I am worker, hear me roar…
Bosses from Hell. We’ve all had them in one form or another, especially Dorothea. So, what the hell, I’ll tell you about mine.
Like Dorothea’s, my Boss from Hell was the boss in my first real job. Straight out of high-school, a fresh faced eighteen-year-old with a headful of knowledge and an empty basket marked ‘experience’. The boss was a guy who spoke like someone straight out of ‘Pointy-Haired Boss school’, spouting business jargon all over the place, talking about quantifying our spatial debilitativeness and making sure to touch base with some individual or another. I’m quite sure he made some of those terms up on the spot, and to this day I can’t hear such jargon without shuddering.
He really did make my first job a living hell. I was constantly reminded how lucky I was to be given this job, how they didn’t have to take me on, and I wasn’t their first choice for the position. Everything I did was endlessly revised and revised and revised, and my methods of doing things were either questioned to the nth degree or openly criticised in front of the rest of the staff. He would appear in my office at least four times a day to check up on me, and I would be called into his office for meetings twice a week. Security cameras were installed in sixteen locations around the school and the monitor in his office seemed to be permanently stuck on the two that were in my office. However, despite him having this direct view link into my office, he would call when I wasn’t there, and thne later on ask me why I wasn’t there when he called.
Needless to say, the year that I spent there under contract weren’t fun, and serve as another layer on the onion of my psychological problems.
Looking back, perhaps working at my old high-school wasn’t the best decision I ever made.
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