Nicky Jeanerson and Other People I Hate From Work

Sometimes I look back at the slew of bosses and coworkers I've had over the years and think, why didn't I get that person arrested, or why didn't I poison that person's coffee? I've had some truly memorable office experiences and now that I can look back and laugh, why not share them with you?

Working titles for this article:
  • You Just Called Me What?
  • No, I Don't Own a Tight Red Sweater
  • The Sunshine Girl, Seriously?
  • Shove That Bike Up Your Ass
  • Napoleon Complex Much?

The Nice Guy, The Nice Guy Perv, and The Just Plain Perv

Because I'm a logical and rational being, as you will surely find, I will start with my first job out of College. I worked in a small welding supply office where I took on a maternity leave stint for a woman who wore Disney clothes almost every day while she trained me to do her job. In this particular role, I was responsible for 'balancing the books' among other administrative responsibilities. I'm sure that they are still trying to sort out the clerical mess I left behind. The office consisted of two businesses and three business men and myself. Two of the three were brothers, Clint and John. Gord was the third and only gentleman in the office. He gave me a sweet pearl necklace from he and his wife for Christmas that year, which I still have and wear, fifteen years later. Clint drove a Corvette, he was in his fifties, having an affair with an old girlfriend who lived in the US, and he had a couple of kids whom I babysat when he went to see her. Yes, I babysat for my boss. Weird right? Clint was an interesting guy, he taught me how to get in and out of a car and drink wine like a lady. He also frequented the topless massage parlour down the hall from our office and took clients there as well as a treat. Oddly, not once did Clint ever make me feel uncomfortable. His brother, on the other hand (or in his other hand), kept pictures of the Sunshine Girl cut out form the newspaper in a box outside of the bathroom, and deeply inhaled my perfume whenever he came close to me. Needless to say, I put the old Red Door to rest pretty quickly.

The Hogger, The Frencher, and The Perky Prick

After Disney girl came back, I got a job in downtown Toronto and moved there. The man who hired me at this outdoor advertising company was named Jim. He used to hog the Christmas Gift baskets, other than that, I don't recall much about him except that he really wanted to hire the woman who came in before me to interview in a tight fitting red sweater. It was a running joke between him and my future baby-daddy, the Leasing Manager. Yes, you read correct, I had a baby with my coworker. Anyway, Jim was replaced by a French man named Jacques. Everyone loved this guy, he was handsome, friendly, did I mention French? Jacques chain smoked in his office (after the law was passed), and after he had his vasectomy he told me over duck and wine and in front of everyone at the office, that his tongue still worked just fine. Cue the blood rushing to my cheeks in embarrassment. We were all sad to see him go about a year later. We threw him one hell of a going away party though, with a stripper and a lot of booze. Once we all recovered from our hangovers, we had a new boss. A perky little shit who told endlessly boring stories about his bike riding gang (not biker gang, peddling bike gang) and did ass stretches in the middle of the office area. This guy used to call me Generation Y and tell me I should be more bubbly. I hated this dude, so I ignored him and got involved romantically with the Leasing Manager, as I mentioned.

The Overgrown Child

 I moved to suburbia with my Leasing Manager and played around in decorating and set design before deciding that a steady paycheck was the grown up thing to have and went back to office work. I worked at another advertising company, the bosses were OK, but I was stuck working on 'the books' again and I liked them too much to bring them crashing down financially because I didn't know what the hell I was doing. I landed at a sales office, as a Sales Assistant after that. Here is where I met Nicky Jeanerson. This woman stood at least three feet taller than me and had the same build as Hulk Hogan. Being in the cut throat, male dominated sales industry had turned Nicky hard. She had bright red hair and stalked around the office with a face so full of make-up that you could literally see an orange line between her chin and neck. I asked her once not to throw her banana peel in the garbage at my desk when she had her own garbage or to use the garbage in the kitchen instead, and she called me persnickety. I had to look it up. I didn't think the definition suited me. Was there a fancy name that I could use to sum up the horrible ogre lady that she was? Scarycrazybitchickity, perhaps. Besides Nicky Jeanerson, there was another oddball person I had to put up with at this office, his name was Chad. Chad was the acting president, who during my interview asked me if I worked out and was a massive fan of The Simpsons. Chad was a creep, I hated getting stuck in his office after procuring his signature on a sales contract, and having to hear in detail from front to end about the Simpsons episode he watched the night before all while he glanced me up and down with his bulging bug eyes. He even looked a little bit like Homer, yick.

Small but Crazy

To further advance my career I decided to take a job as an Executive Assistant. Yay! I did it! I climbed the ladder from Secretary to EA. I've arrived. The pay was so much better and, at the ripe old age of 26, maybe I'd start being respected in my work. Wrong. Oh so terribly wrong. As a matter of fact, it only got worse the more I advanced. My new boss, we'll call him Napoleon, because he was a short angry man with, well, a Napoleon complex. He once remarked that "I was actually capable of learning" and then quoted the line that the peasant in My Fair Lady had to learn to improve her speech "The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plane." What an asshole. He would also often announce to whomever would listen that I was like his wife, but without the sex. He thought it was hilarious, I thought it was gross. This guy swore in his management meetings, told his VPs to 'shut the fuck up' and I don't even want to know what would happen if I didn't have his coffee waiting on his desk when he arrived. He was very wealthy, having built his own business, and often took women he met at the casino, who were half his age, on expensive trips, and then call me to complain that they were too drunk to have sex with him. He used to let me use his private box at the semi-pro hockey arena and eat whatever I wanted while we were there, so that was nice I guess. One time he had me run all over the city buying up copies of a newspaper that printed an article about him, then he called me on my cell phone to yell at me for taking too long. I ended up taking sick leave because it was such a bad environment for me. Napoleon died about a year later from Cancer. I did not attend his funeral.

The Pretty Boy

If you think that little men with major insecurity issues are hard to work for, try working for a pretty boy. Rob Turner once, only once, leaned on my desk while picking his teeth with a business card. "If something lands on me I'm quitting," I told him in all seriousness. Behind his back we called him Gaston, from Beauty and the Beast. Arrogance was his middle name, investing was his game. How did I end up working with money again? Lucky for everyone, the agents handled the money, I just took care of Gaston, I mean Rob. After two uncomfortable years in which he compared me constantly to his old, slim, sexy, assistant that adored him, we agreed to call it quits. He gave me time to find a new job and at my farewell party I announced that I thoroughly enjoyed working with Rob for the last two weeks. Mr. Centre Of The Universe didn't like that very much, but I sure enjoyed dissing him in front of everyone after he made me fetch his coffee and his lunch every single day, rain or snow, for the last two years.

This Porridge is Just Right

When I was interviewing for my next job, I say interviewing and not being interviewed because I was determined to choose wisely this time, I told the gentleman across from me not to bother calling me back if he wanted somebody to fetch his coffee. I let him know that 'thank you' goes a long way and that, if hired, I'd like to be judged on my performance and not my appearance. It's been over two years now that I've been working for Quan and besides being a little on the anti-social workaholic side, he's pretty good. He has never ogled me, sworn at me, called me stupid, or sent me on ridiculous errands. He doesn't give me Christmas gifts, or say Happy Birthday to me, but he's a religious man and that's got to count for something.

You know when people tell you 'their story' which includes struggle and heartache and sacrifices, and then say they would do it all over again to get to where they are now? Well if I did have to do it all over again, people would get injured, physically, in the balls and I would have stuck with decorating.

Have you had a terrible boss? Share your story, it might make me feel better. Thanks!
Good Luck Out There,

Just Being

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