Signs Your Boss Secretly Hates You

Your performance review includes a section describing in detail all of your annoying personal habits

This includes the way you constantly click your pen in meetings, picking your nose in the elevator, and the fact that you sometimes chew loudly. It’s the reason your performance rating  is downgraded from “on track” to “falling behind/needs immediate improvement.”

He or she leaves Post It notes on your monitor that say “I Hate You. Signed, [Your Boss's Name]”

This may seem like a lighthearted, playful gesture, but studies have shown that when a boss leaves a note saying they hate you, signed with their own name, there’s a 1 in 5 chance it’s true.

Your boss “forgets” to invite you to every single staff meeting, and the company holiday party and picnic

All through the year you hear your coworkers talking about the helpful time management seminar from the last staff meeting, or that hilarious thing Jason from IT did to Mike from Finance with the ketchup bottle at the company picnic, and you realize that the invitations to those events never showed up in your email or mailbox. If you confront your boss directly, she’ll deny having excluded you, saying it must have gone to your spam folder, or that everyone knows the mailroom guy is a total stoner jerkoff who should be fired.

When you walk up to your boss’s office door, he picks up the phone as soon as he sees you, and starts pretending to talk to someone

As soon as you appear in the doorway, your boss grabs the handset of his phone and says, “So, Pete, about that RFP we were discussing. I have a long list of questions for you that will probably take at least an hour and a half to get through. Maybe two hours. Definitely until lunchtime, if not longer. You OK with that? You are? Great!” Then your boss then looks at you and shrugs his shoulders to say, “Whatever you need will have to wait; this is has to take precedence.”

During fire drills, your boss tells you it’s OK for you to stay at your desk and work instead of practicing how to evacuate the building in the event of an emergency because your work is so vital to the success of the organization

This one is really subtle. It sounds like he’s doing you a favor, not making you get up and walk down fifteen flights of stairs, and then having to wait around for the elevator for ten minutes to get back up to your desk. But the day there’s an actual emergency, you’re going to be at the mercy of your boss to know just where that emergency exit is at the bottom of the stairs, and since your boss hates you, he’s not likely to tell you where it is, or worse may intentionally point you in the wrong direction. Don’t be fooled by this one.

When you mention you have weekend plans, your boss asks if you’ll be doing anything that might result in a tragic life-threatening accident

You know what? Forget this one. She’s probably just worried about your safety and well-being.

Part of a Day in the Life

I see it’s 11 a.m. and I’m at work reflecting back on what I’ve done today. You know, reviewing my to do list, checking off my accomplishments…yeah, that’s what I’m doing. Here’s what I’ve done so far today:

 

Emptied half the dishwasher

The bottom half. I was running late out of the shower and only had time to do the plates and silverware.

 

Checked my horoscope, reviewed “The Daily Chanel,” and got an ear worm

Every day I commute with the same people, and we collaborate on the New York Times crossword puzzle. The people who create the New York Times crossword puzzle are sadistic bastards--every day there’s at least one clue that references a song, which inevitably gets stuck in my head. Today’s offering is “Moves Like Jagger” by Maroon 5 (you’re welcome).

 

The horoscopes give the day a number that indicates how challenging it will be. I presume this is to give me a head’s up in case the odds are high that I might need a bail bondsman or a lawyer. Or both. We mostly just read the numbers, because like all horoscopes, the actual predictions are pretty vague and interchangeable. Today is a 9 for me, which means “easy,” which makes me wonder why I’m wasting a 9 at the office.

 

It appears Chanel has bought the upper left corner of page A2 of the New York Times for 344 consecutive weeks or something. Every day it is, of course, an item that is both practical and economical. A shearling clutch. A platinum and ruby wristwatch. Calfskin and patent leather sneaker boots (seriously—the bottom part is a sneaker, but they come to mid-calf and have laces all the way up). Often the price is printed, and naturally nothing is ever under a thousand dollars. Sometimes the price isn’t printed, which translates to, “If you have to ask, you can’t afford it.” We check the Daily Chanel regularly. I’m always looking for good gift ideas, after all.

 

Dealt with a dozen volunteer-related issues

I’m in charge of coordinating the after school programs at my kids’ school, and they start this week, so I’ve been dealing with little Tommy wants this but it’s full so can he have something else. Plus we had a bunch of late registrations I had to record.

 

Had an email debate with a friend about the virtues of Cool Whip versus Redi Whip

Seriously? Cool Whip is chemical sludge and leaves a slick in my mouth. It’s Redi Whip all the way for me.

 

Read a couple of blog posts, posted on Facebook, commented on Facebook posts and a couple of blog posts

Including the link to one of them here, because Leslie Marinelli of In the Powder Room is SO right on about the internet mommy trolls.

 

And let’s include this one, because the Oxford comma is correct, useful, and necessary. Lola Lolita of Sammiches & Psych meds will educate you, should you currently be in the Wrong Thinkers camp.

 

Read the “Quotes” from the movie “Pretty in Pink” on IMDB

Actually not my favorite John Hughes movie (that would have to be either “Sixteen Candles” or “The Breakfast Club”) because while I love Andrew McCarthy, I, along with the rest of Generation X, felt like Andi should have ended up with Duckie. I read the reason John Hughes even made “Some Kind of Wonderful” is because he wanted Andi to end up with Duckie too, but the studio forced him to change the ending so she ended up with Blane. "Some Kind of Wonderful" ended the way he wanted "Pretty in Pink" to end. There, don’t say you never learned anything from me.

 

Went to the drug store, ostensibly for itch cream, but really for Halloween candy

I still have the remnants of this rash, but I was also out of miniature candy bars so I had to go get some. I hate Halloween. I have zero self-control and I love candy. Basically Halloween sucks for me. So I came back with itch cream, miniature Take Five bars, and miniature Heath bars. AND DON’T YOU JUDGE ME. (Also, may I ask just what is wrong with our society that miniature Heath bars are only available at Halloween? That’s effed up, y’all).

 

 

 

I also bought a small bag of Sour Cream & Onion potato chips. Because nutrition.

 

Cursed GEICO for sending new insurance cards every other week

Why do they DO this? It’s not like our coverage changes. It’s not like our policy number changes. And yet, every other month or so, there’s another envelope from Geico with new cards for us to distribute amongst ourselves. Naturally I never actually have one of those little buggers when I need it, which I did today. So I cursed at them. Not in any way they’ll ever know about—just under my breath while sitting at my desk, but it was cathartic for me. And it’s all about me, after all.

 

Found out my favorite soup is on the soup menu at my usual lunch spot.

And that was pretty much the highlight of my goddamned day so far.

 

What you’ll notice is conspicuously absent from this list is any form of actual work. Yeah. Don’t tell my boss, OK? I’m off to get my soup now.

A Piece of Work

Our story today is about strange coworkers. Not mine, although I have worked with my share of weirdos, jerks, and assholes. No, this is the tale of the coworker of a friend who was so bizarre that she became a celebrity among my group. We begged my friend for current news of her, and texted each other when there were “sightings.” When she finally vanished, we mourned her going with genuine sorrow. But I mustn’t get ahead of my story.

 

I first became aware of this woman in a hamburger place near my office. My friend and her peculiar colleague worked about a block away from where my building is located. One morning I stopped in at the hamburger place that was across the street from us for a sausage breakfast sandwich, to find a well-dressed, middle aged, African American woman in line ahead of me. She wore a fabric rain coat, and had with her an oversized suitcase. I gave her little consideration—my office is downtown, not far from where the train boards for the airport. I assumed she was taking an early morning flight, and had stopped for something to eat. She was quite heavily packed, with not only the suitcase, but a backpack, tote bag, and purse.

 

But I continued to see her from time to time. Always with the same burden, always in the same raincoat, always looking extremely well put together. After a half a dozen sightings, I chanced to mention her to my friend.

 

Friend: “Oh, that’s Luggage Linda,”

 

Me: “Luggage Linda? Do you know her?”

 

Friend: “She works in my office.”

 

My friend at that time worked for a government-run utility.

 

Me: “And she brings that stuff with her every day?”

 

Friend: “Oh it’s worse than that. She takes it with her everywhere she goes. Bathroom. File room. Lunch. Everywhere.”

 

Me: “What’s in it?”

 

Friend: “No idea. No one has ever seen.”  

 

It turned out that Luggage Linda (and yes, Linda is her real name) was the receptionist for this government office. No one was ever clear why she brought all this stuff with her every day, nor why she kept it with her at all times. Linda, it transpired, was probably not too tightly wrapped. (I’m guessing you didn’t need to be told that.)

 

She constantly accused people of messing with her stuff while she was away from her desk. My friend assured me that, to the best of her knowledge, no one actually touched her belongings, but she was constantly railing at no one for rearranging things, or resetting the preset dial buttons on her phone. I’ve always thought it’s a really good thing she didn’t work in my office, because I wouldn’t have been able to resist the urge to actually do that sort of thing.

She was also terrified of a guy named Brian who worked for the same organization in a different group. She wouldn’t get on the elevator if he was on it (he worked on a slightly higher floor). She was sure, she said, that Brian left the office during the day and went to her apartment, where he would “go through her aprons.” (Yes, aprons. No, no idea why aprons.) Also, one time he’d “spilled salad oil on the floor.” It had to have been him, she insisted. Who else would have done it? It’s worth noting that, by all the accounts I heard, Brian was a very nice man who never did anything to threaten her, or arouse her fears. She was simply irrationally afraid of him.

She was a religious woman, and went to church regularly. I don’t know which church, but at some point, they grew weary of whatever peculiarities she displayed regarding organized religion (one assumes she was similarly paranoid about someone in the congregation, or within the ministry, as she was with Brian, or otherwise exhibited bizarre behavior commensurate with that in her professional life). They asked her to leave the church. I can only assume they told her, “Jesus loves you, but we’re over you.” It’s pretty bad when your church asks you not to come anymore.

 

On a somewhat sad note, she evidently had a daughter who lived somewhere in California. By her own account, the daughter was a PhD, and would have nothing to do with her. One doesn’t have to spend much time pondering that choice. However, it has occurred to me in later years that it’s possible said daughter (and/or her educational achievements) were fabrications. We have no real way of knowing, and it doesn’t really matter, but if it is true, I think it’s unfortunate.

The story of Luggage Linda has an unhappy ending, and a happy ending (there are two) depending, I suppose, on your point of view.

Linda began arriving for work late (half an hour or an hour), with the reason stated being an unexplained fear. Brian? Someone else? It was never disclosed. Her manager insisted she would need to take vacation to account for the time. She wanted to take sick time. The manager was adamant that it be vacation. HR got involved. As with many government agencies, the HR department of this particular organization was not in the same building. The HR rep came down to meet with Linda and her manager. Since this was the first time the HR rep had met Linda, it was the first time s/he realized to just what degree Linda’s grip on reality was questionable.

The HR rep decreed that Linda would need to undergo an evaluation in order to continue her employment. She was placed on leave until such time as she would agree to this condition. The grape vine information immediately following that announcement was that she had declared she would undergo no such procedure, and there the matter appeared to end. Linda no longer had a job there.

However, in doing research for this, I texted my friend to find out just what the fear was that ultimately resulted in Linda’s termination. I was informed that, lo and behold, Linda is back. In the same job. In the same office. (My friend has moved on to a different position in another building.) She is, it seems, limited to a single suit case now, with all the other paraphernalia being deemed disruptive and inappropriate for the workplace, but she is back as the receptionist for the government run utility down the street from my office. How she managed to pass the evaluation that was required for her clearance to return is uncertain. I’m sure Brian greeted her return with open arms, from which she no doubt fled in terror.

 

 

This is Linda. She goes through a suitcase about every six months. Shortly after these pictures were taken, she got an animal print one.