Lipstick Whistleblower
Mite bites and swarming fruit flies were the last straw for this cosmetics counter manager
Illustrations by Rabbit Person Design
Instagram
Susan M. Massey
Instagram
"If you don't like it, find another job..."
Most of us have heard this more times than we can count. It's a familiar refrain, tossed at us by management who refuse to respond to their employee's needs. The phrase is an employer's equivalent to saying, "Sit down and shut up." But we all know that change doesn't happen when we sit down and shut up, and finding another job can take months or even years.
For almost 10 years, I worked as a counter manager for a large cosmetics and skincare company in a small department store in Berkeley, Calif. There were several aspects of the job that I enjoyed: the vibrant neighborhood located across from the UC Berkeley campus, the friendly university staff and students who made up my core clientele, and the discovery that I have a passion for skincare.
But, as time went on, I could see that there were a lot of problems with the job. The hourly pay was low and whenever I asked about an increase, I was told to "give myself a raise" by selling more product and earning more commission, which was 3% of my sales. Whenever I came up with ideas for promotions to drive sales, I was met with resistance from upper management. Staff at this family-owned East Bay department store chain were not given health insurance, paid time off, or sick time, and most of us were forced to come to work while sick to make ends meet. The list goes on and on.
Over the course of several years, I did try to find another job. But the problem with working retail long term is that employers in other fields don't recognize all the skills involved, or the versatility of these skill sets. Planning, critical thinking, budgeting, and scheduling can be applied to so many other areas. So, I wrote a ton of cover letters, sent out a ton of resumes, and rarely heard back from anyone. It was disheartening to say the least.
In the midst of all of this, our store's longtime janitor, Mr. G, quit abruptly after a member of upper management (who also happened to be the store owner's son) barked orders at him for the last time. Mr. G was a sweet guy who was also great at his job, so losing him hit the staff hard. The store itself fell into squalor quickly.
“At the cosmetics counter and in the staff break room, I noticed my legs were itching and covered with red bumps. It was obvious that there was some kind of mite in the carpeting that was biting me.”
At the cosmetics counter and in the staff break room, I noticed my legs were itching and covered with red bumps. It was obvious that there was some kind of mite in the carpeting that was biting me; I always wore skirts as part of my work uniform. Several of my coworkers noticed they were also being bitten by something in the breakroom whenever they wore skirts or shorts. We brought this to management's attention and were told that we were imagining it, or that we must've been bitten by something in our own homes. Never mind that the store's carpeting was at least 20 years old and as every bit as grimy as you can imagine. The owner's son (we'll call him "Dick") told me, "Maybe you should wear pants." I began keeping a can of OFF! in my locker, spraying my legs each morning, and stripping out of my work clothes as soon as I got home.
Things came to a head during the summer. Our break room was beyond filthy. There were no windows or ventilation of any kind and the trash cans that were rolled out to the curb each night were kept less than 2 feet from the table and microwave. Fruit flies swarmed around, flew into our food, and even managed to get into the fridge. When I objected to management, I was told to eat outside. I was so angry and shot back, "You're required by law to provide us with a clean, sanitary breakroom!" My manager just rolled her eyes; my job was to sell makeup, not to advocate for better working conditions. "If you don't like it here, Susan, find another job."
The final straw was one hot afternoon. My coworker and I sat across the table from each other, swatting flies off of our lunch. We looked at each other and both of us had tears in our eyes. This just couldn't go on. I was bound and determined to see that it wouldn't.
On my next day off, I checked out the Occupational Health and Safety Administration (OSHA) website. I wanted to review the laws regarding workplace sanitation and thought maybe I could print something out to show management that they were definitely in the wrong. What happened was even better.
The number of my local OSHA office was listed, so I gave them a call and got through to a representative in no time. He was attentive and helpful, letting me know that my employers were violating several ordinances. He explained the process of filing an anonymous report: A letter detailing the violations would be sent to my employer, they would have 21 days to comply and send proof (photos or a visit from an OSHA rep), or be hit with a hefty fine. Paying the fine would basically buy them more time, but they'd still have to bring the breakroom up to code.
I went ahead and filed the claim. What did I have to lose? Suddenly, I began to panic. Sure, this was anonymous. But management would know it was me. I was the only one who ever spoke up or tried to hold them accountable and was branded a troublemaker as a result. The OSHA rep seemed to read my mind. "If you get any push back or retaliation from management, please call me right away. We have a legal team to handle that." Knowing this curbed my anxiety.
A few days later, I arrived at work to see a maintenance crew had ripped out the break room carpeting and were installing a tile floor. The trash cans were moved out of the room and the ratty, upholstered chairs were replaced with molded plastic seats. Dick was storming around and scowled at me when we crossed paths. He refused to speak to me for weeks and relayed messages through another manager. I found this oddly satisfying.
My true sense of vindication came the following week while having lunch in the new and improved break room with a few coworkers. One of them said "It's nice to have lunch without being attacked by flies! What made them remodel all of a sudden?" A guy from the receiving department piped up, "Someone reported them to OSHA! I gave Dick the letter and he was pissed, but he wasn't about to pay a fine!" Everyone laughed and I just smiled to myself. Clearly, my inability to sit down and shut up had made a difference for all of us.
Thank you, Susan; we’re so heartened to hear that you stood up for yourself and your coworkers and got a good result!
Want to contribute to the blog?
Keep Reading
