On being mean.
If you think you are being bullied, you are.
Meanness is not something we outgrow.
Naivete, as a character trait, is not something I like to and, thankfully, am (at least as far as I know) not associated with. In this way, the way of nastiness, in which I am.
Hold up now, I am not talking about political nor ethical crimes – I make no assumptions, sadly, about the improbability of that ugly phenomenon. No, my blindness is in the vein of pedestrian, interpersonal cruelty. School yard shenanigans, cutting comments, and name calling – in adults. Grown folx: people with jobs, families, mortgages, careers, domestic pets, and drivers’ licenses. Tax payers and voter, my neighbors, your neighbors, and, possibly, your boss and/or colleagues.
When we are hurt, we demonize. There could be some who choose to cast shade on that approach, but I am not so sure. When pushed and in peril there is a kind of clearing as much as there may be a muddling, and so I am not so hip to disregarding dislike. Humans are complex; that sentiment applies to you, too, ya know?
Storytime!
I had a mean boss. A very meanie, not my only, but the most show-stopping for sure.
Meet Margo.
Margo owned a lingerie company, a NYC fashion institution, the kind those in fashion name drop regardless of the level of their work for her. Shop persons, buyers, vendors alike – to have the name of Margo’s business on your resume meant (at the time) having an impact.
Thus, I was jazzed to get:
1) an interview and
2) a job
Today, I am most thankful for the:
1) criticisms,
2) shaming,
3) gaslighting, and
4) insults
Proud enough to FINALLY: QUIT!
Our first meeting started thirty minutes late. (I would have waited all year!) Eventually, with signature bluster, Margo blew into her office where I waited, door open to allow proper spying by the receptionist.
“Get your coat, I need coffee.” Hell, yes – and we were off: across the street and Margo lit. Loud and quickly she spoke and spoke and spoke:
“My day is shit. I want to go home, tie my hair up, and read magazines.”
I thought ‘Wow that is me! I get her she is so ‘real’.’ Bullshit. She was a narcissist and, as much as she talked – for nearly an hour – asked me nada about myself. So little was I thought of that upon parting, she insisted on hugging, Margo offered her only question:
“What’s your name again?”
“Tracy.”
“Great. I like you. Get your ass on the schedule.” Wowie! I sure did. Chatted up Margo’s assistant and danced home to get drunk before lunch.
Ah, youth. No, better yet: All hail enthusiasm, as blinding as an orgasm and as heady as anxiety. Wisdom is learned out loud and ugly – two words that could not better describe my time in that company. Thankfully short, so short and so unhappy I began looking for another position two weeks after my first day.
Have you ever been in a role you are so ill suited for you can’t help but fuck up regardless how hard you try to achieve? Create little mistake triple checks only to make more? Go slow, breathe, think positive, laugh at yourself, bring a fucking crystal in your pocket every day, but no matter. You become ‘that employee’: the one who ALWAYS gets it wrong, who cries at a staff meeting and can’t rein it in? The one your colleagues at first ‘help’ and eventually snicker at? I did. I was so ‘bad’ and so unhappy that I began getting weird physical symptoms – diarehha, lost my voice, a rash, migraines. Sick days racked up as another thing to laugh about, thou I was so unreliable when ‘fit’, you would have thought my absence a mercy.
Before the other staff members, I was told by my BS of a boss: “You can’t do anything right.” And I agreed, in word, thought, and belief. Like a mark, I wore failure for all to see.
I had to get out or die. The choice was not from high minded self-preservation, but rather from righteous panic. Survival is like a bear that eats off its own paw when caught in a trap. I don’t know how the hell it happened, but I did get hired somewhere else and suddenly I had an escape, a window into a world where I might not be dammed, or at least so much. Fuck it, even if these new folx were fools to ‘pick me’ I’ll happily run to those ding-dongs and perhaps disappoint them in time – but who cares! I could LEAVE.
[Note: the move was 100% lateral and I left it in good time, too. It was what I term a: sophomore job. A gig that serves as a bridge between and no-go and a so-so. A place with a little bit of space and green to structure the day, build a boundary, create an opportunity to continue to look and evaluate where might be a best and better move from there. As I say a lot (Readers who are SDYD clients know this well!) There is NO creativity in deprivation.
It was great, my quitting. Would you believe it was on the very day of my first review that I heard the good news and accepted the new gig? Well, you better because that shit is 100% the truth!
My spirits went into whiplash – from bad news bear to MVP. I was still very committed to the ideology of my own worthlessness, but faster than that did I hold the win of moving on, forgetting a version of me I am repelled by a bit now even to think on.
The review was terrible, just like me! Margo was in full glory as to all of my failings. All we knew before, yet this time Margo had an unbridled ninety minutes to review them – loudly. The walls shook, I swear. When Margo wrapped, out of breath and flushed, I asked: “Is that it?” My voice very truly shaking, as I had never heard such a long-winded devouring of my hopes for future esteem before – nor sense.
“You can go.”
“Not yet. I have – “
“Get out of my office, Tracy.”
I stayed put as not hearing: “I’ve been offered another opportunity and this is my last day.”
Yelling, “Why did you not tell me that when we started?”
“I was curious as to what you had to say.” As if the seat was a burner aflame, I bounced up and walked out. Got my coat, fuck whatever I had in my locker, and exited the building like an action hero.
Good tale, huh? Thanks, but not so simple. Starting the new job was hard as I brought a good deal of baggage and it took me years to even make room for the idea that I am not rotten. Even now, nearly ten years later, I still wrestle a good deal of debilitating doubt and would NEVER say I take critique nor correction well. I do OK in the moment, but the fall out remains pretty tremendous. Add to this the cloak of endless self-blame the relatively short time with Margo locked in. I apologize a lot. When something does not work or is not accepted – at home and work – it is ALWAYS a me thing first and, in some cases, a forever reality assessment.
Margo was not ‘the best’ nor was there something in me seen in her ‘expert’ observation as off. Bullying is not logical, it just is. I knew it was wrong, yet shortchanged that innate knowing from the hopeful idea that grownups aren’t ‘like that’ and all people (except for me of course) are aiming for and exercising being their best.
Nope, sometimes meanness is just that. Do all the therapizing of said person you like but why when you can do a thing we are already inclined to do: blame. Blame who? THEM!
