My boss's name was Loretta Von Stink. That's what I'm going to tell you anyway. She has a real name, but I can't use it here because she might call me up and say something, and if I have to hear that woman's voice again I will have to remove my ears with fire.
She was awful, and not just awful because she didn't know how to manage people. My three coworkers and I believed that she either had one of those psychotic social disorders that she should have been medicated for, or that she was just an asshole, in which case the solution was to only allow her contact with robots until medical science came up with a cure for being a dick. Since no one had seen fit to seclude her yet, we divided our working hours between correcting all of the mistakes she told us we were making and chatting conspiriously about ways to get Loretta out of our lives. Our options were few. They included: getting other jobs, talking to HR about how miserable we were under her rule, talking to her about how miserable we were to establish some kind of mature conversation, and shoving her in front of a bus. All of us tried everything except that last one, not because we weren't compelled to do it but because we knew she would only come back as a ghost and criticize us for having done it wrong.
All that correcting would have been fine if the four of us actually were the incompetent imbeciles that she accused us of being, and if she could have decided what she wanted us to do. Her favorite way of micromanaging was to tell us to do something, let us do it that way for a week, and then run (seriously run) into the office to fuss at us because we KNEW that was the wrong way to do it and we'd been doing it that way ALL week! So none of us trusted her when she gave us direction because we knew the direction was going to change and when it did, anything done previously was going to be entirely our fault and if we didn't watch it we were going to have to be let go. This made any contact with her at all highly stressful. It's one thing to have to tolerate a critical person, but when that person can cost you your job, stomaching their bullshit becomes both nauseating and impossible.
To give you an example of this, and to prove to you that there was no point in killing her because she was already undead, I think I'm going to have to tell you about the meeting in the dark. And before I do that I have to tell you what she looked like in the light.
She was shaped like an eggplant and smelled like an onion bagel. Onion bagels are delicious when you eat them, but when you smell like them as a person, the people who work for you are not going to be able to breathe when you lean over them to show them something on the computer. And by "show them something on the computer" I mean, lean over them, seize control of their keyboard, delete what they just wrote and type something else because you believe that they're too stupid to type "Thank you. Please call if you have any questions," on their own. So not only is your underling offended and her personal space is being violated, but she will pass out soon from lack of oxygen.
But we believed that Loretta could have cared less about whether or not we were able to breathe since her own heart had stopped beating years before. And she was pale enough so that this theory seemed that it might have been true. Pale, veiny skin with bleached blonde hair that for some reason, and I spent a lot of time trying to figure this out, was never dyed completely. The dark roots always showed, never getting longer or shorter, just perpetually two inches of dark hair and then a shock of blonde the rest of the way. It was as if she went to the beauty parlor with a thong on top of her head and asked the hairdresser to dye around it. Her eyes were the same brown as the roots, and she seldom laughed but when she did it came out forced. She pronounced each "ha" - ha ha ha - like laboured breathing.
So one day, I got an Instant Message on my computer that said, "Genevieve, come to my office. Bring your laptop." I jumped because my nerves were always spring loaded, ready for an attack to come from her on some front - red letter email, bursting in to the room to yell at me, or as in this case, an IM summons.
"Oh God," I whined.
"What's up?" my coworker Brian asked.
"The Goblin Queen just summoned me."
"I don't know, but I'm to bring my laptop."
"Don't let her smell your blood. It makes her hungry."
"Tell my children I love them," I said, undocking my computer and carrying it sadly out of the office.
Her office door was open a crack, and at first I thought she wasn't there because no light came from it. It looked like she'd left but had forgotten to shut the door all the way. But then I heard her voice coming from inside of it...and another voice talking back to her.
I rapped the back of my hand on the door. "Loretta?"
"Yeah!" she said, and them mumbled something and a man's voice answered her.
I pushed the door open, and found Loretta sitting at her desk in the dark, talking to someone on speaker phone. There were no windows in her office so even though it was the middle of the day, the room was dark as night except for the blue glow of her computer screen which eerily lit her blanched skin and jaundiced hair.
I sat down in the chair across from her and set my laptop across my knees.
"What's your IP address?"" she asked, pointing to the laptop.
Not knowing that information off the top of my head, I did a quick search to find out. And just so you know, typing in the dark in your boss's office is quite disorienting even if you're an excellent typist and your fingers already know where the letters are. This is because YOU ARE SITTING IN THE DARK IN YOUR BOSS'S OFFICE. The light bulbs aren't burnt out, there isn't a black out, you're just sitting there with no clear view of her so you have no idea if she's salivating at the scent of your blood or not.
I found the IP address and said it loud enough for the guy on the phone to hear. A couple of seconds later, the guy, who she was calling Rick, took control of my computer. I could tell because the arrow on my screen began to move around without my touching anything. Either she was on the phone with technical support or she was communing with the devil, who now had control of my laptop. It was then that two questions came into my head. I decided to address the one that was bothering me the most, and I quickly I figured out a way to go about asking it without saying, "Are you a total freak?"
"Loretta? Do you have a migraine?" I asked.
She frowned at me. "No. Why?"
"Because the lights are off," I said, pointing at the ceiling to show her where the light was supposed to come from. "And whenever I have a migraine I need to be in the dark, so-"
"No, no," she said, waving her hand to dismiss the idea. "I just like it this way. I find it easier on the eyes when I have to look at the computer screen all day, you know?"
She did this a lot. Explained something and then ended it with "you know" so that I had the opportunity to identify. But honestly, I did not know. Staring at a computer screen did hurt my eyes, I got that part, but if I sat in a dark room long enough I would either go to sleep or become severely depressed. AND even if I did not have either of those reactions then at the very least if someone else came to join me I would turn the lights on. So that we could work. In the light.
Which led me to my second question.
"Cool. So, um, what are we downloading?"
She crossed her legs and frowned at me again. "Downloading? What?"
I pointed to the laptop. Our conversations involved a lot of pointing since neither of us could understand each other's words."What Rick is downloading. What is it?"
"Oh it's -" and she named a program that Brian usually worked on.
"Ok...Would you like me to work on it too?"
"Yeah," she said, giving me a look I used to get in high school when I would ask a popular girl a question. It was a look that said, "Yeah, uh, duh! That's what I'm saying, shit for brains."
The downloading of this program took about fifteen minutes which doesn't sound like much, but it is when you're sitting in a dark room with your boss who's glowing like a bleached blond stick of uranium and all you want to do is go back to your desk and joke about this whole experience with your coworkers. I thought about the snack waiting for me in my desk drawer and became a little more irritated.
When it finally finished downloading, Loretta said, "Ok, so let me show you this, it's really easy. I don't know if you're a note-taker or not but you might want to take notes."
Loretta should have known that I was a note-taker because I had made a habit of jotting things down when I was alone with her so that I could chronicle the inconsistencies and the insults.
After the tutorial she thanked me and sent me on my way. The thanks were always confusing because she said them genuinely. It wasn't like the laugh that seemed forced. See, I'm the kind of person that when someone tells me "thank you" I believe them. When someone says, "I like you" I believe them, and when someone is nice to me I believe that they like me. So when she acted like a bitch most of the time, it was really confusing when she had moments of niceness. Those moments, fleeting though they were, did happen but rather then garner credit to the fact she she might be a cool person but just a bad boss, they confused me and my coworkers all the more and we were left to wonder if she was just in a good mood because she'd eaten a baby. One of the girls I worked with said that those were just moments of fakeness, but I didn't know. There was no way to really know her at all. But of course, whenever I tried to give her the benefit of the doubt, she'd fuck me over.
I walked back into the office and said to Brian, "So I'm going to be your backup."
"Oh yeah?" he said. He got up and walked over to me as I snapped my laptop back into the docking station. "What'd she show you?"
I read over the instructions she gave me. Half way through he shook his head. "No, no. She showed you wrong."
"Are you serious?"
"Are you surprised?"
"No. But...urrrgh! We sat in the dark that whole time, Brian! Do I look pale? I might have been bitten, I don't know."
He laughed. "Ooooooooh my God. I want to go home. Ok, sit down, tear that page out, and take down everything I'm about to tell you."
I did and discovered that Loretta had told me to do everything that would have rendered my work useless. Like, I am not kidding, or exaggerating, if I'd done it Loretta's way I would have been working in an endless loop, never making any progress. And then she would have called me a week later and said, "Genevieve, WHY is this not done? Do you remember ANYTHING that I showed you? Remember when I said 'thanks' at the end of it? We had a moment, Gen, I thought we were cool." Luckily this conversation never had to happen because I did the opposite of everything she taught me.
This was very unlike what happened just a few months into the job, back when I thought that talking to her, reasoning things out, might do some good. One day she ran into the office, stood uncomfortably close to me and berated me for not keeping an accurate record of the work I'd done for the month. "Why?" she hissed. "Why would you do that Genevieve??"
"Well," I said. "I'm sorry, I didn't neglect it deliberately. I didn't know it was that important and sometimes when it's busy-"
"But you have to! It's simple! If I can't rely on you to do simple tasks, then I don't see how this is going to work!"
I didn't know how to react. I told her that I had written everything in a notebook and I could approximate dates and copy it all into a spreadsheet and have it to her by the end of the day. She calmed down after I said that.
When I was done I printed it out and took it to her office. She took the pages, set them aside and asked me to sit down.
"Now," she said. "I wanted to talk to you about something. I heard that you seemed very upset this afternoon. Like it looked like you might have been crying."
It was true. There was a moment when I was crying quietly at my desk and thinking to myself, as I scrambled to get the report done before she fired me, "I hate this job, I hate this job, I hate this job." But I hadn't thought that anyone noticed. Besides the three people who I eventually became friends with as we formed a united front of hatred of Loretta, there was one other person in the office who was her stooge, and I wondered if it was this person who said I'd been crying.
"Uh, yeah. Sorry, I was just frustrated with myself for not keeping up with that report all month."
"Ok, and yes, that's something to take responsibility for. But you know, an emotional scene like that is very distracting for your coworkers and frankly unprofessional. And I'm sorry that you take things so personally."
"Personally?" I said, because all I could think to do was repeat a part of what she said.
"Ok. I will...try not to do that."
But unfortunately, being the incompetent emotional basketcase that I was, that was not the only time I had feelings in the office and over the next few months I was also corrected for (and I am not making this up) laughing, chatting, and asking my repeat phone customers how they were doing because I was "being too familiar."
And then, soon after the dark meeting, Loretta wasn't my boss anymore. She wasn't fired or hit by a bus, but transferred to another department. Every now and then I still see her, and sometimes I'm able to dodge her if I pick up the scent of onion bagel first. But the other day I was walking down the hall and she and I passed right by each other. I tensed up before I remembered that she couldn't do anything to me anymore - as if she ever could have fired me for walking down the hall in the first place. I wasn't really sure what to do because I'd never liked her, but had I really never like her bad enough to completely ignore her? When confronted with her in a brief social situation where it is impossible to pretend that I do not see another person walking in my direction? The absolute head-on collision of social interactions? Hypocritical as it might have been I decided that no, I could not just pass her without saying anything. So when she was a few feet away from me I looked her right in the face and squeaked, "Hi."
She pushed her lips shut, looked down and to the right of me, and passed me by. And I gotta say, I was pissed.
"What?" I thought to myself. "You're snubbing ME? Me, the employee who did your bidding and who you insulted belittled and jerked around for months and I tell you hi and you pretend I'm not there? You're not even going to pretend to be polite to the person who had fantasies about pushing you in front of oncoming traffic? Is this the way it is, we get to openly dislike each other now? Good! Next time I see you in the hallway I won't tell you hi, I'll just spray you with air freshener, Stink Bag."
I might, um, have taken that interaction personally. I'm going to have to work on that.