My Boss

My Boss
By: Mia L. Hazlett
3/5/08

I can’t stand him. My boss, that is. Don’t like him at all. Hate would be an inappropriate word, because that would show my weakness of taking things way too personally. So I’ll stick with, don’t like him. Depending on how I want my day to go at work I may choose my four-inch heels, or I’ll be nice with my flats. I’ll have a good day in my flats, but there will be hell to pay if I choose to tower of his 5’1″ chubby balding ass. It’s not my fault I’m five seven barefoot. But what gives him the right to take his Napoleon complex out on me just because he’s my boss?

Well after yesterday, I’m taking every opportunity to click my four-inchers to his office. In laments terms, he doesn’t know a damn thing about computers. But every time he calls I.T. “my stupid secretary messed this TV thing up.” Jackass! Oh yeah, yesterday. He somehow managed to 1) erase all the e-mails in his inbox, 2) respond to everyone instead of just the sender and vented about one of the people in the e-mail, 3) forgot to attend his weekly meeting with his supervisor…weekly like he has been doing this every damn Tuesday at the same time since I started working here two years ago. So of course everything was my fault and not only my fault, but I am also the miracle worker who has to clean up his mess. I don’t know how to solve stupidity. I called Dave in I.T. to reverse stupidity. I responded to the sender of the e-mail and simply confirmed the meeting place. Not much I could do about the stupid e-mail he sent out. Then I was kiss-ass enough to set up another meeting with his boss. So I guess you could say; I rescheduled stupidity. But I really don’t think I was successful at solving stupidity.

So now that Dave has saved the day once again, my task is to print out all the e-mails while he is at his meeting, all two hundred and forty-one of them. Did I mention I don’t like my boss? Because if I didn’t, let me just say, I don’t like my boss. I just hope I can finish before he returns, but I have a feeling this is going to take a little longer than his half hour meeting. The beautiful desk-jet printer is going to take its old sweet time. We have the money to upgrade to laser-jet, but he so maturely put it “printer, schminter.” I’m sorry, I thought I was dealing with an adult, but I’m stuck with schminter boy.

The end of the day sneaks up on me and I still have about twenty e-mails to print. I’m trying to avoid showing my face at I.T. again for another ink cartridge, but I don’t think I can avoid the little trip. Although I get revenge by being able to look down on my boss in my towering shoe jewelry, they are definitely not walking-friendly. I can’t wait to get home and soak my poor feet. Dave laughs at me and hands me my ink cartridges. I don’t find anything amusing, but since he is one of my daily contacts, I give my friendly office smile and giggle.

An hour and a half after the “end” of my day, the last e-mail is finally printed. The stack of e-mails is arranged chronologically on his desk so he will have it first thing in the morning. He was nice enough to leave early and miss his rescheduled meeting. I don’t care one way or the other, it’s his boss…job. I make it all the way to my car before I realize that I am missing my blackberry and laptop. I left them in his office when I locked up. Dammit!!! Wait a second, why is his car still here? He left close to four hours ago.

I make my way back to his office and notice a faint light from behind the blinds in his office. I could have sworn I shut them off, but the last thing I need is for him to beat me in tomorrow and have to deal with a “light situation” meeting. I open the door and want to die. Now I have wanted to die in before, but now I really want to die. Like no pulse, nothing… the big ole dirt nap for me. I open my eyes and realize I am not dead. Instead I am staring at chubby bald schminter boy screwing the accounting clerk on his desk. And yes, I think they might be on my laptop.