivate a loyal and high-spending clientele. I had done that.
Surely, the owners would give me a short extension to get my girls through the final two weeks of school and arrange for summer childcare. I said a quick prayer, figuring it wouldn't be too hard for God to help me out of this jam.
Then I called my manager. "No exceptions," she said. "You'll have to figure out something else for your kids. I expect to see you at the salon."
"But...I can't," I said.
"Human resources will be in touch with you," my manager said.
Diese Geschichte stammt aus der Aug/Sept 2023-Ausgabe von Guideposts.
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Diese Geschichte stammt aus der Aug/Sept 2023-Ausgabe von Guideposts.
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