Michelle was, without doubt, the worst boss in the history of humankind. For a while, we weren’t sure she was human. She never showed any human tendencies like smiling or laughing. Instead, we all thought she was a robot who’d been accidentally switched to evil during the manufacturing process. The only thing that gave it away was that she would make regular trips to the ladies.
Each morning, she would stride into the office, with her high heels, expensive dress and blonde hair, and make some snide comment or give a back-handed compliment. My particular favourite of late was when I’d had my hair coloured a darker brown at the salon. Monday morning, I walked into the office feeling confident and professional, thinking that I actually looked decent for a change – but all that vanished when Michelle arrived.
She swung the door open, tossed her hair back over her shoulder and while hanging up her coat said to me, ‘Oh, I see you’ve dyed your hair? Good. You looked so old and tired before.’
And just like that, my confidence evaporated. I mean, just how awful did I look before? After that, the kind compliments from my co-workers, made in an effort to make me feel better, had little effect. Steve, my husband, tried to cheer me up and even my stroppy teenage daughter Liza told me I looked lovely, but to no avail. The evil robot had won.
Over dinner that night Steve cleared his throat in the way always does when he’s about to say something I might not like. ‘Love,’ he began, his voice getting stronger as he got going. ‘Do you think maybe it’s time to look for another job? You’re not very happy at the office, are you?’
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