How to tame a shrew
I sat with Mr. N and the HR manager, almost retiree, to discuss the contract termination. When it came to the compensation amount, I requested at least a three-month salary worth, though it wasn’t a lot. The HR manager started saying, “but it is typically two-month worth.” So I reasoned that I was an exception because I was not a German citizen, and I had to move out of the country to start looking for a new job. When he was still hesitating, Mr. N intervened and said, “make it a three-month.” They also agreed on paying for the moving cost, so I told them I’d move to London instead of Japan.
Mr. N looked despondent when I went to his office to give a light-hearted farewell. He said, “you and I, we had a special relationship but…” He didn’t finish the sentence. I glared at him. How dare he, I thought. It only became a special one because I refused him. Other favorites of his might have been more adept at avoiding his advances by leaving the company (many young Japanese women had been locally hired before me.) But I butted heads with him, departing on bad terms as a result.
I returned to the apartment I’d be vacating soon and sat there, somewhat relieved to have ended the battle where I had to defend myself with all my might. But it wasn’t long before I started losing marbles. Taming of a shrew was a process.