Ryan, my boss, walked into my office with a serious look on his face. I looked up from my monitor as he closed the door behind him. “We need to talk about your behavior!” he said, wagging his finger.

“My behavior?” I was trying to sound calm.

He started laughing. “I’m just kiddin’,” he said. I stretched my face into the most credible smile I could manage. “We’re doing your review tomorrow.” I stopped smiling.

Everybody in my company has a review once a year, around the time of when each employee was hired. Because my department has always been behind on reviews, mine usually happened in May or June (I was hired in early March). Ryan’s been with the company for just over a year now and he’s really diligent about company policy. When he saw my review’s due date approaching at the end of February, he kept reminding me that we needed to schedule a date for it. I kept telling him I’d get to it later because I knew I’d be asking for a raise this year and I wanted time to research similar salaries and prepare a statement that I would present to him during my review. For a couple of weeks, his words were, “We need to schedule your review soon.” On this day, he said, “We’re doing your review tomorrow.”—not, “Can we do your review tomorrow?”—”We’re doing your review tomorrow.” 

I knew I wasn’t going to be able to get out of it, but I tried anyway.

“Can’t we do it next week?” I asked. “I’m still working on January’s reconciliations and I haven’t even had time to do the self-evaluation.”

“Nope.” he said. “I’ve already got Laura and Candace done and I want to get these out of the way.” I was going to have to do all my preparations overnight.

“I’d really rather do it next week.”

“What’s the big deal? All you have to do is the self-eval. It shouldn’t take more than ten minutes.”

“Yeah.” I said, “I have some other stuff I have to do also…” He looked at me like I’d just spoken in another language. “… we’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

“OK! Great!” he said. He opened the door and walked out of my office.

I’m an accountant for a non-profit in Portland (the only Portland that matters). I’ve been with this company for four years. Because I’m one of only two accountants there, I see almost all of the financials, including payroll, which means I know exactly how much everyone makes. I know that my boss makes about 50 percent more than I do, and that his boss makes almost double that. I know that the CEO makes more than anybody, but not that much more than the CFO. I know that the “executive assistant” (secretary for the executives) makes more than me and she’s only been here for two years. I know that my co-worker who spends all day on Facebook but is buddies with all the executives also makes more than me. And I know that the medical billing staff makes peanuts.

This was basically my first job out of college. I was working for an accounting firm for about three months until the owner couldn’t afford to pay us any longer, and then I got this job. It’s pretty low-stress and the benefits are decent, but that also means I have to make sacrifices in my salary. I understand that, and it’s a fair trade. I’d rather make a few dollars less and have some decent vacation time than have to work 80-hour weeks. I had to keep my expectations reasonable. It wasn’t about money. I have all that I need, and if I had any more money, it would just go into savings or I would spend it on clothes. It was about respect—respect for my place within the company and my value to the company.

Also, maybe it had something to do with other parts of my life not working out so well and wanting to make a move so that at least one thing in my life would be going ok. When you lose a lot, it’s easier to risk losing a little more because, really, what difference does it make at this point?

I went home and stayed up late writing my statement. It said that I enjoyed working for the company and getting to know all the great people there over the last few years. Then it went into what kind of a mess all of the accounting department was in when I started in 2009, and how much I’ve contributed to getting everything on track and keeping it there. Then it asked for a 30 percent raise. It said I knew it was a lot, but that I was taking into consideration what other people with my skills and qualifications are making in the area as well as what other people within the organization are making. It thanked my boss for his time and mentioned something about “looking forward to many more years with the company.” Simple enough, but professional and direct, right? I was careful not to use the word “raise” in this letter. I called it a request for a “salary increase.” I guess that was my way of just slipping it in there. (Subliminal messages or something.)

I saved that document and my self-evaluation (pretty boilerplate stuff about what you struggled with during the year, what you achieved, and what you can work on next year—you know the drill) and emailed them to myself so I could print them at work in the morning before my review at 9:30 a.m.

Let’s talk real numbers for a second. At the beginning of this story, I was making $41,616 per year. I’m on salary, so it’s that number divided by 52 weeks and then again by 40 hours and I’m paid at an hourly rate for 40 hours every week. I don’t have to clock in or out or anything, but that’s how it works. I was hired at $35K in 2009. That was more than I had been making at the accounting firm and more than I’d ever made in my whole life, so I didn’t balk when it was offered, and was really just happy I was going to be able to make rent again.

During my first review in 2010, I was offered a raise—without having to ask—to $40K. Then I had the standard 2 percent raise each of the last two years. Everybody gets that 2 percent, unless they really fuck up. I was going to ask for $55K in my review this year. I knew that was a big jump, but I wanted to shoot a little bit high in case of negotiation. I figured if I started at $55K, even if they talked me down, I’d still be getting a pretty decent raise. They always say that when it comes to asking for money, you can’t get what you don’t ask for. That said, even if I were making $55K, I’d still be the lowest-paid employee in my department by almost $10,000.

I arrived at work at my usual time of 9 a.m. and logged in to print out my paperwork from the night before. My Internet was down, and, apparently, it was only my problem. So when Ryan came to my office at 9:35 a.m. to ask me why we weren’t getting started, I was frantically trying to get online and had to try to sound like I wasn’t just making it all up. He let me sign into his computer and print out my papers from there, but I had forgotten to email myself the self-evaluation. I’d only sent the statement asking for a raise. I assured him I’d definitely filled it out and remembered what I’d written down so we could just go through it verbally and he was nice enough about that part. Then we got started.

Ryan said lots of really positive things about how my work is really good and much better than what’s expected from someone my age and with my kind of experience. He said that I needed to work on my communication skills with the other departments (I hate answering my phone and sometimes can’t hide my disdain when the person I’m talking to is dumb—what do you want from me?). “Ok, this is good!” I thought. Then it was my turn.

I handed him my statement and then basically re-told the same story, but without all the professional language in it. Ryan said he agreed that I should be making more but we were in a tight financial spot lately so he’d have to talk to his boss and the CFO before he could give me an answer. Nevermind that both of them are getting paid enough to drive a BMW SUV—we have to look out for my 30 percent.

“Well, why don’t you send me an email with some bullet points that summarize this letter for me?” he asked. “I’ll take that to Jack [the Director of Finance] and see what we can do.”

He wrapped up the review, and I went back to my office and waited.

And here’s where I started getting upset. I understand a fairly substantial raise has to be cleared with management before it can be approved. But I know all of these guys. I work with them. I talk to the CFO and the Director of Finance every single day. For a long time, before Ryan’s position was created, the Director of Finance was my boss. Why did they all have to discuss my future in a room that didn’t have me in it? This is a non-profit after all. Surely, they wouldn’t so easily fall back on the corporate structure.

That was a Friday. Ryan came into my office on Monday and closed the door behind him again (I hate when he does that).

“So I talked to everybody else,” he said. “Jack says you’re not getting 55. And I agree with him. I did some preliminary research [on the same site I'd used] and it looks like other people in the area with your experience are making around 47 or 48. So I’m going to push for that with everyone. We just have to wait to hear an answer from the CFO and HR. It should take about a week.”

“Ok,” I said, smiling. “Let me know how that goes!”

What was I supposed to say? This wasn’t a flea market deal. I couldn’t come back like, “Ehhh, how ‘bout you give me $50K?” It wasn’t an actual answer, anyway. I couldn’t be upset for something that, so far, was just an idea. I decided to wait. Still, I wasn’t getting what I asked for, and I felt stupid for not only thinking I could get $55K but for going far enough to ask for it. Who did I think I was, anyway? So, I mentioned these problems I’d been having with the entire process.

“I don’t know, I just feel… weird about this being decided in a room I don’t get to be in,” I said. “Especially when I know all of the people in that room.”

Ryan looked me directly in the eye. “Well, that’s just how it works.”

A week later, Ryan came to talk to me again. He closed the door.

“Alright, I got with some people at a company I’ve consulted with before and did some research on your position and similar salaries in the area,” he said. “And … you’re right at the median.”

He handed me some papers with graphs that said the same thing.

“I think we need to get you cross training with Laura [the other accountant] and then we’ll be able to revisit your salary,” he said. “But you two will have to work that process out. I’m a little busy with my responsibilities at the moment. K?”

“Ok,” I said. I didn’t smile. Ryan switched into his higher-pitched voice.

“How’s everything else goin’!?”

“Fine. Just fine.”

Look, I understand. This is what some people would call a “first world problem”. Lots of people get denied for a raise every single day, and most of them deserve it much more than I do. Most of them work really hard and don’t comment on blogs all day. And I still have the exact same job I had three weeks ago. But now I have to move. You don’t just tell someone you’re going to shoot and then not shoot. Now I have to start interviewing again and see if I can get a better offer. If I’m lucky, I’ll get a better offer and be able to use that as leverage to get my current employer to actually give me a raise. Or I’ll just have to go work somewhere else. I don’t want to do that, though. Who knows what kind of mess I’d be walking into? The devil you know is better than the devil you don’t know.

The whole thing kept bothering me, though. I had this nagging suspicion that I wasn’t fairly represented with the management when Ryan presented my case. I know Jack. He’s always been a nice guy. He’s gotta agree with me that I deserve more money. Ryan couldn’t have fought for me enough. I never liked him anyway.

This past Friday, Ryan was out of the office. I walked into Jack’s office (which is directly across from mine).

“Hey! Do you have a second to talk?” I asked. I closed the door behind me.

“Sure, what’s up!?” he said.

“I just wanted to ask you about my review,” I said. “I’m sure Ryan told you that I asked for a raise. And I just wanted to make sure you agreed with his decision.”

“Ahhhh, what was his decision again?” Jack asked.

“He decided not to give me a raise.”

“Oh, alright. I didn’t know that much,” he said. “Well… I don’t know. I think for your age and level of experience, you’re doing pret-ty well. If we get some more cross-training in ya, I’m sure we can see about getting you some more money. Besides, you know what our financial situation is like. We can’t really afford any raises right now.”

On his desk, between us, were the keys to his X5.

“Alright,” I said. “I just… wanted to make sure everybody is on the same page. Thanks!” I smiled, opened the door, and walked out.

Reginal T. Squirge is a man for all seasons. He has a podcast.

My dear pal Steph was once described to me by a mutual friend of ours as someone who made you feel that anything was possible. And it’s true—whether it’s undertaking a complicated recipe for chocolate babka, reupholstering chairs, or taking impromptu trips, Steph is someone who has a lot of ideas, and a big, enthusiastic smile for every one of them. It makes you want to join her in whatever it is she’s proposing. After finishing a graduate program last year in urban planning and feeling somewhat dissatisfied with the freelance consulting work she was doing, she came to me with her latest idea: a career group for women. We sat down to plan.

The idea was simple: to gather a group of women who would meet regularly to support each others’ lives and careers by reading and discussing interesting books and articles, and by sharing thoughts, experiences, and resources. Steph and I hoped it might become something we’d want to participate in for the long-term, allowing us to track people’s career development through various life phases and jobs.

It needed to be big enough to be diverse, but small enough to still feel intimate and manageable. We ended up with a group of 11 friends, friends-of-friends, and acquaintances, ranging in age from 29 to 39, at various career stages: people who had been in the same industry their whole working life, people finishing grad school, people entering grad school, and people going through major career changes. Industries included law, nursing, teaching, sustainability, transit, game design, and a small business owner.

Initially, Steph and I thought we would organize each meeting around a theme and select a book or article relevant to that theme for everyone to read. We brainstormed topics and had no trouble coming up with possible areas of focus. An initial shortlist included mentoring, salary negotiation, feeling like a fraud, work/life balance, working with career coaches, setting boundaries, and following your passion versus letting passion follow you. In addition to the organized discussion, we wanted time to discuss personal questions or conflicts we were facing. In reality, the meetings didn’t run this way at all.

Part of the problem was that we all really liked each other. This meant that meetings quickly began to feel like opportunities to socialize. We would get sidetracked, sometimes for long periods of time, talking about a specific issue someone was experiencing, and fail to make it to the larger organizing theme. It’s not that these detours weren’t interesting—they were often engrossing. One really interesting one began when a member shared that she had been called a bitch by a female co-worker and wasn’t sure how she wanted to handle it. But while these conversations could be valuable, once they started happening at most meetings, we realized they were a distraction and that we needed to readjust our approach.

After several meetings of this, Steph and I thought it was time to talk as a group about what was working and the possible changes to make going forward. Everyone agreed that we needed to create a more focused, structured way to run the group that would make space for “big ideas” discussions as well as personal topics where we wanted the group’s opinion.

First, we agreed to set a specific day of every month for meetings. That way it was automatically in everyone’s calendar, and we didn’t have to go through a scheduling rigamarole for every session. If everyone couldn’t make it every time, so be it.

Next, we decided to take turns leading each meeting. Prior to this, Steph had mostly been in charge of scheduling meetings, proposing topics, and sending out reminder emails. This helped get everyone equally involved with the direction of the group and encouraged a sense of ownership over what we talked about. We waited until the end of each meeting before discussing what we wanted to address at the next one. Anyone can propose a topic; as long as enough people agree that it feels relevant, it’s a go. It’s up to the person who proposes that topic to pick a place to meet, supply snacks and drinks, and send out a reminder email to everyone, including any required reading or prep.

Our conversations are respectful, but that doesn’t mean we always agree. And while we’ve all gotten excellent advice, we aren’t always successful in implementing it. For example, I wanted to ask for a substantial raise and a title change last year. I anticipated that the title change would be easy. It was free for my boss to give me, for one thing, and my company—a small, family-owned business—doesn’t have formal rules set up for promotions. Asking for a big salary increase would be harder. I’ve been at my job for six years, but had never negotiated. Instead, each year when my review came around, my boss would simply tell my what my wage increase would be (if any), and I would nod affirmatively, relieved that the money portion of the discussion was over. I think he felt the same way. This time, I wanted to advocate for more.

Based on role-playing negotiations we’d done at one of our career group meetings, I met one-on-one with two members to practice. I decided to ask for the title change first. I figured that by getting my boss to agree that I deserved a title that more accurately reflected the scope of my responsibilities, segueing in to asking for a big raise would seem more natural. I probably role-played the negotiation three or four times total, and every time I was very nervous. (I highly recommend this exercise, but, even with friends, it is difficult.) Each time I did it, I refined what I wanted to say about my own performance and how I proposed being compensated.

I had my review a week or two later, but even with all this prep, my negotiation did not go as anticipated. It started with my boss requesting that we discuss my salary before addressing a title change. That flummoxed me immediately. Of all the many things I had practiced, this simple twist was not one of them. I could have pushed back and insisted that we start with a title discussion, but I didn’t feel comfortable doing that. Flustered, I agreed to his request and talked about my expanded responsibilities, concluding with requesting the new title I wanted. He demurred and said he needed time to think about it, another unanticipated response. I was zero for one and not feeling too great about things as we turned to the question of my salary.

As with years past, he told me that he wanted to raise my salary by a specific amount. At that point, I considered aborting the whole negotiation and just thanking him for the raise, as I had done every time before. He mentioned—tacitly discouraging me, which totally worked—that our line of credit with the bank was in jeopardy. I couldn’t imagine an artful way of pushing back and making the case for a larger raise, as I’d practiced, so instead I said that I had been planning to ask for more, and proposed that we revisit the issue in a few months. He agreed. The whole thing was over in about thirty seconds. It wasn’t how I hoped the discussion would unfold or conclude, but it was a step in the right direction. I realized that, more than anything, negotiations are about keeping the conversation going.

Many of the women in our career group share common questions and concerns like these. One thing that’s so interesting about it is observing people deal with similar situations in very different ways. For example, we have a few members who aren’t sure they want to stay at their jobs. Some, for various reasons, have decided to try to make the best of it and not look for other work. Others have concluded that they may never be satisfied and want to resume their job search. Few people are in careers because a passion for the work led them there. Even those who are in their supposed dream jobs aren’t sure that they make them happy. If our career group has made anything clear, it’s that there are no easy answers.

Leda Marritz lives in San Francisco. Photo: Wonderlane

I don’t believe in formal performance reviews. I think they create an environment where employers risk not confronting unsatisfactory performance when it happens — or acknowledging great work when it is delivered.

At TerraCycle, our approach has been to build a culture where feedback is given often and evenly to all 110 employees. We do this through a weekly reporting process (a topic I blogged about a few months ago) that requires every department to submit a detailed biweekly report to the whole company (every employee). In other words, everyone in the company sees the same reports that I do. Then, as chief executive, I write detailed responses to the reports that are also sent to all employees. This process allows everyone to be evaluated, frequently and without prejudice, in full view of their co-workers. I greatly prefer this approach to a more formal, once-a-year sit-down. Someone who isn’t performing well needs to know about it in real time, and someone who is doing great deserves immediate recognition.

The Times’s Boss Blog this morning is discussing performance reviews. I also agree that a big annual performance review isn’t necessary, and it’s great that the executive at TerraCycle is so transparent with everyone about their performance, but I do think having an annual meeting with a superior is good—even if it’s informal. I think it can be difficult for a lot of people to figure out when they’re supposed to ask for a raise, and an annual meeting can open that window for them. I’ve had performance reviews where I did exactly that—ask for a raise after reviewing the great work I did over the past year, and I’ve received them. How have your experiences been?