Exit Interview

They met across their respective computer screens, he from his home office just outside of Ottawa, Ontario, and she from her kitchen table in rural Nova Scotia. The world had certainly changed in 30 years. Once upon a time, this would have occurred face-to-face in a smoky office or as a solo exercise with black ink and a carbon-lined questionnaire on a clipboard.

“If today isn’t good for you, we can do this another time,” he offered.

“No, I’m ready,” she tried to say with confidence, but in a whisper. Clearing her throat and unclenching her fists, she added “I’m good. Let’s roll.”

It was Bridget Sullivan’s final meeting with Alphonse Montpetit, her supervisor for the past three years. After 30 years in the Service, she was bidding farewell to the job, to the people, and in the deepest part of her hopeful heart, to the bullshit. It was time.

“I don’t know why I’m nervous,” she confided up front. “This is what I’ve wanted. I’m ready to say goodbye. I just didn’t anticipate that it would be so hard. It’s almost like a funeral.”

“What makes you say that?” Alphonse asked as he tilted his head to one side, genuinely interested in what she had to say. He reminded her of her dog, Dante. He had a similar quizzical expression when it was time to go out for a pee.

“It’s just…well… since I made the decision to leave, at no point have I second guessed myself. If anything, these past few weeks have only served to reinforce why it’s time for me to go. I won’t miss the work. I won’t miss the place. And I won’t even miss the people - not many of them, for sure, although there are a precious few who are making it hard to say farewell for the last time. And I know that these relationships will change after I log off once and for all. I guess that’s why it’s a funeral. It’s a goodbye to what is, to what has been.”

“But it’s also a new beginning for you, Bridget,” he said as comfort.

“Oh, absolutely,” she acknowledged pensively. For Bridget wasn’t sad. She was just in that little space between knowing her place in the world and not knowing what was to come next. It was an exciting place to be. But also, admittedly, a little bit daunting.

“Now then,” Alphonse continued, trying to get back on track, “you’ve had a lengthy career. You have had various positions over the years, you have seen and done several projects. I need for you to know that your experience has always been valued.”

“Has it, though?” she asked softly, albeit abruptly. She did not ask it maliciously or snidely, rather with genuine curiosity. “Don’t get me wrong… I’m not trying to get you to shower me with praise. I’ve come to work, I’ve done my job, I asked a lot of questions, I offered a lot of opinions, and if I couldn’t make things any better, then at least I hope that I didn’t make things any worse. But what makes you say that my experience has been valued? Honestly, I’m not cross, I’m just interested in your perspective.”

“Well,” Alphonse spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully. “I think each of your previous positions, from entry level right up to and including this one, have served as building blocks. They’ve all made you better at what you do. And each experience in getting better at what you do has made you a great resource and support to your colleagues, and I include myself in that group. Your experience has made you more well-rounded, more contextually aware, and better able to help others.”

“Perhaps,” she hesitantly agreed. “I think it’s also made the work harder lately, made me callous to indifferent, and certainly led me to be less effective in my role, in this department.”

“I can’t tell you how to feel, Bridget. But I can tell you that I don’t see it the same way you do. And at the risk of being cliché or hollow, I do want you to know how grateful we are for your service.”

“Well, you paid me to show up, so…” she drifted off, at once dismissive, yet accepting. She was not comfortable with his praise – not because she wasn’t worthy of it, per se, but because well, no, she didn’t really think she deserved it. “It’s what people do. You go to work, you get paid. Period.”

“I think we both know that you did more than just show up,” he clarified. “But if, in the end, all of this has just been a pay cheque to you and nothing more, that is your perspective and your prerogative.”

“Yes, thank you,” she said, not sure why exactly.

“On that note, I will throw aside my script and just jump directly to what I think are the two biggest questions. What would you change? And how can we do better?”

“I don’t know that I’d change a thing,” she announced immediately, much to Alphonse’s surprise. “Of course, I wish I had been more discerning in choosing my battles. I wish I’d been more vocal and active about things in which I may have had an actual impact. Looking back, I know that I spent a lot of time being angry about things that fell well outside my purview; things I may have misunderstood, things I was never able to change anyway. I used up a lot of energy jumping to conclusions and being frustrated. But please don’t confuse my reflections with regret. Every time I misspoke, made a poor decision, or overreacted… All of it led me here.”

Alphonse grinned. He was not expecting Bridget to be so accepting, so calm. This was certainly not the way she had been presenting herself at their recent divisional meetings. In fact, to this point in the exchange, she had yet to swear or curse out other employees or managers. It was a welcome change. But it was also off-putting.

She continued. “In my time here, I raised my family. I’ve been married and divorced. Then I found love again. I made and lost friends. I’ve had good managers and I’ve had horrible bosses. I’ve had wonderful colleagues and I’ve had some that will be unforgettable but for negative reasons. The issues we have dealt with, they have been so varied and yet I have seen repeatedly that there is a fine line between the keepers and the kept. The stories have been some of my greatest exasperations and some of my hardest belly laughs. While the Service was helping me earn a living, it was also shaping my life. Lumps and all, I wouldn’t change any of it.”

“Thank you, Bridget. Anything else?”

“No,” she responded, shaking her head, feeling looser and more relaxed than at the onset of the interview.

He looked down at his notes. He paused before looking up. He wanted to give her time to further reflect before proceeding. He also wanted to brace himself for what might come next.

“How can we do better,” he solicited, steadying himself for any abrupt response.

“I’m glad you asked,” Bridget began, sitting up straighter, leaning forward, and clearing her throat.

“For starters, you can recommend that the staff who work the front lines and the folks who work in the Ivory Tower in the National Capital Region and all those in between are provided with an overview as to how the Service operates - from sentencing to intake assessments to determining security levels to case planning to supervision to release - the whole she-bang.

“You can remind all levels of staff that it is the judge who doles out the punishment and the Service is there to administer the sentence.

“You can encourage a little bit more mingling and meaningful dialogue between the different classifications of staff so that everyone has a better idea of what everyone else in this big machine is doing, of what purpose their positions serve.

“You can encourage your managers to hold wayward staff accountable and surround them with confidence when doing so. Nothing hurts a competent staff member more than knowing that a shitty staff member is getting away with something. And what is good for the goose is good for the gander: hold your managers accountable as well. Give everybody the tools they need to do their jobs and do them well. And if they still cannot, deal with them.

“When curious or overzealous employees ask questions, you can answer them honestly, to the extent possible, to help them understand the process. They’re not all shit disturbers. Sometimes their questions, frustrations and paranoia come from a simple lack of understanding of the process. If they do not need to know, then that’s fine: just say that. No one likes getting smoke blown up their ass. People may not like the answer, but they will respect getting a direct response rather than see their concerns addressed though riddles or blanket memos.

“And if you tell someone you are going to follow up, do it. Sometimes all you have is your word. Live up to it.”

They looked at each other through the screen for a few moments. Bridget seemed satisfied, confident, relieved. Alphonse didn’t look surprised, and he couldn’t help but smirk. This was the Bridget he knew; the one who had put him through his paces and tested his patience throughout their work history. She made sense though.

“Anything else?” he enquired, almost chuckling.

“Oh, and in the words of one of the old fellas I once worked with – pay days and rest days: more of both, please,” she said smiling.

Alphonse allowed himself to laugh. Bridget joined him.

“Is that it?”

“Yes, sir. And thank you.”

“No, Bridget, thank you. The pleasure is all mine.”

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, it is.”

And with that, she winked… and logged off.

As she rose from her chair and stood up to stretch, she could swear she was two inches taller and ten pounds lighter.

Parting may well bring such sweet sorrow, but it also brings sweet relief.