We’ve all had at least one.
My first real job out of college introduced me to a doozy of a boss. On my first day, she took me to lunch and completely unloaded. She was sleeping with a married man (who also worked for the company), she was overly attached to her adult son (you have no idea how much), and she gambled more often than she should (at a casino named Bullwhacker’s—I subsequently started calling her Bullwhacker in my mind). At the end of the lunch, she said something to me that should have let me know then and there how the rest of my tenure at that office was going to go: I know you’re highly educated and I’m not, but you’ll only go so far in this company and you’ll never have my job.
From that point on, Bullwhacker worked overtime to hold me down and make me feel like dirt. She told me she was watching me and knew when I was stealing time from the company (I wasn't). She told me she sat in the parking lot and watched my car to be sure I didn't leave even five minutes early. She never gave me direction on what she wanted me to do and then landed on me like a pit bull on a poodle when everything wasn't to her exact specifications. She trashed my reputation to her boss (which puzzled him, because he told me he was happy with my work).
Every morning, I drove into the parking lot, rested my head on the steering wheel, willed myself not to cry, and then walked into the office.
The pinnacle of the Bullwhacker treatment came on the day I heard her screech my name from her office. I walked in, and she said:
I seem to have dropped some M&M’s on the floor of my office. I'm going to need you to get on your hands and knees and pick them up for me.
And I, being the naïve young woman I was back then, complied.
Ten minutes later, she called me in again.
Oops! I seem to have dropped some more M&M’s. I’ll need you to pick those up too.
A little while after that, I decided that it was better to have my dignity and self-respect than it was to have a glamorous entry-level job.
I quit. The eight months I spent under her thumb felt like eight years.
On my last day, my best friend came to pick me up from work. She grabbed my box of stuff and rushed me out of the door like she was helping me escape from an abusive boyfriend.
The only good thing I can say about old Bullwhacker is that she gave me an appreciation for the good boss I have now. I'm thankful for her every day I walk into work and realize that I didn't spend time with my head on the steering wheel before I got out of the car.
I feel likewise lucky. :)
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