Friday was a good day to be waiting on a FedEx truck. I was expecting a job offer that came with a promotion, 10K signing bonus, 10% pay increase, talented boss and fresh new challenges and opportunities. In return, my prospective employer would be gaining a highly-skilled and productive worker to fill a position that's critical to putting their products on the market. A position that has been vacant for nearly a year.
Of course, the anticipation of receiving the offer letter was clouded by brainstorms of my resignation letter. It wasn't going to be easy. I'd be leaving a high-profile and stable position at a highly-reputable company for a little known startup. Also, I would miss my colleagues and the company's progressive and uniquely European workplace policies. But every now and then an offer arrives that you just can't refuse.
Or so I thought...
Accompanying the offer letter was an unwelcome surprise. When I pulled out the contents of the FedEx mailer and spotted sheets of paper that resembled checks printed from a dot-matrix printer, my heart skipped a beat. After brushing aside bemusement that anyone would still use a dot-matrix printer in this day and age, I wondered, "hmmmm, who sends the signing bonus check with the offer letter?"
After closer examination, though, nausea quickly muscled out my joy. Nobody told me about a piss test. I pulled the offer letter from the stack and, sure enough, it stated "per our conversation, you will need to undergo a pre-employment drug test as a condition of employment."
This was going to be much easier than I first thought. Had we truly had such a conversation, my formerly prospective employer and I could have significantly truncated this process. Nonetheless, I felt a sense of relief that, albeit late, the company outed itself as the kind of employer I foreswore years ago--after the first of many friends had their privacy rights violated and earnings threatened by pee in a cup.
The recruiter, of course, was incredulous. Was I worried about failing? (No). Why not wait a few weeks? (How about not?). Without getting into the details of my private life with the recruiter (smoking cannabis helps my wife sustain an appetite that she has lost to a medical condition; if she wasn't disabled and could work a job with this same company, they would discriminate against her for her illness), I sent him the following explanation:
Hello (Recruiter's name),
I am not interested in delaying the drug screening. I will not work for an employer who drug tests. I think it's a highly invasive and insulting practice, and, common as it may be, I have never been subjected to it before.
HR should have informed me that this was a condition of employment earlier in the process so that I could have registered my disinterest in the position much sooner.
Sorry,
"Bob"
I formally reject the offer on Monday. The company will continue its arduous task of trying to fill a highly-specialized position with few qualified applicants, and they will still be limited to a talent pool that, in all likelihood, is comprised of many workers just like me. Workers who grew up during the eighties with our eyes were wide open to the hypocritical, ironic and irrational mantra of "just say no."
So, in response to their offer and in the stead of those who don't have the luxury of picking and choosing jobs in this economy, I look forward to just saying no. I will be saying no on behalf of my wife. And I'm saying no for all of my friends who have had to suffer embarrassment and job loss from the draconian and archaic policies spawned by Reagan's drug war.