Sued, or whatever.

I wasn't really sued. That isn't the right word for it. I don't even know what the official term is for it. Point is, the matter would have involved lawyers and courts, and had it stuck I would have been fired and maybe found liable for damages. Emotional distress or somesuch. I'm not exactly sure.

The reason I'm not sure about any of these things is that the whole thing never came to fruition. The grievance fizzled away without much ado at all, and the guy who filed it just sort of vanished.

The story is pretty interesting though, even though I didn't get thrown in jail or fined $5000 or lose my job.

I was handling a stream of collections for my offices's biggest client. This would be the one who insisted I open at 7:30 am, whom I've complained about here on several past occassions. Mr. Nervous was there waiting for his name to be called... and Mr. Nervous had a secret -- he had a little bottle of urine squirrelled away on his person.

Maybe it was deep in a secluded pocket. Maybe it was tucked in his sock. Maybe it was up inside his... yeah. Point is, it was there. And he was afraid of getting caught. And that's why he was nervous.

Also in the office this morning was my girlfriend. The routine was pretty simple: she would drop me off at my office at 8am and be at work on time herself by 8:30. The difference was, this morning I had to be in at 7:30 and it was too early for her to go clock in. Generally on these mornings she would just hang out at the office with me for twenty or thirty minutes and then take her leave.

Mr. Nervous stepped up to do his drug test, and the missus was sitting in my lobby nodding off. The stage was now set.

In the proud tradition of idiots who don't know how to properly cheat on a drug test, Mr. Nervous had neglected to warm up the urine sample he bought to give me instead of his own. As a result, the temperature strip read that the contents of the sample cup were way too cold. I pointed this out to Mr. Nervous and he started to put up a little fight, until I mentioned that I would have to call his employer for authorization to do a second test.

A second, observed collection.

I made Mr. Nervous wait until the five guys behind him were taken care of. During this period my girlfriend kissed me good-bye and left my office. Soon Mr. Nervous and I were all alone, I placed a call to his boss, got authorization to do an observed collection, and we were good to go.

An observed collection is exactly that: the guy gives a second sample, except this time I get to watch. Lo and behold, this time Mr. Nervous's sample was not only plenty warm, but smelled completely different. I made a note on the first form that the first sample was cold and send both samples to the lab.

Time passed, as time does.

I heard the good news from my boss. She called and asked, "Hey, when your girlfriend is in the office, she's in the back, right?"

Keep in mind that my boss and I have the kind of relationship where, had I lied and said "yes" she would have taken my word for it and that would have been the end of it. We also have the kind of relationship where I don't bother lying to my boss.

"Not usually," was my answer, "she'll usually hang out up front with me."

"Is she there very often?"

"Just on my early days, she'll stay here for about a half hour before it's time for her to be at work."

"Have you ever let her do a collection?"

"Absolutely not!"

This is the kind of place where I can usually think up a witty little joke to liven up the employer/employee banter. But the accusation is just so alarming that nothing but an outright denial is the only thing that will suffice. I remember years ago when I used to work at an ice cream store sometimes my friends would show up at closing time and help mop the floors. They did this for two reasons: I would get out of work earlier, and they would get free ice cream. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement and, besides, the worst thing that could happen was they could do a pisspoor job of mopping the floor, and I'd have to redo it.

There would be no benefit, mutual or otherwise, to allowing my girlfriend to do my job for me. It wouldn't get me out of the office any faster and even if I did have the authority to offer her a free drug test, I doubt she'd want one.

"Absolutely not," I repeated. "That's ridiculous. Who said that?"

"Do you remember doing a collection that came back cold?"

"Yeah, for [company x]. I called [company x's supervisor] and got permission to do an observed collection."

"Okay, well, he's filing a formal grievance against you. He said you denied his right to privacy and that your girlfriend saw him pee."

Thank you, good-night.

"...wait, what?"

"He said your girlfriend saw him pee."

"And that caused his sample to be cold?"

"I don't know, but that's what the complaint is."

"It's ludicrous."

"I know."

"From now on I won't let any of my friends hang out here, in the back or not."

"No, that's not a problem, I just wanted to make sure you weren't letting anyone else do collections or anything like that."

"What, does this guy think my girlfriend has x-ray vision?"

"I have no idea."

"Okay, well, should we be worried about this?"

"Nah, it's no problem. But you'll probably get a phone call from him."

"Fun."

Several hours later, I actually did get that phone call. Mr. Nervous sped through his monologue as quickly as possible without pause for breath. I would have bet a hundred bucks his lawyer was sitting next to him saying something like, "You have to call him and confront him with the charges, or legally nothing will stick." It was pathetic.

It went a little something like this:

"This is Mr. Nervous, I'm notifyin' you that I'm filin' a grievance against you, because your girlfriend was there, and you have been notified that my lawyer will be present."

I tried to reply, but he hung up.

I never learned where his lawyer would be present. Nor did I ever hear anything else about this entire situation, except to exchange a few lines about it next time Mr. Nervous's ex-supervisor came into my office to pick up his forms.

Apparently, the case against my girlfriend having fantastic super powers struck Mr. Nervous as far too difficult to make. So he dropped it.

Make no mistake, Mr. Nervous's old employer has strict policies concerning employees who try to cheat on a drug test. Strict, but not complicated: cheat, and you're fired. Period. The punishment for cheating is actually worse than if you'd actually failed (in which case you go to rehab, but keep your job). That said, Mr. Nervous was undoubtedly fired.

Now, as I understand it, if Mr. Nervous was going to make a formal complaint against me, his employer would have had to take it seriously. The matter would have had to have been persued all the way to court if need be. He could have fought for his job. This actually happened to me on one occassion a few years back. But no, Mr. Nervous decided against that. He decided to lodge his complaint as a private citizen, which means his employer didn't have to go to the mat for him. Of course, that means they would have gone to the mat for me instead.

Part of me really is really disappointed this whole matter just kind of... went away. I was really hoping the guy would try to push the matter. I was hoping for a court battle. I was hoping we'd get the chance to show his signature on two separate forms stating that both the urine that came back negative and the urine that came back positive were his urine. I was hoping we'd get to call the other guys in the office that day as witnesses... guys who had nothing to gain by sticking up for Mr. Nervous but everything to lose.

I was hoping the guy would call a local news station to try to kick-start a telling exposé on the drug test industry.

Alas, none of those things happened.

I've thought a bit at the mental process that goes into the things Mr. Nervous did. What was going through his mind? "Uh oh, I did a few lines the other day and now I'm going to fail a drug test. I'm going to be fired. I know! I'll make up an insane story that nobody will believe about the drug test guy and get him fired too! I am a criminal mastermind!"

Pathetic.

For the record, my girlfriend actually does have x-ray vision. However, she uses her powers only for good, like any self-respecting superhero.

Peemeister no more...

Today is my last day at the pee clinic. The office is closing down. All of our clients have been notified, of course, so absolutely nobody has been in today for a drug test. I'm taking this time to box up all the little odds and ends to make life easier for the guys who come with a pickup truck over the weekend to cart off all the furniture.

As I understand it, my office just became unprofitable because our landlord happens to be our biggest and nearest competitor. I would rather my bosses just find a new office in the same location, but there might be forces at work I don't quite understand.

I took a job at the main office. I'll be doing something computer-y, which means I won't be taking collections anymore. It also means I won't have eight hours a day to play PlayStation or read internet forums. It also means I'll have to get used to putting up with co-workers again, after three years. Rats.

So, I'll no longer be the Peemeister.

This, of course, means a radical change has to be made to this blog. I foresee one of two things happening:

1) Without new Peemeister stories, there'll be no reason to update, and the blog will just fall into disuse. Sad, but true. Nobody wants to read "The Crazy Adventures of the Guy Who Typesets Marketing Brochures" or "Mr. I Answer Phones All Day Isn't That Nuts!?".

2) The Peemeister stories will continue, and actually get better. Remember, I'm just a lowly collection site. I don't deal in results. People don't complain to me about tests coming back positive, so I don't get to hear the absolutely awesome excuses folks concoct to get their butt out of the wood chipper.

Here's an example one of the home-base folks has told me: a woman's urine test came back positive for cocaine, and she was notified of it. She was not on any medication that would flag a false positive for cocaine. Her excuse was that her boyfriend does a lot of cocaine, and she did not wash her feminine crevasse between her most recent sexual encounter and her drug test.

In other words, she claims it wasn't her urine that came back positive, but her boyfriend's semen which was still lingering around in her vagina.

I mean, that's good stuff, right?

So right now it's "wait and see". Could be my bosses are just biding their time for a few months after which they'll open up a new office and will, once again, be in need of a Peemeister.

If that happens, I'll be back here on the front lines.

My office is equipped with a brand new microwave and mini-fridge. I intend to keep both of them as souvenirs.

Ain't random.

"I'm here for a random drug test, man."

He says random sarcastically, and makes mock quotes with his index and middle fingers. I can tell immediately that this one is going to be a battle.

"I'll tell you how it works, man. My boss knows I'm the only guy in the shop that'll come up clean, so when it's time to do a random test, he sends me down. Random my left nut."

I tell him to sign in, and he does, although begrudgingly. Despite his assurance that he's the only clean worker at Shop X, nine other Shop X employees have been in today. Random selections, you see.

"I don't have any idea how something can be random if my name gets pulled every single week, you know? What do you think of that?"

"I think it's something you ought to take up with your employer," I tell him truthfully, "I have no control over selections."

"Yeah, but what do they do? Do they go alphabetically? Pull names out of a hat?"

"I imagine they use a computer."

"Yeah well the computer's broken. I've been in here every single month for the past two years."

"If you say so, sir. Empty your pockets please."

"What did you just say?"

Uh oh. That just kind of slipped out. Now I've gone and woken the beast. It becomes clear that there's no way he's going to empty his pockets until I clarify my challenge.

"I mean, you haven't been here every month for the past two years. You're mistaken. Please empty your--"

"What do you mean, I'm mistaken? I'm telling you, I might as well just set up a cot in the back room there, as often as my boss sends me down here to drug test. I don't know how they pick the names, but it ain't random."

"Okay. Now I just need you to empty your pockets--"

"Doesn't this bother you at all? Not one bit, huh?"

Sigh.

"Does what bother me, sir?"

"You don't care one bit that I'm being treated unfairly? That I have to come down here all the time while there are crackheads and burnouts at the shop who haven't been tested in five years? You think that's fair, huh?"

"Sir, if you have a problem with the selection process, you'll need to take it up with your employer. I have no control over that."

My lack of concern for this man's insufferable plight is driving him to new levels of anger. It's clear that he hates taking a drug test. Everyone does. But he doesn't have the balls to actually bring it to his employer, so he's taking it out on me. Oh joy.

"So what, you just get a list of names, and you don't care, huh? Don't care one bit that guys like me keep getting screwed while there are guys up there who smoke joints in the breakroom and never get tested?"

"I actually do get a list, once a month. If you want, I can pull all the lists dating back to 2003 and check them for you, to see if you really have been pulled more often than you should have."

Stunned silence. He starts emptying his pockets.

"No, no point in you doing that. You just gotta do what you gotta do, you know? Grin and bear it, gotta break your back for a paycheck, making the rich man richer."

"Fill this above the top of the temperature sticker, please. Bring the cup back to me when you're done."

Once his collection is finished and he's out of my hair, I go pull the lists. He hasn't been to my office since March 2004.

There are guys that get pulled more often than others. And there probably are guys at that shop who haven't been pulled in five years. That's what happens when your selection process is unpredictable. That is the very definition of the word "random". In all honesty, he's one of the luckier ones. There are guys who really have been pulled two months in a row, or more.

I feel like calling this guy's boss, but I won't. I know the bossman over there. If I called to tattle, his life would just take a turn for the miserable. He probably would end up on my list the next two or three times. And he certainly wouldn't be complaining about it any more.

Oh well. Back to work...

One unlucky fellow was picked the last week of August '05, and the first week of September. Which means he was in my office two days in a row, taking two separate drug tests. I don't recall if he complained about it or not.

The crime of eating lunch.

My lunch hour is between 1pm and 2pm. As I am the only employee in my office, this means the office is closed between 1pm and 2pm.

Back when I was a new, idealistic peemeister (a peeprentice as it were) I would often blur the lines of my precious, precious lunch hour. If someone had to stay past 1pm that was cool with me. If I was here and someone knocked on the door at 1:30, that was cool also. And I would almost always open up early, say at 1:45 or 1:50.

Indeed, I felt horribly guilty if I didn't do these things.

What started to happen, though, was that I would start missing lunch with alarming frequency. What started as a person saying "I'll be ready to go in ten minutes, fifteen tops" would metamorph into a ninety-minute ordeal. What started as "I really didn't know you closed at 1pm" would eventually become "I know you close at 1pm but can you take me anyway?"

I probably told myself that since my office was never very busy, I'd only end up missing lunch once in a blue moon. In reality I ended up sacrificing half of my lunch hour or more at least once a week.

It was Mr. Friendly that caused me to finally and firmly adopt my current policy of "closed, no matter what". Mr. Friendly came in about 11am. He tried to drop a sample and failed, as people often do. He was thus faced with a choice: stay and try again, or return later. Since he had errands to run he said he'd come back later.

No problem. I explain that I can only save his paperwork for 24 hours, and that I take my lunch from 1pm to 2pm. If he planned to come back that afternoon he would have to wait until after 2pm. Mr. Friendly agreed; after all, he was friendly.

I had to take care of some personal affairs over the phone that day. I generally like to do this from my office during my lunch hour, since it's my only spare time during the day when the businesses I needed to contact would be open and I was sure I wouldn't be interrupted. Any other time of the day I might get halfway through a transaction and then have to leave abruptly to collect some pee.

It must have been 1:20 or so when Mr. Friendly returned. He looked at my Will Return sign in disgust and banged on my door. I went to answer it.

"What, did you close early today?"

"No, I'm on my lunch break. Can you come back after 2?"

(Note how poorly I worded that -- as though he should have a choice in the matter.)

"Not really," said Mr. Friendly, "see I have to pick my kids up from school at 2:30and before that I have to pick my clothes up from the laundromat, and my car's in the shop so I have a taxi waiting on me."

Foolishly sympathizing with Mr. Friendly's plight, I let him in.

"Hopefully you'll be able to go right away," I told him. "I haven't had a chance to go get my lunch yet."

"No problem, I'm ready to go right now."

Except he wasn't.

A half hour ticked by. I was in a position where if I couldn't get rid of Mr. Friendly right now I would have to go hungry. I tell him as much.

"Look man," says Mr. Friendly, suddenly not-so-friendly, "we don't need to make a thing out of it. You don't have to be so cold all the time. Just lighten up a little!"

Of course it wasn't a matter of me not being able to lighten up. It was a matter of me wanting to eat something for lunch.

"I'm not asking for very much here, just do your job and help me out."

As if I weren't already helping him out by opening the door for him while my office was closed.

Mr. Friendly was there so long that eventually, defeated, I had no choice but to flip my Will Return sign back around to Open. Another day without sustenance. I was not happy and it was pretty easy to tell that Mr. Friendly knew it.

Mr. Friendly took this as an affront to his very being.

"You've never been in sales, have you? I can tell you've never worked sales, because you have such a terrible personality. If you worked sales you'd be fired," he told me.

"I don't get paid to be your friend," I snapped back.

After Mr. Friendly's collection was finally done, nearly forty-five minutes after he arrived, he said he was going to file a complaint against me for being unpersonable. I offered to get my boss on the phone for him right away, but he declined. So, in a charitable act of pleasantness, I wrote my boss's phone number on a Post-It note so he could call her at his convenience. He did not want the note.

"Oh no," I growled, "I insist."

He snatched the note, slammed my door and stomped off.

I was feeling so smug and abused for a while that I decided it would be a good idea to close my office down later in the afternoon to give me time to go buy a sandwich. After a long line at Subway and a short walk back to work in the rain, I was greeted by six or seven guys from a roofing company. They were soaking wet. Some looked confused and some looked angry. As I was unlocking the door the leader mentioned he thought we were closed between 1 and 2.

"Sorry," I muttered. "I had to work through lunch today."

Suddenly all my smugness and superiority evaporated. Closing down the office during the afternoon was not acceptable, no matter how hard I had worked to rationalize it in my head. My employer already gives me time to eat lunch -- it's called my lunch hour. I had chosen to squander it time and again, and I had no one to blame for it but myself.

Mr. Friendly, as it turns out, was absolutely right. He wasn't trying to inconvenience me. The only difference between him and all the other people who take 45 minutes to pee is that I chose to let him in when my office was supposed to be closed. It was my decision, not his.

To my knowledge Mr. Friendly never did call to complain about me. Nonetheless I decided that I would never work through lunch again. I still fudge the clock a bit here and there (if you have to wait until 1:15 that's fine, but any longer than that and you can bet I'm kicking you out) and there are the extraordinarily odd days where I don't have a choice in the matter (a subset of collections must be done in one sitting, as opposed to offering the option for the donor to come back later). But the Mr. Friendlys of the world have been turned away ever since.

I know people hate it when it's 1:50 and they look in the window seeing me eat my Chef Boyardee or my Uncle Ben's Rice Bowl or my Campbell's Chunky Soup. I know they probably can't process the information -- the dude, he's like right there, why won't he open the door!?

But there's a reason for it. I work an eight-hour day and I'm entitled to a lunch break. I learned the hard way I need to take advantage of it. And besides, it's not like these companies who send folks down to me are blindsided. My office hours are very clearly printed on all my paperwork and on the company website. If someone chooses to show up forty minutes before I open my door... well, that's their fault. Not mine. And look -- I didn't even have to do any mental gymnastics to rationalize it.

By the time I was done with those six or seven roofer guys the bacon on my sandwich was cold. I ate about half of it and threw it away, and felt incredibly guilty.