Donald Trump once told me, “I can’t wait to have the pleasure to work with you, and I know it’ll be a pleasure for you to work with me.”
I wish I could say he shook my hand, but he wasn’t actually in front of me, and I wasn’t actually talking to him. Instead, I was being oriented to work at his resort, the up-and-coming high-roller exclusive Trump National Doral.
“You are not employees, you are associates!” said the female emcee.
“I’m Donald Trump’s associate,” I thought, followed by, “what the hell does that mean?”
What is the difference between an employee and an “associate?” Am I on the path to a first name basis with “the Donald?”
Examples of such labeling schemes are plentiful. At Leon Medical Centers, you’ll find all the amenities of a clinic: physicians and their assistants, doctors and their assistants, clerks and secretaries. Interestingly enough, you’ll also see these clerks in charge of patient care. What would be considered a “patient care coordinator,” then, is actually known as a clerk at Leon.
At the Trump, I was a shuttle driver with no tips. The orientation should’ve left me thinking: “Wow, I’m associated to Mr. Trump; I’m more than an employee!” Driving that hideous white van around Mr. Trump’s Doral estate made me realize that the game of employee titles is nothing but psychological manipulation— and I was keen to their plays.
I was once a pizza guy, and all the employee paperwork, checks, referral forms and disciplinary forms classified me as a “team member,” insinuating that everyone in the shop was an invaluable part of some kind of fraternity, but were we?
If I called homeless people urban pioneers would we warm up to them and ask them about their lives lounging outside Wolfson Campus’ McDonald’s? If I called a prostitute a sexual-mercenary, will she feel like a lustful soldier of fortune?
Of course not. Neither of these will care what you call them so long as you give them money.
My answer to the manipulation? “Call me whatever you want, as long as you give me hours and sign my check.”
