Day 106

I never talk about my job/jobs on this blog. And I never will except in abstractions because I don’t want to violate any sort of agreement I may or may not have signed (this isn’t me being cagey, this is me not remembering what papers I sign… I just make sure I sign on all the lines so that they give me the money). I’ve been working since I was 15 and I’ve had some pretty horrible jobs. I’ve also had great ones. But I’ve had a lot of shitty jobs. Like, a lot.

I haven’t seen the movie Horrible Bosses; I’m sure I will at some point, but I figure I’ve kind of lived it at various stages, so why pay to relive it. Even if this may be a hilarious, cathartic journey into the horrible-ness of bosses, I am hesitant to rehash what is sure to be sensitive territory. I decided that before I venture to the theater to see a movie called Horrible Bosses, I should clear the air or whatever and get some of this pent-up hostility off my chest. What better way to do that than in a public forum? Here’s a fantasy letter to your horrible boss, every horrible boss I’ve ever had, and probably will have:

Dear Horrible Boss,

No, I won’t print that document for you again. I’ve already printed it for you 6 times and you misplace it every single time. I’m not reprinting it because I already feel guilty enough after murdering a rainforest to make a double-sided document into a single-sided document because you don’t like reading the left sides of the packets. This makes me wonder if you actually read books. Actually, I think I know you don’t actually read anything you say you do, because you ask me to tell you what you should have read. Your hatred for 3-hole paper is ridiculous. I am alarmed that you can tell the difference between buff and eggshell paper and suggest that you take the time you use critiquing my methods and ideology on 3-hole paper and use it to watch Fried Green Tomatoes and grow a heart.

Your perfectionism and micromanagement can make you seem to excel at your job, but frankly, no one really cares about the process, they care about the end product. I hated my math teacher who deducted points for not showing your work. Who cares if I did half the math in my head? The answer’s right. Your attention to detail is commendable, but there is a difference between taking pride in one’s work and being a dick. Please don’t interrupt my work-related phone calls to ask me to do trivial stuff like refill your coffee cup. I am not your fucking waitress. I don’t have a nametag and if you hand me your coffee cup, I will surely spit in it.

Patience goes a lot farther than you would think.

Remember that time you made me re-mop the entire floor because you found 1 fucking spot that you probably spilled 5 minutes ago because you’re a psychopath? You don’t? Well I do and I’m never going to forget your tyrannical rule. I will never be a patron in your establishment again.

Stop promising me a promotion and just give me a fucking promotion already.

When I tell you the answer to the question you ask, please don’t question my answers. If you aren’t going to take my word for it, then what the fuck did you ask me in the first place? I’m not sure if you know the definition of the word “efficiency,” but you should look it up. You need some. Instead of having 800 meetings about things, why don’t we have 1 meeting where actual decisions are made and then we put those decisions into action? It’s time to grow a pair and deal with the issues at hand. Am I booking this flight? Why won’t you take the time to order your own damn lunch? I’m going to purposely order you something I know you think is vile, just to watch you get mad over something that could have been prevented had you actually taken the time to make a fucking decision. Why I ask you questions, I don’t ask them because we’re on a date and I’m trying to get to know you better. I don’t really give a fuck about getting to know you. When I ask you questions, you should probably just answer them.

Clearly, no one ever told you that a happy worker is harder worker.

I’m here to make your life easier, so I would appreciate if you wouldn’t be a dick. Oh? I’m not getting paid for that time I had to stay late because you for got to submit the quarterly reports? That’s cool. I don’t work for money. I work for experience and because most of the time I like what I do. If you don’t want to pay me in actually monies owed, why don’t you try paying me a few compliments? ON MY WORK. Not my shirt, shoes, boobs, or butt. You catch more flies with honey than with… whatever it is you have. Hard work can be rewarded with things other than money. Being overworked and underpaid is one thing, and usually par for the course in this economic climate, but being overworked and underappreciated is unacceptable. If I’m doing a good job, you should tell me. I do about 300 things right every day, but I only hear about the one fuck up. I may be jokey and jovial in the office, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t deserve your respect. If you disrespect me, then everyone in the office thinks they can disrespect me. You set the tone for the whole company and you should really rethink your course of action.

There’s this thing called “sexual harassment” that is inappropriate in any environment, but especially in the work place. If I were a more litigiously inclined person, you probably wouldn’t be allowed within 50 yards of me.

I’m not a mind reader. Without proper direction, you can’t have proper action. If you want something done correctly, use your words and tell me whether this package need to be delivered by tomorrow, next week, or next year. You want me to create an invoice? Well, I kind of need to know what for. 30,000 rubber band balls? 500 vintage micromachines? 4 wheels of Vermont cheddar cheese? I’m not here to judge what the hell you do in your leisure time, just tell me what I need to know to complete a goddamn task.

Oh, and the next time you decide to turn my name into a fucking cute-sy nickname… don’t. Someone’s already done it better and you belittle me by comparing me to a jellybean.

Please acquiesce to my requests or I will be forced to quit my job and write a book fictionalizing you and your quirks in a negative light. This is not a threat, but a promise. You hatred for all things yellow alarms me. You should probably see a therapist about that. This job isn’t work the paycheck. Actually, this job isn’t worth the check stock my paychecks are printed on. GO FUCK YOURSELF. I QUIT.

Warm Regards,

BLONDIE McBLONDERSON

DISCLAIMER: THE ABOVE LETTER IS NOT ABOUT ONE PARTICULAR PERSON, BUT MANY, MANY ASSHOLES. IF YOU REALLY THINK THAT THIS LETTER IS ABOUT YOU SPECIFICALLY, THEN CLEARLY YOU HAVE GROWN AS A PERSON AND CAN RECOGNIZE YOUR HORRIBLE BOSS-QUALITIES. HOWEVER, YOU’RE ALSO SELF-CENTERED ENOUGH TO THINK THAT THIS ENTIRE BLOG ENTRY IS ABOUT YOU, SO YOU’RE DELUSIONAL. FUCK OFF. ALL LEGAL INQUIRIES CAN BE SENT TO BLONDE HQ, OR UP YOUR ASS, SINCE THAT’S WHERE YOUR HEAD IS. BUT SERIOUSLY, DON’T SUE ME BECAUSE I DON’T HAVE ANY MONEY AND THE ABOVE LETTER ISN’T ABOUT YOU BECAUSE YOU WERE THE BEST BOSS EVER*. THE END.

*actually, you were the worst boss ever, I was just placating you.

Today gets 1 Barbie Warhol: