An Open Letter to My Boss
Boss. Hi. It's me. The one who makes you look good. The one who doesn't question you about how you get to work only 38 hours a week and be considered a martyr. The one who carries you.
See, without all of us, you are nothing. You are not capable of doing the jobs we all do. When I'm required to sit down with you to tell you what I'm working on, you get out your paper and pen and manuals and guides and procedures. Then you look at me the entire time with that half grin/half grimace as I explain to you what it is that you should already know.
If you were to disappear off the face of the earth tomorrow, most of us could do your job. Easily. But, if something happens to one of us, it takes an act of congress to get coverage. You have to bring out the papers and pens and manuals and guides and procedures to figure out what the rest of us know. How to do our jobs.
You sit in your office all day and talk to your sisters. Don't pretend you're not. We've all got the body language down. You sit, facing the wall, slightly leaned over your armrest. We can tell. Yet, when one of us is on a personal e-mail or conversation, we get called on it. "What are you working on?" you'll say sweetly. "A personal conversation." I one time answered and got in trouble.
I'm not a rebel. Really, I'm not. I"m just all for personal accountability. Do you feel good at the end of your day? Do you rest easily, knowing that you're treating everyone as the capable, intelligent, non-kindergarteners they are? I knew it was getting bad the other day when I prayed to God to not let me kill you. Or, if I did, to please forgive me.
You try to micromanage our lives at work, yet don't have the slightest idea what we do. Then, when the big wigs come around, you end up looking like a rose while us sweatshop kids stand behind, head bowed, looking at the floor, not daring to raise our eyes. We fume silently, but are still grateful we have a job with benefits.
Another thing? When you piss one of us off, don't come back around and say, "Is everything okay?" You've gotten the truthful answer more than once (even from people besides me!) and you never liked it. Remember that time you picked a fight with me, then asked me if I was okay, and I looked at you with baleful eyes and said, "No, you've really upset me and I don't want to talk to you right now." Remember that? Remember that time you accused me and my colleague-no-longer of filling out that survey on you? Remember what a horrible survey that turned out to be, and it ended up being filled out not by your charges, but by your peers?? I never got an apology for that. I guess 8 years is long enough to wait. I'll give it up. Because I got the final pleasure, of once you found out that it wasn't us who filled it out, of telling you, and I quote: "You're not as popular as you think you are."
See, the thing is, you think you're everyone's darling. Ready with a dirty joke or a cute story. That may work on the people you meet with once a month, out of state, but it doesn't fly with me, babe. Whenever I see that side of you come out, I think of the time that you chewed me out for being "moody", knowing full good and well my dad had died suddenly TWO WEEKS EARLIER. You expect me to remember everything that was ever said at my company, since the beginning of time, but when I say I do something because you told me to, you tell me, "Well, I can't remember EVERYTHING."
I don't mind you as a person. Really, I don't. I mean, if I met you outside of work, and you weren't my boss, and I didn't want to throw battery acid on your head every day, and I had never worked for you, and you had never been mean to me, or transparent, or held false interest in my life, then I might consider you a relatively decent person.
*A story about the false interest...My grandfather had died, and I was devastated, seeing how I was raised by my grandparents. A week after his funeral (which she attended), she came up to me and said, (I am not kidding.) "Hi, Angie. How is your grandfather?" The girl sitting behind me was making desperate motions to make her stop talking, but she didn't get it. "Not too good. He's dead." I replied in my steadiest, calmest voice. See what I mean???
The good thing is, one of the higher ups knows how you operate. He told me one time, "If she doesn't have it written down right in front of her, she doesn't know it." Ah, right on the head, my superior. He knows you better than you probably wish he did. Most of his knowledge came from meeting with me. Another thing you don't know. That gives me some sort of sick pleasure. Once in a while, he'll stop by and ask how "things" *wink-wink* are going. I don't lie to him and he doesn't blow smoke up my ass. It's a neat relationship. You should take notes.
I could rant forever and ever. But, I won't. I've been working at this company for 15 years. I am currently in the process of looking for something else. I don't know if I'd ever be brave enough to accept another job at a different company, but you keep pushing me that direction. My co-worker says, "Stick with the devil you know." That could be true to an extent, but I was almost sick to my stomach the other day when a thought dawned on me, as slow and malevolent as bitter poison, "I'm in a dead end job." It was the first time that very terrible, hopeless thought crossed my mind. Nobody moves up in this company unless someone above them dies.
That's the other problem. Most of you are there because you happened to be there when the company started. Big deal. I've been there all of three years less than you, and know three times as much as you know. Hmmm..Do the math. Most of you aren't here because of your brilliant management skills. You're stonehenge. Nobody can figure out how you got here, or your purpose, but you're there.
So, my Stonehenge boss, I feel slightly better having vented on my blog. (Blog = slang for a web log, personal on-line diary or journal.) I did not do it on company time. I know the perfect job is out there for me somewhere. I heard God tell me that when I was praying for the strength to not kill you.
See, without all of us, you are nothing. You are not capable of doing the jobs we all do. When I'm required to sit down with you to tell you what I'm working on, you get out your paper and pen and manuals and guides and procedures. Then you look at me the entire time with that half grin/half grimace as I explain to you what it is that you should already know.
If you were to disappear off the face of the earth tomorrow, most of us could do your job. Easily. But, if something happens to one of us, it takes an act of congress to get coverage. You have to bring out the papers and pens and manuals and guides and procedures to figure out what the rest of us know. How to do our jobs.
You sit in your office all day and talk to your sisters. Don't pretend you're not. We've all got the body language down. You sit, facing the wall, slightly leaned over your armrest. We can tell. Yet, when one of us is on a personal e-mail or conversation, we get called on it. "What are you working on?" you'll say sweetly. "A personal conversation." I one time answered and got in trouble.
I'm not a rebel. Really, I'm not. I"m just all for personal accountability. Do you feel good at the end of your day? Do you rest easily, knowing that you're treating everyone as the capable, intelligent, non-kindergarteners they are? I knew it was getting bad the other day when I prayed to God to not let me kill you. Or, if I did, to please forgive me.
You try to micromanage our lives at work, yet don't have the slightest idea what we do. Then, when the big wigs come around, you end up looking like a rose while us sweatshop kids stand behind, head bowed, looking at the floor, not daring to raise our eyes. We fume silently, but are still grateful we have a job with benefits.
Another thing? When you piss one of us off, don't come back around and say, "Is everything okay?" You've gotten the truthful answer more than once (even from people besides me!) and you never liked it. Remember that time you picked a fight with me, then asked me if I was okay, and I looked at you with baleful eyes and said, "No, you've really upset me and I don't want to talk to you right now." Remember that? Remember that time you accused me and my colleague-no-longer of filling out that survey on you? Remember what a horrible survey that turned out to be, and it ended up being filled out not by your charges, but by your peers?? I never got an apology for that. I guess 8 years is long enough to wait. I'll give it up. Because I got the final pleasure, of once you found out that it wasn't us who filled it out, of telling you, and I quote: "You're not as popular as you think you are."
See, the thing is, you think you're everyone's darling. Ready with a dirty joke or a cute story. That may work on the people you meet with once a month, out of state, but it doesn't fly with me, babe. Whenever I see that side of you come out, I think of the time that you chewed me out for being "moody", knowing full good and well my dad had died suddenly TWO WEEKS EARLIER. You expect me to remember everything that was ever said at my company, since the beginning of time, but when I say I do something because you told me to, you tell me, "Well, I can't remember EVERYTHING."
I don't mind you as a person. Really, I don't. I mean, if I met you outside of work, and you weren't my boss, and I didn't want to throw battery acid on your head every day, and I had never worked for you, and you had never been mean to me, or transparent, or held false interest in my life, then I might consider you a relatively decent person.
*A story about the false interest...My grandfather had died, and I was devastated, seeing how I was raised by my grandparents. A week after his funeral (which she attended), she came up to me and said, (I am not kidding.) "Hi, Angie. How is your grandfather?" The girl sitting behind me was making desperate motions to make her stop talking, but she didn't get it. "Not too good. He's dead." I replied in my steadiest, calmest voice. See what I mean???
The good thing is, one of the higher ups knows how you operate. He told me one time, "If she doesn't have it written down right in front of her, she doesn't know it." Ah, right on the head, my superior. He knows you better than you probably wish he did. Most of his knowledge came from meeting with me. Another thing you don't know. That gives me some sort of sick pleasure. Once in a while, he'll stop by and ask how "things" *wink-wink* are going. I don't lie to him and he doesn't blow smoke up my ass. It's a neat relationship. You should take notes.
I could rant forever and ever. But, I won't. I've been working at this company for 15 years. I am currently in the process of looking for something else. I don't know if I'd ever be brave enough to accept another job at a different company, but you keep pushing me that direction. My co-worker says, "Stick with the devil you know." That could be true to an extent, but I was almost sick to my stomach the other day when a thought dawned on me, as slow and malevolent as bitter poison, "I'm in a dead end job." It was the first time that very terrible, hopeless thought crossed my mind. Nobody moves up in this company unless someone above them dies.
That's the other problem. Most of you are there because you happened to be there when the company started. Big deal. I've been there all of three years less than you, and know three times as much as you know. Hmmm..Do the math. Most of you aren't here because of your brilliant management skills. You're stonehenge. Nobody can figure out how you got here, or your purpose, but you're there.
So, my Stonehenge boss, I feel slightly better having vented on my blog. (Blog = slang for a web log, personal on-line diary or journal.) I did not do it on company time. I know the perfect job is out there for me somewhere. I heard God tell me that when I was praying for the strength to not kill you.
posted by Nebraska Angie @ 10:29 PM
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