Six Degrees of "Screw You"

There is a lady at my office who quit her job last week.  She quit, among other reasons, because she can't stand our boss.

 

The same day she told me about it, my best friend's partner also quit her job. 

 

 

She was pissed at her boss.

 

 

Aren't we all?

 

 

 

Neither of those ladies had any work lined up, or anything to fall back on, like, say, Powerball winnings.  They just said "Fuck this" and quit.

 

 

 

I want to admire these women.  I do.  I mean that takes some balls. 

 

 

Problem is, Sensible Shelly is screaming "WHAT ABOUT THE GODDAMN MORTGAGE, HUH?  WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU PLANNING TO DO ABOUT THAT???"

 

 

Now...unlike me, both women have partners who are employed and with whom they share household expenses, so it's not like there's no money coming in.  Unfortunately, there is no conceivable way I could give my boss the gigantic "Screw You" that he so richly deserves without ending up living in a cardboard box somewhere (and if I did, I can assure you that I would refuse a crust of bread from that asshole....my loathing runs that deep...).

 

 

I think that having that kind of faith, that things will be OK, even with little or no money, is a good thing.  I have a similar kind of faith.  I really forge my own way in a workplace, which is why I've been so fortunate in work situations in my life--managers (normal ones) really love those self-starting types.  Within the confines of the job description, I really do whatever the hell I want to do to get to a goal and virtually never ask permission unless it's one of those this-is-dicey-I-might-get-sued/fired kind of things.  The wrong kind of manager--like the one I have, for example--is threatened by that kind of go-getter, because they think they might make them look bad.  This type of manager might react by making life miserable--or trying to, anyway.  Here's an example: 

 

In our office right now, there is a written policy that says people have to ask permission before they get up and use the bathroom.  Seriously.  We're all perfectly grown up there--no school children on the premises, and yet we are expected, on the occasion when we might need to pee, to seek out a member of leadership and ask to be excused. 

 

That's the kind of rule that a truly fearful manager makes, to try to control every movement (bowel movements, included) that takes place in the office.

 

Have I ever, even once, asked permission?  Oh hell no.  I'm forty-fucking-four years old, and perfectly capable of assessing the need for my presence at the computer versus my need to relieve myself.  Most grown-ups are, and, ALL grown ups who work in my department are well advanced in that etiquette.

 

Still, I'm directly disobeying, and if he ever got excited about anything, my boss could probably hang me out to dry on that one rule alone.

 

 

That kind of "Screw You", I have no problem with.  I'm involved in several of those right now, and I'm probably not setting a good example to the new people, but, like I said, I don't need a parent, because I'm forty-fucking-four years old.  Having said all of that, I'll be damned if I'm going to walk away from money because my boss goes out of his way to be a jackass.  No...I think you're gonna have to push me away if that's the deal.  Unless it's for the sole purpose of grabbing another, larger paycheck, then I will remain in the receiving line as long as they'll have me.  I think that's a more impressive "Screw you" than just quitting.  Doing well by ignoring idiots is really the best revenge.  Besides, this is serious on-the-job training for how to deal with complete pricks--might come in handy later.

 

I am 100% certain that there will never, ever be a time in my life where I will feel like I can or should reach out to my current boss for any kind of help.  After all, this is the same guy who promised me he could make a few phone calls on a job I was looking at within the company, and instead of doing that, he just sent me an email that said I wasn't qualified for the job, anyway.  He's an asshole like that.  He's not Team Shelly--not a nice person, and since he's so UN helpful, he's really of no use to me, anyway.  So I'm not worried about burning that bridge--I could care less. 

 

Because I am smugly certain that the shit he inflicts on others comes back to smack him in the face on a regular basis--could be his car doesn't start, or maybe his kid never calls him...whatever...I believe that no dramatic scene involving me telling him off while I walk out the door could ever be as good as what he brings upon himself.  In fact, it's those dramatic scenes that allow these jerks to continue to play the victim and illicit sympathy when what they should really be getting is....that shit in the face thing.  Also, that's how I know he won't fire me....there's no way for him to be a victim if I'm the one getting fired...

 

Anyway, I say bring it.  I'll stand here and take it, and maybe I'll whine about it sometimes but mostly, after I've left here (and I will leave here, soon enough, and forget all of this stupidity) I'll be a better, stronger person for not having just run away when it first started to suck--before I had my legs back under me..  And years from now, when he's burned his last bridge and comes to me for help, it will be the most delicious laughter, ever.