Did you know that seeing red isn't just a metaphor? Because I didn't. If the following is confusing, I apologise, because I was also very confused during it.
Back when dinosaurs roamed the earth and Usenet still existed, I worked for a psychopath in a large public institution. One of two in my history, but this one was when I was very, very early in my career. I was female in IT after having been brought up in a shitty mining town known for domestic violence and skin cancer, and I was pretty used to treatment we'd describe here as 'a bit average, mate'. My parents had ingrained in me both an undying fear of losing work and the certainty that I had to endure things without complaint. So I tolerated a lot of insane stuff. I wasn't in the union because I was so empty and devoid of hope that I couldn't see myself using it. Actually calling someone on the phone to join a union was something I was too nervous do at that point, I was pretty broken down.
My clownshoes boss was a bully. He was also proud of being more or less incompetent at anything normal people could do. He once very proudly told me that as his wife was going away for ten days, he had secured five local takeaway stores and would be rotating them so his children could eat. And he'd ensured she'd done enough washing he could get by. Mostly, though, he was a nepotistic fuckhead. Many were the stories. Mine is only one, not even the worst. He once screamed a male coworker into crying on the desk opposite mine. There was a possible toxic gas scenario where we weren't allowed to leave our building, only we found out later they had evacuated everyone else. He cancelled his cousin's wedding leave as a powerplay. I share these to illustrate his unending capacity for fuckery.
Anyway, at one annoying point I was supporting me and my partner, so I had to suffer the slings and arrows of clownhood. Due to my upbringing, I was capable of handling anything – or so I thought – by turning off all feelings. I was pretty numb after a few years of working under this guy, and while I had submitted many a formal complaint, for some magical reason senior boss never did anything. This year, though, was a good one – I had a major project to bring in, and Clownshoes didn't know how to do it, so I got to operate more or less alone on a tasty bit of work with potential public accolades and definitely a public portfolio. I worked for nine months, it was a week before release, and I'd completed the handover documents.
Ho ho, I came in to find…all my shit moved. Huh? Coworker doesn't know what is going on. We share a small office with a thin wrap-around desk – the chairs are in the middle, and the desk is on the outside with all our reams of dead trees and shelves and computers and things. I say this now, as it is important in a moment – it's a heavy nerd setup for heavy nerds. But someone has been interfering with my rat's nest and my baby.
Clownshoes comes in to explain. Senior boss has an external company that he decided to set up to take advantage of the IT boom. Senior boss needs a product so they can advertise their skillset and get those sweet, sweet contracts. Clownshoes has given him my product, because anything with $institution on it as it's origin will do well and my product is complete and good. Okay? Well, I guess I can work with them?
Oh no, no no! Clownshoes says. Your name will be removed from it entirely, it has to look like their product. You can't use it in your portfolio at all. Also we're restructuring the entire department, so everyone's got to make sacrifices.
Anyway, Clownshoes continues, and then says: “You now need to justify what you've been doing for the last nine months, because you haven't done any presentable work.” He cautions me for UNDER PERFORMANCE. IN FRONT OF MY COWORKER.
My mind goes empty. There is now a very high pitched noise and I can't hear him talking over it, and everything has gone bright red. I grab the edge of the desk so I don't move. Clownshoes goes quiet and then leaves the room. Then my coworker asks me to put down the ring desk that I have lifted two inches off the floor with it's two computers and bookcases, and says we should go outside. Which is good, because shortly afterwards I have the worst headache of my life.
My coworker, or…someone…calls my partner. My partner? Called the union. The union rep comes in, and talks to me about this. And I never, ever have to talk to my boss again unless I want to. As in, when Clownshoes tries to talk to me – I call the union rep, and they talk instead. At first, Clownshoes prefers this because he refuses to be alone with me now. According to my coworker, I made 'a very scary face'. It gets more stupid, apparently Clownshoes has traded my project AND me to his boss' company, but they have different remuneration (as in, I would be taking a pay cut) and also, you know, NO ONE TOLD ME THIS AT ANY POINT AND IT'S TWO SEPERATE FINANCIAL ENTITIES. I discover THAT bit when I turn up for work and my name is removed from my door and no one tells me that I now work in a different part of the city for a different company. I call the union rep again because, SURPRISE, they will still help me even though Clownshoes is trying to shellgame my physical actual location.
In the end after a couple of months of the union rep digging, this is what happens:
I get a very fat redundancy package from $institution of the 'please don't sue us' kind and don't have to talk to Clownshoes at all – union rep simply sends me home everytime Clownshoes gets shitty. After I accept the package, Clownshoes has me escorted off the public area premises by two security officers and asks them to hold each arm, lol. I am a 5'2″ young woman. Security are bemused and bored and the walk of shame is long and confusing for all three of us. Clownshoes tells me I'm not allowed to talk to his other staff – like ever, says it's illegal. He's gotten twitchy. Something is up. So I phone each one and warn them of great fuckery incoming.
AND GREAT FUCKERY THERE WAS.
Clownshoes' boss does end up trying to pass off the product, BUT it turns out his shitful ethics were applied elsewhere, so they find him cooking the books and he is SOL. My project doesn't see the light of day as downstream madness takes out not only it but a lot of other things in an ever widening tsunami of insanity. Senior boss' private company goes under. Main $institution is unharmed, it is simply too big (and genuinely didn't know). I turn out to be one of the less abused workers. Scary.
Half of the rest of the staff under Clownshoes are made redundant because the whole group at $institution has lost confidence in his side of things. The pay-outs are on average about 20-40% of mine before the 'oh shit' portion of my money. Anyone who involved the union has the full pay-out sans 'Stop AnnoyedOwlbear from suing'. Anyone who didn't is financially sold up river.
What becomes of Clownshoes? He vanished somewhere in it all, so I've no idea, aside from hearing a few more tales of clownish behaviour from scarred employees before he fled. His senior boss was arrested though, which was fun to find out about.
The moral of the story: A union cannot totally stop fuckery from happening, but it can provide great insulation. Also, while going berserk might scare people, it's probably not worth the near-hernia.