My Bully Boss
By Vince Mitchell
Although I currently work for pleasant people, I have not always been so fortunate. My short but eventful journey through the world of work has, in fact, brought me in contact with some employers so colorful that none would seem out of place on a prime time sitcom. Now that some time has passed since I was last under the employ of such a character, I can look back on my experiences with a smile and a deep sense of gratitude that the time in question has long since past.
My first, and probably my worst, boss – I'll call him Mr. Smith – had a particularly explosive temper. Mr. Smith lived upstairs in the same building that housed his business, which happened to be a funeral parlor. Since I was a student, and it was a part-time job, I worked evenings and on Saturdays, so I would often find myself alone with Mr. Smith.
On Saturdays, I would usually arrive first thing in the morning, ready to complete my duties for the day. My job involved simple, mundane tasks that anyone could do. Left to my own devices, everything would have been a piece of cake. Unfortunately, I was never left to my own devices.
Typically, things would begin with the loud thud of Mr. Smith's feet hitting the floor of his upstairs apartment as he got out of bed.
Within moments I would hear: "Vince! Get up here!"
With my head down, I would start up the stairs. The higher I climbed, the faster my heart would beat. By the top of the stairs, the sound of the pulse pounding in my temples was deafening. As I hit the second-to-last stair, I was left with no choice but to peel my eyes off the carpeting and look up – only to behold the glory of Mr. Smith, all 300 pounds of him, standing three short feet away, stark naked.
The next words out of his mouth were usually a barked order: "Get me my paper!"
Unfortunately, a lack of modesty was not the worst treatment to which Mr. Smith subjected me. He appeared to believe that people were best motivated by fear and, as such, he adopted a management style rife with unpredictable outbursts of almost homicidal rage.
On my third day at work for instance, Mr. Smith called me over the office intercom and asked me to assist him on the other side of the building. Having yet to experience Mr. Smith's rage, I believed that I was being faced with an opportunity to impress my new boss. Upon entering the boardroom to which Mr. Smith had requested my presence I found my employer standing with his back to me. He was staring out the window to the park below, hands planted firmly in his pockets. As I entered the room, Mr. Smith gave no indication that he was aware of my presence. I let out a cough, assuming that he was either lost in thought or hard of hearing. Still, there was no acknowledgement. "Mr. Smith," I timidly began, "was there something you needed from me?"
Without turning Mr. Smith replied "in the filing cabinet there's a file marked 1983. Hand that to me." Although this seemed like a simple enough request, there was more than one filing cabinet in the room. In fact the room was lined with filing cabinets. Since the option of randomly opening filing cabinets seemed absurd to me, I asked Mr. Smith to clarify which filing cabinet contained the file in question.
At this point, Mr. Smith did me the favor of turning from the window to face me. "What the hell is wrong with you!" was his answer. "If you're going to be working here you need to use your head! Go downstairs and finish what you were working on!" Seldom had anyone screamed so loudly at me.
I left the boardroom confused, wondering what I had done to make Mr. Smith hate me so quickly and why he took the time to call me up to the board room to retrieve a file that I couldn't have possibly found easily. From discussions with my co-workers, I learned that Mr. Smith treated everyone pretty much the same. He seemed to draw some sadistic pleasure from terrorizing people.
I don't remember ever experiencing a day at work in which the vein in Mr. Smith's forehead did not bulge as he unleashed his fury on me. I often wondered if one day the stress of it all would cause Mr. Smith, who was not a young man, to fall before me, the victim of a stroke or an aneurysm.
* * * * *
In her book, What Next? The Complete Guide to Taking Control of Your Working Life, "career guru" Barbara Moses sorts problem bosses into a number of categories, including the one that best describes Mr. Smith: the bully. So how did I deal with my bully? Unfortunately, like many people, I accepted his abuse and went about my tasks as well as I could. It was, I rationalized, one of my first jobs and I was very young. I was also in school full-time, and I convinced myself that I had no choice but to accept the treatment as normal.
I now know that what I did (or, perhaps, didn't do) was not the right course of action. I should have confronted Mr. Smith and told him that I deserved more respect and that I would not tolerate his inappropriate behavior – more specifically, that if he exposed himself once more, I would report him to the police. According to Moses, bullies are often the same in the workplace as they are on the schoolyard. They are often afraid of anyone who stands up to them and will continue to behave in their dictatorial manner as long as they are permitted.
If only I had known that 10 years ago, perhaps I could have saved myself a lot of grief.