Let me take you back a few years to my days working for a well-known pizza chain, right across from the University of Georgia. It was the kind of place where college kids like me earned a few bucks slinging pizzas, trying to make ends meet on an hourly wage. It wasn’t a bad gig, but it had its quirks, and one day, the quirk was a brand-new, handwritten schedule that mysteriously appeared beside the usual printed one.
Now, our regular schedule was printed from a computer and took into account the basics—you know, things like our availability and any days off we had requested. This new, handwritten masterpiece? It was crafted just for us “inside employees,” those of us working hourly inside the store, and didn’t apply to the drivers or managers.
Turns out, our regional manager had a bright idea: Why keep paying a separate crew to do door-to-door marketing—those poor souls who wander neighborhoods in the heat to leave pizza coupons on doors—when they could just decree that the “inside employees” do it instead?
Now, I’d like to tell you they ran this idea by us first, maybe called a little meeting or sent around a survey. I’d love to say they asked if we were okay walking for hours in unfamiliar neighborhoods or out in the hot Georgia sun. Heck, it would’ve been nice if they’d even asked for volunteers who might want a few extra hours.
But nope. None of that happened.
Instead, they just posted this new schedule on the wall, right next to our real one. No explanations, no heads-up, and certainly no discussions. And I’ll tell you, it was no coincidence that they carefully scheduled those shifts on our days off. They were smart enough not to double-book us with the actual schedule, the one we all knew and followed.
So, when I saw that they’d put me down for a shift on a day I was off, at their east-side store, I figured they must’ve been joking. I didn’t have a car, and I’d taken the job at my regular store specifically because it was within walking distance. The east-side store was nowhere near where I lived.
What did I do? Well, I ignored it. Gave that handwritten schedule exactly as much attention as they’d given me when they dreamed it up.
A couple weeks later, they asked why I had “no-showed.” I told them the truth: “I didn’t no-show. I followed the real schedule.”
The conversation went something like this:
“But why didn’t you show up at the east-side store?”
“I don’t work at that store. I wasn’t hired by them. I work at the store I can walk to,” I said.
“If you needed transportation, you could’ve asked,” they replied, as if that was some kind of grand gesture.
“I don’t need transportation. I don’t want transportation. I don’t work at that store. I work at this one,” I countered. “And you scheduled me on a day I wasn’t even available.”
Then they tried another angle: “What would it take to get you to work at that store?”
“You’d have to provide transport there and back, and I’d only work inside the store on days that I’m currently available. I’m not going to walk around neighborhoods I don’t know.”
We went round and round until they finally said they’d “get back to me.” Funny thing is, they never did. They dropped the whole idea, and soon after, the little handwritten schedule disappeared.
But here’s the thing: Why did they feel so entitled to make decisions that directly affected our working conditions without so much as a conversation? What made them think that the “privilege” of working for $5.50 an hour meant they could unilaterally change the terms of my job?
Over the years, I’ve come up against this same kind of thinking time and time again: top-down orders that ignore basic things like availability, location, and the human beings who do the work. And with few exceptions—emergencies and pandemics come to mind—my response has been consistent: ignore it where possible and push back if necessary.
Here’s the lesson I’ve learned: Being an employee doesn’t mean being owned. It doesn’t mean you lose your say in how, when, and where you work. And when the people in charge forget that—when they start throwing down orders without dialogue or consideration—you’ve still got choices.
They might not be easy choices. There may always be a risk that pushback will cost you the job, but the choice is yours to make.
And sometimes, the best choice is to refuse to play along. Strangely enough, that’s worked out for me more times than not.