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