Once upon a time, I worked for what had to be the most dysfunctional office in recorded history. I started working there on the same day as another woman, one who eventually became, and is to this day, my best friend.
The tone of the firm was set by the manager, who was a misogynist and a letch at the same time. Every morning, the younger, single men of the firm would file through his office, to give him blow-by-blow descriptions of of their dates the night before, and whether or not they got "lucky." He firmly believed that any woman was fair game, no matter their height, race, or weight, because, "they are all the same size lying down." He would routinely call me into his office, pat his thigh and tell me to come take a seat. Or- he'd ask me to please drop a pencil in front of him, then bend over and pick it up.
Of course, the men took their cues from him. Constant cat-calling, leering, grabbing. The men were the pigs in charge, and we subservient women weren't allowed to forget it, ever. One young guy was especially charming. In between sexually harrassing the women in the office, he would pick his nose- I mean really dig for gold- and flick the boogers against his computer screen. Click. Click. Click. Pause- oh, yummy- bet he was eating them, as well- click.
The receptionist was an older woman, divorced and bitter, lips constantly pursed, her face permanently screwed up in disapproval of everyone, especially me and my friend. A dried-up, hate-filled middle-aged woman that was so miserable and unhappy that she radiated hate and misery to all those around her. My friend and I dubbed her "fish-face" because with her teased, blonde bouffant hair, the pursed lips and her disapproving expression she resembled a carp. And really, she wasn't that old, nor was she really unattractive, but she was so nasty, hateful and prissy, and the constant mean expression on her face just aged her by at least fifteen years. "Smile. It'll make everything better," I always wanted to say that to her, but of course, never did. To this day I refer to that nasty, screwed up kind of face as a "fish face."
And the really scary thing is, I'm sure that receptionist was in her fifties. She wasn't old, but she might as well have been dead, for all the interest she took in anything. So she hated us, but talked to the other women. The rest of the women in that office hated us, too. They were all cliquey. None of them would talk to us- we were new, outsiders, and attractive, and the men liked us and talked to us, which just made them that much more hateful towards us. It's ironic, because both of us are what I would call easy talkers- we can carry on a converstaion with just about anyone, including an inanimate object, and yet- those women really didn't want anything to do with us. So eventually we gave up, and just talked to each other.
Yeah, I loved getting up and going to work every day. Talk about a hostile work environment. All that, and very little pay, as well. Truely, the American Dream.
The strangest thing about that office was this positively creepy group of ultra-conservative-born-again-Christians. These people prayed constantly. I mean, dropping onto their knees and praying in the middle of the office, in the middle of whatever they were doing. They had prayer lunches in the conference room every day, everybody was welcome to join them. I didn't. And of course, the men in this group were as letcherous as all the other men in the office. The women, they kept their eyes down and probably serviced their men.
I left. Eventually, my friend left, too. Only two good things came out of that nuthouse. One, I met my best friend. Two, I acquired writing material for life.
The tone of the firm was set by the manager, who was a misogynist and a letch at the same time. Every morning, the younger, single men of the firm would file through his office, to give him blow-by-blow descriptions of of their dates the night before, and whether or not they got "lucky." He firmly believed that any woman was fair game, no matter their height, race, or weight, because, "they are all the same size lying down." He would routinely call me into his office, pat his thigh and tell me to come take a seat. Or- he'd ask me to please drop a pencil in front of him, then bend over and pick it up.
Of course, the men took their cues from him. Constant cat-calling, leering, grabbing. The men were the pigs in charge, and we subservient women weren't allowed to forget it, ever. One young guy was especially charming. In between sexually harrassing the women in the office, he would pick his nose- I mean really dig for gold- and flick the boogers against his computer screen. Click. Click. Click. Pause- oh, yummy- bet he was eating them, as well- click.
The receptionist was an older woman, divorced and bitter, lips constantly pursed, her face permanently screwed up in disapproval of everyone, especially me and my friend. A dried-up, hate-filled middle-aged woman that was so miserable and unhappy that she radiated hate and misery to all those around her. My friend and I dubbed her "fish-face" because with her teased, blonde bouffant hair, the pursed lips and her disapproving expression she resembled a carp. And really, she wasn't that old, nor was she really unattractive, but she was so nasty, hateful and prissy, and the constant mean expression on her face just aged her by at least fifteen years. "Smile. It'll make everything better," I always wanted to say that to her, but of course, never did. To this day I refer to that nasty, screwed up kind of face as a "fish face."
And the really scary thing is, I'm sure that receptionist was in her fifties. She wasn't old, but she might as well have been dead, for all the interest she took in anything. So she hated us, but talked to the other women. The rest of the women in that office hated us, too. They were all cliquey. None of them would talk to us- we were new, outsiders, and attractive, and the men liked us and talked to us, which just made them that much more hateful towards us. It's ironic, because both of us are what I would call easy talkers- we can carry on a converstaion with just about anyone, including an inanimate object, and yet- those women really didn't want anything to do with us. So eventually we gave up, and just talked to each other.
Yeah, I loved getting up and going to work every day. Talk about a hostile work environment. All that, and very little pay, as well. Truely, the American Dream.
The strangest thing about that office was this positively creepy group of ultra-conservative-born-again-Christians. These people prayed constantly. I mean, dropping onto their knees and praying in the middle of the office, in the middle of whatever they were doing. They had prayer lunches in the conference room every day, everybody was welcome to join them. I didn't. And of course, the men in this group were as letcherous as all the other men in the office. The women, they kept their eyes down and probably serviced their men.
I left. Eventually, my friend left, too. Only two good things came out of that nuthouse. One, I met my best friend. Two, I acquired writing material for life.
No comments:
Post a Comment