It's my last day at work before the Christmas break and I am enjoying the Alternative Christmas Lunch I have organised for myself and the 3 other colleagues who were simply unable to attend the department's 'Not Lunch'. We have reached the dessert stage when I happen to mention New Boss's amusing recent public mimicry of my 'posh' voice detailed here. And then I add that IMHO New Boss is a horrid little bully who doesn't seem to have the first clue about how to manage people, and that I no longer have any expectations that he will change or improve.
As we swap taster spoonfuls of chocolate brownies and raspberry panacotta, my three lunch companions uneasily share anecdotes of their own which graphically illustrate New Boss's crude interactions and graceless communications. But then just as we are finishing our coffees and settling the bill, one of my friendly co-workers suddenly suggests that I should 'talk to' New Boss about his new-found fondness for doing impressions, as it is just possible that he is unaware of how I felt about the incident. And the other two agree.
I've never been one to fruitlessly fester over resentments. If something seems to be awry in any of my relationships, I've always thought it better to try and resolve whatever problem has arisen, rather than say nothing and hope it will all get better, or that it will go away. So normally this sort of advice would be right up my street.
But for some inexplicable reason, I find myself demurring...
- Could it be New Boss's comment "that's just silly!" after he had encouraged me to speak to him about my ongoing anxiety symptoms?
- Could it be his helpful exhortation: "you just have to deal with your demons"....??
- Or could it be his failure to do anything about the bullying behaviour of Spiteful Manager towards me, despite the fact that a witness actually provided a statement about it...??!
Probably.
Nonetheless, despite my misgivings and having been persuaded by my friends, I find myself knocking on New Boss's open door about ten minutes before I am due to escape in the direction of various family festivities. He appears vaguely approachable so I am momentarily emboldened.
"Hello New Boss," I say. "Are you very busy, or may I have a quick word?"
"I'm leaving at half past to catch a train," he says. "But I've got a few minutes".
"Thank you," I say.
I then turn and shut the door.
This has a galvanic effect upon New Boss. Really - it is as if someone has just poked him with a cattle prod ! He sits bolt upright and starts a gabbling monologue, out of which I am only able to distinguish the words "I wasn't talking to you" and "you've misunderstood".
Ah. It would appear that despite the "mimicking" interlude having taken place almost four days previously, New Boss has successfully registered that the incident was not altogether pleasing to me...
Resisting the temptation to clamp my hand over New Boss's mouth, I allow him to babble on for several minutes while I gaze into the middle distance. I take little notice of his repeated insistences that when he repeated the exact words I had said, using exactly the same intonation, he was not actually doing an impression of me. Because if I believed that, then I would still be putting out a mince pie for Rudolph and hanging a stocking at the end of my bed....
Eventually New Boss splutters to a halt. He then looks at me and says helplessly "it's Christmas! Katharine, Katharine. It's Christmas, Katharine!"
????
"Yes, I know it is Christmas," I say politely. "It is my absolute favourite time of year. I love Christmas." (I very nearly add "because it is the day Jesus was born," but fear that New Boss will interpret this less as an expression of my faith, and more as an opportunity for further derision....).
I take a deep breath, and tell New Boss as calmly and clearly as I can that when he mocks the way I speak in front of colleagues, particularly colleagues who have spent the past year and half being vile to me, he is not only behaving in a manner totally inappropriate to a Head of Department, but he is also appearing to side with people who have tried (and very nearly succeeded) in making my life a total misery.
New Boss begins squawking like a Christmas turkey.
"I was just teasing!" he pleads. (I note the "I wasn't speaking to you" argument appears to have been dropped in favour of the truth...). "I tease lots of people! No-one else minds. X doesn't mind".
New Boss has just made the grievous error of naming a co-worker who has been a particular thorn in my flesh, and I hear my own voice turn frosty.
"This isn't about X," I tell him. "X isn't standing in your office. I am the one standing in your office, and I am telling you how I feel. I do not come to work to be ridiculed, New Boss. I come to work to work".
New Boss changes tack and adopts a whining tone of voice as he utters the Great Rebuttal of every bully (the one that comes second only to: "you've just got no sense of humour").
"The thing is, Katharine," he says. "What you've got to realise is that I am just being me".
At first hearing, this appears an irrefutable defence! New Boss is just being himself, and therefore (by inference) my attempts to curb his natural ebullience and humour are the actions of a churlish, miserable, embittered old boot.
But on second hearing - M'lud please, if I might crave your indulgence for a moment - one is forced to admit that this defence really doesn't stand up to scrutiny...
I am not an expert on the Nuremberg Trials, but I don't recall Ribbentrop or Hess profferring "but I was just being me!" as an excuse for their shining contributions to the Nazi regime. And search my memory as I might for tales from South Africa's Truth and Reconciliation Commission, I can't recall any members of the security forces pleading "but when I sjamboked those defenceless protestors, I was just being me".
Cromwell, Pol Pot, Jimmy Saville...?
Oh my goodness ! I suppose they, too, were just being themselves !!!
Which makes everything OK.
Obviously.
I ponder for a few moments how deeply satisfying the rest of my day might be were I to adopt a similar philosophy.
"When I told Ex-Army Man he was a sycophantic little twat, hey - I was just being me! And when I thwacked Remora across the back of her head with the giant stapler, guess what! I was just being me AGAIN ! And every time I walk into the office and tell the bullies to go and f*** themselves, I am just being ...etc etc" (I think you get the general picture).
I am not a wee girl. I am technically old enough to be a granny. And as I look down on New Boss's flushed and increasingly belligerent phiz, I am pretty sure that I am actually older than he is (though I am buggered if I am going to draw that particular fact to his attention). But when it comes to patiently explaining to a fellow adult that we can't just go through life doing exactly what we want, but that when we become grown-ups, we are required to modify/edit/show self-restraint/be tactful/behave - golly, I really don't know where to start....
I fall back upon my example given in the previous blog post detailed here, as above. I suggest to New Boss that if I was Jamaican or Nigerian or Lithuanian, he would not dream of mimicking the way that I speak. And for the first time, something I say appears to penetrate.
"Oh. Hmm. Yes, you've got a point," he says. "I'm sorry".
Do I twist the thumbscrews, and make New Boss squirm and wince for another ten minutes?
No, no, no.
Because he has apologised.
And because (as New Boss himself has so helpfully reminded me) it is Christmas.
"That's OK," I say. "It's just that I always prefer appropriate behaviour in the workplace".
New Boss decides to have the last word. Oh dear.
"Appropriate by whose standards?" he says, with a spark of defiance. "Who defines what's appropriate?"
"Well, that's not something either of us has to decide, is it?" I reply. "Because it's all been written down for us, inside the Council's many helpful policies. In our "Code of Conduct - Harassment and Bullying" for example. And in our "Code of Conduct for Employees". So I suppose when we're not sure if our behaviour is appropriate, all we have to do is just check what it says in our policies."
New Boss is looking a little bit sick. I expect he is wondering which paragraph of which Code covers "mimicking your own members of staff in order to upset them by making them look stupid".
I look at my watch.
"Oh - your train!" I say. "I mustn't keep you any longer. Thank you so much for listening".
I move to the door and open it, then turn back on the threshold.
"Happy Christmas, New Boss!" I say.
"Happy Christmas, Katharine," he replies.
That's better. Those are Last Words I am more than willing to let New Boss have.
Sunday 30 December 2012
Tuesday 18 December 2012
Who Do You Do?
I have been off work ill, and apart from having constant sore throat, headache, back pains and exhaustion, it's been quite pleasant. Because being ill has meant that I do not have to be at work..
But on Monday morning I feel well enough to venture over to the Town Hall and start catching up on the Email Pile.
Some minutes elapse before I realise that the dark head at the seat behind my own does not belong to Jumper-Wearing Colleague, but to a complete stranger. He politely turns and introduces himself to me. He is a new colleague who has joined us that very day! I have long since stopped feeling any surprise that a new member of staff can suddenly appear in our midst without any of us having the slightest notion of what they are there for, because despite New Boss's early monologue on The Benefits of Communication, the departmental waters have now become worryingly opaque and murky.
But there is always such a sense of hope about meeting a new colleague. New people know nothing of office politics, cliques and bullying ! New people offer the Decent People a rare opportunity to chat away with relative safety !! New people might actually influence the department for good, by bringing fresh water into our stagnant, festering little pond....!!!
My hopes, sadly, are dimmed before the day has ended.
New Boss, whom I have already ascertained has employed Affable New Colleague on several previous occasions (The Clue: they both hail from Yorkshire....), enters the office to whisk him off to some Council shindig related to Affable New Colleague's area of work. The latter gathers together his coat and possessions. He smiles at me, and I say:
"it was lovely to meet you".
New Boss bursts out laughing, and repeats "it was lovely to meet you", loudly mimicking the precise way in which I have said this phrase.
I look at him in disbelief.
If I was from Nigeria, or Jamaica, or Bangalore, or Lithuania; if I had a stammer, or a lisp, or even the mildest speech imperfection; I doubt that even New Boss would consider it appropriate public sector conduct to mimic and mock the way I speak (although perhaps I am over-estimating his sense of propriety...). But because I am white, middle class and well spoken; it would appear I am fair game !
It might be wishful thinking on my part, but it seems to me that Affable New Colleague looks a little embarrassed. It's his first day, and it seems a little soon for him to have been introduced to the grim reality of my department, but hey...
"What's so funny about what I have just said?" I ask New Boss.
I ask courteously, but possibly there is steel in my tone. For New Boss suddenly pretends he has said it to Life Coach who is sitting next to me (a somewhat tenuous pretence, as Life Coach Colleague didn't actually utter the words New Boss mimicked !)
I say, in explanation, to Affable New Colleague: "the problem is that I am just too posh for New Boss".
New Boss then comes out with the Classic Bully's Defence - "you're so over-sensitive".
Affable New Colleague turns to me.
"I am not from the same place as New Boss," he says. "I am from York. We are more civilised there".
Blimey. I feel rather as I imagine the Virgin Queen must have felt when Raleigh flung his cape beneath her feet. Rescued. (I doubt Affable New Colleague will ever be encouraged to come to my defence again, but I cherish his gallantry nonetheless).
New Boss marches out of the office, looking unimpressed.
He looks like a strutting little popinjay.
Oh ! Hang on. That's because he IS a strutting little popinjay !
I aim a few words at his departing back, in the broadest Northern accent I can muster:
"Naigght, choook".
What's sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander.
As they say.
In Yorkshire.
But on Monday morning I feel well enough to venture over to the Town Hall and start catching up on the Email Pile.
Some minutes elapse before I realise that the dark head at the seat behind my own does not belong to Jumper-Wearing Colleague, but to a complete stranger. He politely turns and introduces himself to me. He is a new colleague who has joined us that very day! I have long since stopped feeling any surprise that a new member of staff can suddenly appear in our midst without any of us having the slightest notion of what they are there for, because despite New Boss's early monologue on The Benefits of Communication, the departmental waters have now become worryingly opaque and murky.
But there is always such a sense of hope about meeting a new colleague. New people know nothing of office politics, cliques and bullying ! New people offer the Decent People a rare opportunity to chat away with relative safety !! New people might actually influence the department for good, by bringing fresh water into our stagnant, festering little pond....!!!
My hopes, sadly, are dimmed before the day has ended.
New Boss, whom I have already ascertained has employed Affable New Colleague on several previous occasions (The Clue: they both hail from Yorkshire....), enters the office to whisk him off to some Council shindig related to Affable New Colleague's area of work. The latter gathers together his coat and possessions. He smiles at me, and I say:
"it was lovely to meet you".
New Boss bursts out laughing, and repeats "it was lovely to meet you", loudly mimicking the precise way in which I have said this phrase.
I look at him in disbelief.
If I was from Nigeria, or Jamaica, or Bangalore, or Lithuania; if I had a stammer, or a lisp, or even the mildest speech imperfection; I doubt that even New Boss would consider it appropriate public sector conduct to mimic and mock the way I speak (although perhaps I am over-estimating his sense of propriety...). But because I am white, middle class and well spoken; it would appear I am fair game !
It might be wishful thinking on my part, but it seems to me that Affable New Colleague looks a little embarrassed. It's his first day, and it seems a little soon for him to have been introduced to the grim reality of my department, but hey...
"What's so funny about what I have just said?" I ask New Boss.
I ask courteously, but possibly there is steel in my tone. For New Boss suddenly pretends he has said it to Life Coach who is sitting next to me (a somewhat tenuous pretence, as Life Coach Colleague didn't actually utter the words New Boss mimicked !)
I say, in explanation, to Affable New Colleague: "the problem is that I am just too posh for New Boss".
New Boss then comes out with the Classic Bully's Defence - "you're so over-sensitive".
Affable New Colleague turns to me.
"I am not from the same place as New Boss," he says. "I am from York. We are more civilised there".
Blimey. I feel rather as I imagine the Virgin Queen must have felt when Raleigh flung his cape beneath her feet. Rescued. (I doubt Affable New Colleague will ever be encouraged to come to my defence again, but I cherish his gallantry nonetheless).
He looks like a strutting little popinjay.
Oh ! Hang on. That's because he IS a strutting little popinjay !
I aim a few words at his departing back, in the broadest Northern accent I can muster:
"Naigght, choook".
What's sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander.
As they say.
In Yorkshire.
Saturday 15 December 2012
Christmas Convalescence
Whilst the Office Clique has been busily readying itself for the Scarcely Containable Excitement of the departmental Christmas "Not" Lunch, I have been planning a whole series of alternative festive Yuletide celebrations to make up for the fact that I shall not be joining them.
I have arranged several lunches with people I actually like, volunteered to sell raffle tickets at the theatre company's pantomime, and best of all the community choir has been booked to fundraise for the local hospital by singing all the carols we have been rehearsing for the past two months.
Wassail Wassail !
Except that things do not go altogether according to plan....
I spend the weekend in Scotland enjoying my mother-in-law's 90th birthday celebrations with Husband's entire family; but on the Sunday evening I start to feel a bit queasy. 24 hours later, I am floored by the worst virus I have had for AGES.
The following day I stagger into work. This is not because I am being a martyr, but because the very next day our quarterly office-wide meeting is being held - attendance: mandatory - and if I simply ring in sick, it will give the Jackals an excuse to embark upon a Gargantuan Bitchfest Orgy. So I float wanly in and out of the office sweating unattractively, muffle my sneezes unless one of The Pawed Ones is in the vicinity (God forbid I would inflict this virus upon any of the Decent People), and only when I feel that I am actually going to faint do I knock on the door of the only managerial representative on the premises (Deputy Boss - lovely man) and explain that I have to go home immediately.
Now there was a time, not so long ago, when I would have carried on working no matter how ill I felt. I have worked through:
- migraine
- flu
- bronchitis
- trapped nerve in back
- torn calf muscle
- severe acne outbreak caused by injudicious use of some weird kind of skin peel product
- labyrinthitis (admittedly, lying on the bathroom floor with my Blackberry, as I was unable to move my head without being sick...)
But anyway.
You get the general picture.
These days however, I am a normal employee!! Yes, the type who stops working when she is ill, because she has taken the trouble to flick through the organisation's Code of Practice of Absence Management (latest version straight off the press, January 2013....) to double check that despite her longish absence earlier in the year due to "work-related stress", she can take another 3 days off with impunity and without triggering a First Stage Absence Review.
I have vague plans of spending a day recuperating, and then towards the end of the week buggering off to the V & A to catch the "Hollywood" exhibition before it closes and lunching on their nice salmon stuffed with cous cous....
But my vague plans go awry.
Because - dammit - I am really REALLY ill.
So I end up having to cancel: 2 Christmas lunches, selling raffle tickets at the pantomime, and worst of all singing at the hospital with the choir. Which (pathetically) makes me want to bawl my eyes out.
But it's not all bad. In the midst of my 3 days dozing on the sofa in my pyjamas, lacking even the enthusiasm to boot up my laptop, Tweet or blog, I suddenly remember what to do when life starts to go a bit crap. Yes! Break into the Emergency DVD Stockpile !!!
So for anyone else out there with the misfortune to be laid low with seasonal flu, I prescribe the following which are absolutely guaranteed to lift your flagging spirits as high as the star at the top of the tree:
"The Nightmare Before Christmas"
"The Grinch Who Stole Christmas"
and "The Polar Express"
"I feel you, Christmas,
I know I've found you,
You never fade away...." !!
Gorgeous.
I have arranged several lunches with people I actually like, volunteered to sell raffle tickets at the theatre company's pantomime, and best of all the community choir has been booked to fundraise for the local hospital by singing all the carols we have been rehearsing for the past two months.
Wassail Wassail !
Except that things do not go altogether according to plan....
I spend the weekend in Scotland enjoying my mother-in-law's 90th birthday celebrations with Husband's entire family; but on the Sunday evening I start to feel a bit queasy. 24 hours later, I am floored by the worst virus I have had for AGES.
The following day I stagger into work. This is not because I am being a martyr, but because the very next day our quarterly office-wide meeting is being held - attendance: mandatory - and if I simply ring in sick, it will give the Jackals an excuse to embark upon a Gargantuan Bitchfest Orgy. So I float wanly in and out of the office sweating unattractively, muffle my sneezes unless one of The Pawed Ones is in the vicinity (God forbid I would inflict this virus upon any of the Decent People), and only when I feel that I am actually going to faint do I knock on the door of the only managerial representative on the premises (Deputy Boss - lovely man) and explain that I have to go home immediately.
Now there was a time, not so long ago, when I would have carried on working no matter how ill I felt. I have worked through:
- migraine
- flu
- bronchitis
- trapped nerve in back
- torn calf muscle
- severe acne outbreak caused by injudicious use of some weird kind of skin peel product
- labyrinthitis (admittedly, lying on the bathroom floor with my Blackberry, as I was unable to move my head without being sick...)
But anyway.
You get the general picture.
These days however, I am a normal employee!! Yes, the type who stops working when she is ill, because she has taken the trouble to flick through the organisation's Code of Practice of Absence Management (latest version straight off the press, January 2013....) to double check that despite her longish absence earlier in the year due to "work-related stress", she can take another 3 days off with impunity and without triggering a First Stage Absence Review.
I have vague plans of spending a day recuperating, and then towards the end of the week buggering off to the V & A to catch the "Hollywood" exhibition before it closes and lunching on their nice salmon stuffed with cous cous....
But my vague plans go awry.
Because - dammit - I am really REALLY ill.
So I end up having to cancel: 2 Christmas lunches, selling raffle tickets at the pantomime, and worst of all singing at the hospital with the choir. Which (pathetically) makes me want to bawl my eyes out.
But it's not all bad. In the midst of my 3 days dozing on the sofa in my pyjamas, lacking even the enthusiasm to boot up my laptop, Tweet or blog, I suddenly remember what to do when life starts to go a bit crap. Yes! Break into the Emergency DVD Stockpile !!!
So for anyone else out there with the misfortune to be laid low with seasonal flu, I prescribe the following which are absolutely guaranteed to lift your flagging spirits as high as the star at the top of the tree:
"The Nightmare Before Christmas"
"The Grinch Who Stole Christmas"
and "The Polar Express"
"I feel you, Christmas,
I know I've found you,
You never fade away...." !!
Gorgeous.
Friday 14 December 2012
Telling It Like It Is
I am sitting in a pleasant room, opposite an immaculately groomed middle aged woman I have never met before. She is wearing very bright colours which I find immensely cheering. Behind her head, I can see trains passing by on a raised track and am momentarily distracted by thoughts of how effective her double-glazing seems to be. Then I turn my attention back to the matter in hand...
The woman is a qualified psychotherapist whom I have chosen on the following basis:
1. My GP thought she had the right background and experience for my particular needs
2. She charges under £50 a session (one therapist I checked out charged £91 an hour ?!?)
3. Her practice is about 3 miles from where I live - but crucially in another Borough
Frustrated though I have been by Occupational Health Doctor's repeated inference that I have a screw loose; I have been thinking for some time that a talking therapy might be of some benefit to me (it's either that, or Husband continues to provide a listening, but probably by now rather weary, ear). But now the moment of the first appointment has arrived, I realise I am still feeling somewhat ambivalent about the whole process.
With Therapist's discreet encouragement, I talk through the events of the past year; describing the bullying, my complaint, the organisation's huge efforts to discredit me, and the roles other people elected to play in the proceedings. I almost forget to tell her that in the middle of all this my complaint was upheld. Because that became a very hollow victory...
Once I have told the whole story, Therapist asks me how I am feeling.
"Angry," I say. "Disengaged, disillusioned, and bitter". I tell her that I have totally changed - from a highly performing, highly motivated Council officer, to someone who does the bare minimum at work, and that I do this with absolutely no enthusiasm. That I am aghast that New Boss - who promised me at our first meeting he was going to tackle bullying in our department - did nothing to challenge Spiteful Manager's malevolent behaviour (for which I had provided evidence). And that I only speak to Line Manager about work matters; and that I do not speak to Spiteful Manager at all.
I tell her that outside work I am a happy, confident, fulfilled person; but that as soon as I walk into the office I feel tense and fearful. I tell her that I constantly feel I have to "hide" my real personality otherwise I will once again become a target. And I tell her that because my complaint was upheld, the organisation thinks it is a simple matter for me to move on and forget about the whole thing. But I can't.
She looks at the clock and I know that my allotted 50 minutes are coming to an end. And suddenly and unexpectedly, I hear myself saying that the thing I really can't get over is the role Remora played in the whole scenario (ah! Remora! Thereby hangs a tale...).
I have already alluded to Remora several times during the preceding discussion, so much so that Therapist is already referring to her as Your Woman Colleague. At this point, Therapist asks me what her name is. And I casually tell her that I never utter this person's name. I refer to her in my own mind as "Mattie" (as in Meddlesome Mattie, from the children's poem) or "Remora" (as in parasitic sucker fish that attaches itself to a shark). But I do not say her actual name out loud. Ever.
And then I tell Therapist that if I was to hear that something very VERY bad had happened to Remora - preferably something....oh, um, fatal - I wouldn't feel in the slightest bit sad. That in fact I would feel justice had been served. And that my feelings for this interfering, manipulative, scheming workplace sociopath can be summed up in one word. Hatred.
There is a short silence. As you might imagine, this truth is not something I would comfortably admit to Husband, or my sponsees, or the priest; so I sneak a quick look at Therapist to see if she is appalled by my vengeful statement and has already categorised me as one of the most spiritually sick people she has ever sat opposite.
But of course she isn't appalled ! She is a psychotherapist. I can tell her about absolutely everything going on inside my head, and she will not judge me. That's what I am paying for.
"I think," I say slowly, as the clock ticks its way towards handing-over-cash time, "I think that maybe I need to talk some more about Remora? So yes please - I would like to come back next week after all...."
The woman is a qualified psychotherapist whom I have chosen on the following basis:
1. My GP thought she had the right background and experience for my particular needs
2. She charges under £50 a session (one therapist I checked out charged £91 an hour ?!?)
3. Her practice is about 3 miles from where I live - but crucially in another Borough
Frustrated though I have been by Occupational Health Doctor's repeated inference that I have a screw loose; I have been thinking for some time that a talking therapy might be of some benefit to me (it's either that, or Husband continues to provide a listening, but probably by now rather weary, ear). But now the moment of the first appointment has arrived, I realise I am still feeling somewhat ambivalent about the whole process.
With Therapist's discreet encouragement, I talk through the events of the past year; describing the bullying, my complaint, the organisation's huge efforts to discredit me, and the roles other people elected to play in the proceedings. I almost forget to tell her that in the middle of all this my complaint was upheld. Because that became a very hollow victory...
Once I have told the whole story, Therapist asks me how I am feeling.
"Angry," I say. "Disengaged, disillusioned, and bitter". I tell her that I have totally changed - from a highly performing, highly motivated Council officer, to someone who does the bare minimum at work, and that I do this with absolutely no enthusiasm. That I am aghast that New Boss - who promised me at our first meeting he was going to tackle bullying in our department - did nothing to challenge Spiteful Manager's malevolent behaviour (for which I had provided evidence). And that I only speak to Line Manager about work matters; and that I do not speak to Spiteful Manager at all.
I tell her that outside work I am a happy, confident, fulfilled person; but that as soon as I walk into the office I feel tense and fearful. I tell her that I constantly feel I have to "hide" my real personality otherwise I will once again become a target. And I tell her that because my complaint was upheld, the organisation thinks it is a simple matter for me to move on and forget about the whole thing. But I can't.
She looks at the clock and I know that my allotted 50 minutes are coming to an end. And suddenly and unexpectedly, I hear myself saying that the thing I really can't get over is the role Remora played in the whole scenario (ah! Remora! Thereby hangs a tale...).
I have already alluded to Remora several times during the preceding discussion, so much so that Therapist is already referring to her as Your Woman Colleague. At this point, Therapist asks me what her name is. And I casually tell her that I never utter this person's name. I refer to her in my own mind as "Mattie" (as in Meddlesome Mattie, from the children's poem) or "Remora" (as in parasitic sucker fish that attaches itself to a shark). But I do not say her actual name out loud. Ever.
And then I tell Therapist that if I was to hear that something very VERY bad had happened to Remora - preferably something....oh, um, fatal - I wouldn't feel in the slightest bit sad. That in fact I would feel justice had been served. And that my feelings for this interfering, manipulative, scheming workplace sociopath can be summed up in one word. Hatred.
There is a short silence. As you might imagine, this truth is not something I would comfortably admit to Husband, or my sponsees, or the priest; so I sneak a quick look at Therapist to see if she is appalled by my vengeful statement and has already categorised me as one of the most spiritually sick people she has ever sat opposite.
But of course she isn't appalled ! She is a psychotherapist. I can tell her about absolutely everything going on inside my head, and she will not judge me. That's what I am paying for.
"I think," I say slowly, as the clock ticks its way towards handing-over-cash time, "I think that maybe I need to talk some more about Remora? So yes please - I would like to come back next week after all...."
Wednesday 5 December 2012
Chicken Karma
A senior officer from another department invites me out for lunch.
For a moment I ponder whether the Lord is sending me some nice invitations to make up for the fact that I am unable to attend our office Christmas "Not Lunch", but am forced to conclude that said senior officer is in pursuit of the thing most male middle-aged employees of Anonymous Council are after.
Yes, you've got it !
Gossip.
We ensconce ourselves at a corner table, conveniently located directly below a speaker which is discreetly vibrating the restaurant with mellow North African rhythms. I say convenient - because in the opposite corner is sitting one of the Council's most loquaciously indiscreet individuals, and I would much prefer him not to hear what we are saying...
Unlike my previous lunch date described under blog post "The Cat and the Canary" (to view click here), Senior Officer From Other Department - henceforth described as SOFOD - wastes no time in getting right down to the nitty gritty.
I make some innocuous comment about my department, and he says meaningfully "ah, well I sympathise with you, having to work in that office. Particularly now things have changed".
Me: "Can you possibly be referring to the arrival of our new Head of Department?"
SOFOD: "Yup. I absolutely cannot stand the man".
Golly !
I am unaccustomed to explicitness of this nature.
The norm at Anonymous Council is either to fish using vaguely expressed negatives, hoping to feel a gentle nibbling on the end of one's line; or to make extravagantly complimentary statements in the hope that the other communicant will feel compelled to say something contradictory.
But here is SOFOD boldly thrashing the water with his fishing rod, creating veritable tsunamis of interest and speculation in my brain.
"Oh," I say carefully.
I then add the Standard Emergency Response: "Mmmmmmm".
Emboldened by the fact that I have not instantly leapt to New Boss's defence, SOFOD then gives vent to the full measure of his spleen, while to Mr Loquacious in the corner we hopefully give the impression of people who are simply enjoying a chicken tagine ...
In SOFOD's considered opinion, New Boss is (and I here list only his top 6 adjectives...):
- arrogant
- ignorant
- abrasive
- stubborn
- bullying
- and downright rude.
SOFOD tells me that New Boss rides roughshod over anybody who dares to get in his way, his actions are undermining years of work undertaken by SOFOD and others, he refuses to listen to anyone else, and he bullishly insists he is right even when evidence to the contrary is staring him in the face.
"Oh!" I say again. (I am starting to feel a delicious glow in my tum, and I don't think it's the harissa paste. I think it may be the glow of Vindication.....)
"I'm not the only one who feels this way," says SOFOD.
He proceeds to name 3 other members of Anonymous Council's Directorate who also loathe New Boss.
"He is certainly difficult," I offer.
(I mean, only yesterday I witnessed New Boss emerge from his office, march up to delightful Continental Colleague, bark the two words "IT Support!" and then march straight back into his office without a backward glance - an interaction so gracelessly abrupt, I actually felt ashamed for him...)
Loyalty is something I generally pride myself upon - but hell, it has to be earned.
So I tell SOFOD about New Boss's crude joke telling, his suggestion to me that I deal with my demons, the way he stomps about the office ignoring us all, his sarcasm, and his appalling manner towards his staff....
"I'm not sure how to deal with the situation," I say vaguely as I conclude my litany of toe-curling examples of "leadership" (the quality New Boss actually believes he is displaying!). "Really. I don't have a clue".
SOFOD has known me for many years.
He settles back in his chair and regards me with apparent fondness.
"If I were you Katharine," he says gently, "I would just sit quietly and wait for the train to hit the buffers. Because that's what I am going to do".
And so, dear Reader, I've decided that's exactly what I am going to do.
Choo choo !
For a moment I ponder whether the Lord is sending me some nice invitations to make up for the fact that I am unable to attend our office Christmas "Not Lunch", but am forced to conclude that said senior officer is in pursuit of the thing most male middle-aged employees of Anonymous Council are after.
Yes, you've got it !
Gossip.
We ensconce ourselves at a corner table, conveniently located directly below a speaker which is discreetly vibrating the restaurant with mellow North African rhythms. I say convenient - because in the opposite corner is sitting one of the Council's most loquaciously indiscreet individuals, and I would much prefer him not to hear what we are saying...
Unlike my previous lunch date described under blog post "The Cat and the Canary" (to view click here), Senior Officer From Other Department - henceforth described as SOFOD - wastes no time in getting right down to the nitty gritty.
I make some innocuous comment about my department, and he says meaningfully "ah, well I sympathise with you, having to work in that office. Particularly now things have changed".
Me: "Can you possibly be referring to the arrival of our new Head of Department?"
SOFOD: "Yup. I absolutely cannot stand the man".
Golly !
I am unaccustomed to explicitness of this nature.
The norm at Anonymous Council is either to fish using vaguely expressed negatives, hoping to feel a gentle nibbling on the end of one's line; or to make extravagantly complimentary statements in the hope that the other communicant will feel compelled to say something contradictory.
But here is SOFOD boldly thrashing the water with his fishing rod, creating veritable tsunamis of interest and speculation in my brain.
"Oh," I say carefully.
I then add the Standard Emergency Response: "Mmmmmmm".
Emboldened by the fact that I have not instantly leapt to New Boss's defence, SOFOD then gives vent to the full measure of his spleen, while to Mr Loquacious in the corner we hopefully give the impression of people who are simply enjoying a chicken tagine ...
In SOFOD's considered opinion, New Boss is (and I here list only his top 6 adjectives...):
- arrogant
- ignorant
- abrasive
- stubborn
- bullying
- and downright rude.
SOFOD tells me that New Boss rides roughshod over anybody who dares to get in his way, his actions are undermining years of work undertaken by SOFOD and others, he refuses to listen to anyone else, and he bullishly insists he is right even when evidence to the contrary is staring him in the face.
"Oh!" I say again. (I am starting to feel a delicious glow in my tum, and I don't think it's the harissa paste. I think it may be the glow of Vindication.....)
"I'm not the only one who feels this way," says SOFOD.
He proceeds to name 3 other members of Anonymous Council's Directorate who also loathe New Boss.
"He is certainly difficult," I offer.
(I mean, only yesterday I witnessed New Boss emerge from his office, march up to delightful Continental Colleague, bark the two words "IT Support!" and then march straight back into his office without a backward glance - an interaction so gracelessly abrupt, I actually felt ashamed for him...)
Loyalty is something I generally pride myself upon - but hell, it has to be earned.
So I tell SOFOD about New Boss's crude joke telling, his suggestion to me that I deal with my demons, the way he stomps about the office ignoring us all, his sarcasm, and his appalling manner towards his staff....
"I'm not sure how to deal with the situation," I say vaguely as I conclude my litany of toe-curling examples of "leadership" (the quality New Boss actually believes he is displaying!). "Really. I don't have a clue".
SOFOD has known me for many years.
He settles back in his chair and regards me with apparent fondness.
"If I were you Katharine," he says gently, "I would just sit quietly and wait for the train to hit the buffers. Because that's what I am going to do".
And so, dear Reader, I've decided that's exactly what I am going to do.
Choo choo !
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