Life-Changing Lessons From the Boss I Hated
Times in 2021 were so trying that us writers were told to avoid the phrase “trying times” (the words were so ubiquitous they had become a joke). At the job I had then, such practical instruction was rare. But, hey, I would not dare complain. I’d landed a full-time gig while the world was in the grip of a global virus that was infecting millions, shuttering businesses and skyrocketing the unemployment rate. And my personal life was equally embattled. The preceding two years were the stuff of Lifetime movies and nightmares — divorce, mental breakdown, poisoned relationships, addiction. That summer, despite everything, I was one of the lucky ones. At 143 days sober, I so appreciated this job offer that I didn’t negotiate a salary, questioned nothing, welcomed the humble wage. I’d need to move back to Dallas. There was this guy (I liked him, and he was sober too) who said I could live with him. He would keep me accountable, I reasoned. I’ll call him James. About a week after I moved in, a day before I started the job, James lost his. So he resumed his drinking. Mine was a writing job for a mortgage and real estate trade association. The offices were a poor man’s Google campus — mini camper as a conference room, Astroturf putting green, cereal bar, a forsaken hard seltzer in a pink minifridge. The CEO — a Ken-blonde fifty-something in glasses with outsized frames — emerged from a corner office to fist bump the manager who was giving me the tour. Everyone else was telecommuting; I would be too, once my company laptop was all set. That day I wore a dress, makeup and close-toed pumps. I listened, nodded, swore unyielding dedication and meant it. I thirsted for a fresh start, was starving for validation. In a few days the CEO cc’d the staff on an email congratulating the manager who hired me. I had “hit the ground running,” “was catching on quickly,” “was a good writer” who already “made a positive impression with subscribers.” The words felt like a hug from a long-lost friend.
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