God Showed Up on Labor Day

Xiomara Blumenkron clocked in at 7:52 AM and was at her desk by 7:58 AM. She decided against the usual Friday morning treat, ruefully passing her favorite drive-in coffee shop, in order to make it in time for the meeting.

“A quien madruga, Dios lo ayuda,” her mother said when Xiomara was a small girl, yawning and rubbing her eyes, when she was taken along for jobs. One who rises early is helped by God was her mother’s motto as she went house to identical house in the suburbs, looking after other people’s children, cleaning their toilets and starching high piles of button-down shirts.

When Xiomara was a teenager, she met one of her mother’s clients. Neatly trimmed bob without a hair out of place, the woman looked like she measured her bangs with a ruler after hair appointments. She was the one who ran white gloves across furniture when Xiomara’s mother finished a shift and sent barrages of abusive texts if there was a dust mote.

When the woman greeted Xiomara, it was with a smile full of unnaturally even, too white teeth. “You’re mother is like family to us,” she said. Then she asked if Xiomara babysat.

It was that babysitting job that paid for textbooks which helped Xiomara earn a degree that ultimately got her this job as a data analyst for a national bank. This data analyst job was the product of her mother’s labor, cleaning houses and tolerating abuse, and Xiomara’s own sleepless nights studying, pulling extra shifts at odd jobs between classes.

When Xiomara arrived at the office early, it quickly became apparent that she was not early enough for God’s help.

Her laptop was slow to start and when the screen lit up, the meeting app needed an update. After the app was updated, her computer crashed. She could not risk waiting however long for the IT ticket to process and reluctantly, Xiomara sent a quick message via a separate app on her phone to the creepy IT guy.

He leaned in too close to “show” her how to restart her computer before he determined what Xiomara already knew and said yes, there was something wrong with the company laptop.

Xiomara borrowed a secondhand laptop, one of many piled in a corner in the IT office.

After signing a form to verify that yes, she was the one with the laptop. She faked a laugh when the IT guy suggested she write her number as well and—clack, clack, clack—she ran as quickly as her uncomfortable heels allowed.

It took Xiomara 18 minutes to sign in, verifying her identity on another app on her phone, and to dig through the cloud for the spreadsheets she’d carefully organized for easy access on her original desktop. She logged into another software program—verifying her identity again, a mercifully quick link sent to her email—to prepare her slide show presentation. Every half minute, Xiomara glanced at the glaring bluescreen numbers at the corner of the screen ticking away time until the meeting.

Frantic and uncaffeinated, heart pounding, Xiomara logged on to the meeting at 8:47—two minutes late. Her supervisor sent a message, letting her know he would be 10 minutes late. He logged on to the meeting room at 9:06 AM, enough time for Xiomara to organize herself better and do a cursory internet search for part-time jobs.

Her supervisor’s friendly voice rang out a half-hearted apology, making her jump. In two clicks, Xiomara exited the incognito browser and opened the meeting window. Her face reflected back at her, bright red lipstick flashing and eyes tired despite the foundation she caked over the shadows crinkling at the edges. Xiomara chirped a greeting at him, laughed high-pitched when he joked that his coffee hadn’t kicked in yet, and brushed off his apology about the busy morning he’s had. These things happen, she assured because as the reportee, she didn’t get to be inconvenienced. She said nothing about the too familiar background of his living room behind him, nor did she mention that she skipped breakfast this morning to arrive at the office early for this meeting. She said nothing about the long drive either because these things happen.

Xiomara moved to a smaller city at the start of the pandemic, craving fresh air and normal people unharried by city life, and now had a two hour commute after the mandated return to the office. She reasoned that it was not so bad, an opportunity to catch up on podcasts with favorite coffee in hand, and that what she spent on gas, she saved on rent living so far from downtown.

Rent was catching up, nipping at her heels. Gas prices surged, and her car coughed when she turned on the ignition. Xiomara needed this meeting to go perfectly. It was her second annual review since she started working at the bank six years ago.

Xiomara and her supervisor talked through the review paperwork, recently curated by HR. Her supervisor smiled at her, face kind and attentive, but his eyes flickered across the screen. She screenshared a presentation, shiny graphs and pretty colors flashing capturing his scattered attention.

He almost immediately honed in on a minute percentage in at the bottom corner of a pie chart. Her supervisor asked about it and then wanted to know what data she had to support it. Her annual review collapsed into a data analysis meeting, as Xiomara pulled reports from the database he did not know how to use and tried to answer his suddenly urgent questions with raw, unfiltered data. He said nothing but in between the lines, Xiomara read that he was disappointed that she did not have spreadsheets readily available. Her eyes burned while she committed to having the reports to him by the end of the day.

It was 9:26 AM when their review ended, nothing said about her performance. With new reports due, Xiomara knew her other deadlines would suffer and her chances for a raise now plummeted below the 3% cost-of-living adjustment her team got five months ago.

Hours slogged by, Xiomara sent the reports. When her supervisor had more questions, insisting that the data was not right because it did not match what someone else pulled from a different database, she pulled a fresh report and adjusted it to be closer. She waited over an hour before a lackluster thumbs up reaction popped up on Outlook.

Other deadlines beckoned. The team chats buzzed with GIFs and passive aggressive reminders. The IT guy messaged her, and Xiomara screenshotted it for an email she would send to HR after he returned her original laptop.

More hours passed. Xiomara ate lunch at her desk. When she got crap coffee at the break room, she laughed at the usual “TGIF” jokes and maddening small talk. Mind still crunching numbers, she plastered on a smile when a senior manager walked in and asked her what plans she had for the long weekend.

Xiomara gave a vague half-truth without saying that she was too broke to do anything on the extra day off. “Just a quiet weekend, I think. Catch up on rest.”

Describing herself as a homebody was a lie. She was just a body, a working body with upper back pain shuffled from one cubicle to another.

Predictably, the senior manager’s polite question was merely an excuse to talk about her own plans at her family’s cabin—“One more trip before summer’s over!” and on she prattled as Xiomara listened mutely, politely, wrestling with the resentment inside her chest.

Predictably, the senior manager’s polite question was merely an excuse to talk about her own plans at her family’s cabin—“One more trip before summer’s over!” and on she prattled as Xiomara listened mutely, politely, wrestling with the resentment inside her chest.

Her feet hurt during the short walk back to her cubicle. Xiomara’s supervisor had another follow up question, this time copying his own supervisor—an unspoken urgency.

At 3:07 PM, Xiomara passed a row of pristine, empty executive offices to go to the bathroom. She checked her email again on her phone, tights around her ankles, and thumbed a quick response to her supervisor. She received an automatic email: “I am out of the office right now but look forward to getting back to you on Tuesday.”

“When are you ever in the office?” she muttered. She deftly switched apps and went to Instagram, listlessly scrolling through unboxing reels, inspirational quotes, and photos celebrating kids’ first day of school.

Her cousin posted photos from her birthday party Xiomara had to miss because of an all-day work meeting. Another old friend from college was engaged, and Xiomara dutifully liked the announcement post and commented congratulations with a string of hearts. Hating herself for it, she went to her ex’s profile. There was already a new girlfriend.

Chest tightening, Xiomara scrolled through his profile and saw her own memories reflected back at her: blurred photos when they lived together at the start of the pandemic, cheap box wines, his dog Sasha whom she loved so much. When the bathroom door abruptly opened and heels clipped on the bathroom tiles, she accidentally liked a photo of Sasha. Xiomara quickly unliked it and, deciding that was even more pathetic, liked it again. She closed the app and practically burst out of the bathroom stall.

When 4:27 rolled on by, people were already leaving. Xiomara put on her headphones and stared resolutely at the desk to avoid more invitations to happy hours. She had already run out of excuses, and the truth was too embarrassing to share.

Before the pandemic, margaritas cost $8. Now they were obscenely priced at $12 and inflation forced Xiomara into sobriety.

It was 5:18 PM. Rush hour guaranteed that Xiomara’s two hour commute would be at least another hour longer. Now because of Labor Day and people rushing to get to family cabins and beaches, the drive would likely be longer and traffic more aggressive. She might as well wrap up a few more projects, Xiomara reasoned.

After 38 minutes, Xiomara kicked off the heels off her aching feet. She shifted in the old office chair and resent an email to HR, copying her supervisor, to request a new one.

17 minutes later, she braced herself and sent a meeting invite to her supervisor. She chose a time that worked best for his schedule.

27 minutes after that, Xiomara checked her personal email. A potential job she interviewed with notified her that the position had been closed. She deleted it and chest constricting, she ignored the new email from a debt collector.

8 minutes later, Xiomara leaned back in her chair and took long, deep breaths. She smiled banefully at the passing cleaning lady who looked too much like her own mother. She answered the older woman’s You okay, mija? with reassurance. The woman broke her back cleaning corporate offices and deserved more of a break than Xiomara did. She would be no better than the overprivileged senior manager if she complained to the cleaning lady about her cushy desk job.

Besides, women of her mother’s generation did not believe in panic attacks. Stress was just a part of life. Life goes on, Xiomara thought, and you keep working.

Lights in the hallways flickered off some time after the cleaning lady passed by a second time, wishing Xiomara a good three day weekend. It was still too early to avoid rush hour traffic, especially on a Friday night, especially before a three-day weekend.

Xiomara leaned back in the darkened cubicle, eyes closed, breathing slow and deep. She slipped into unconsciousness, dreamless and too tired.

Her heart seized, clenching. Xiomara bolted awake at 3:17 AM and clutched her chest. Her breathing stuttered out, staccato notes on an untuned piano.

God showed up on Labor Day.

***
Mon 9/2/2024 7:19 PM
From:
To:

Subject: RE: Q2 Data Report

you forgot the attachment

Sent from Android mobile device.

***
Tues 9/3/2024 3:19 AM
From:
To:

Subject: Q2/3 Reports & Review

Hi Xiomara!

Hope you had a great Labor Day weekend! When you have a chance, send the Q2 reports and pull another report for Q3 predictions.

Best,

David Hay
Director of Business Development
West Columbus Bank

Where you’re like family!

***
Tues 9/3/2024 9:02 AM
From:
To:

Subject: RE: Q2/3 Reports & Review

Hi Xiomara,

Just following up on this.

Best,

David Hay
Director of Business Development
West Columbus Bank

Where you’re like family!

***
Tues 9/3/2024 10:21 AM
From:
To:

Subject: RE: Checking in

Hi Xiomara,

I notice you’re not online. If you need a sick day, I need to know ahead of time.

Best,

David Hay
Director of Business Development
West Columbus Bank

Where you’re like family!

***
Tues 9/3/2024 11:06 AM
From:
To:
CC:

Subject: Attendance

Hello Xiomara,

I would like to talk to you about your attendance. Please let me know when you will be online.

David Hay
Director of Business Development
West Columbus Bank

Where you’re like family!

***
Wed 9/4/2024 2:36 PM
From:
To: All Staff

Subject: Loss in the West Columbus Bank Family

It is with deep sadness and heavy hearts that we inform you of the loss of our colleague, Ziomara Blumcrown. Our thoughts are with her family and loved ones, and we are in contact to ensure they are well supported during this difficult time.

We will miss Ziomara more than words can express. She was not just a co-worker but a member of the West Bank family. Details about grief support assistance will be provided.

In the meantime, the West Bank team is committed to reviewing our internal procedures after this event. We are committed to the safety and wellness of our workforce.

Sincerely,

Charles Flemming, MBA
Chief Executive Officer
West Columbus Bank

Where you’re like family!

***
Tues 9/3/2024 3:02 PM
From:
To: All Staff

Subject: We are hiring!

Hi everyone,

West Columbus Bank is hiring for a new Data Analyst! Please spread the word with your networks! These will be posted and shared through our communications soon.

If you are a current West Bank employee or contractor interested in this position, please send me a message!

Employees can apply through our HR system with your existing employee account. Login to workforce.wb.org then navigate to Myself > Talent > Career Center.

Please read the job description first if you are interested.

Thanks!

Jenny Tillman (she/her)
HR Generalist
West Columbus Bank

Where you’re like family!