Some Girls Have All The Luck.

Some girls have all the luck.

How ironic it is,

 They wished for my dismay 

And laid on me a curse 

But all I got was peace

They’re everywhere.

My new boss has told the director of sales (my colleague) that she should bring him along when she’s going to deliver a proposal because men are better at closing deals.

He called me ‘Dear’ on the phone and told me I should have more staff on when we are busier and less staff on when we are less busy (how insightful, I never would have thought).

He also insists our numbers are higher than they are despite my explicit explanation (and the math) as to how that is impossible. 

Furthermore, he told my other colleage and counterpart that he should speak to me “as a friend” (he actually is my friend by the way) about my attire and how it’s not appropriate for my role. I should dress more professional “ a skirt maybe”, and wishes to avoid an awkward encounter with me himself.  

Not that I want to give his suggestion much gravity, but I’ll explain something fairly quickly that he, as my boss, should have figured out within 5 minutes of discussing with me what I do.  My role in other larger companies would likely be a desk job with some sales/retention work with clients.  I’d probably have a nice office and staff to do about 50% of the work I currently handle myself.

Unfortunately, our site is on the smaller side and I run my department basically from ground level.  This means my job is about 60% physical - I’m running a lot.  So the suggestion of a dress and heels to work isn’t just offensive and inappropriate, it’s fucking downright impractical.

I have to have a meeting about this.  I may get fired over this.  Whatever the outcome, I’m not staying at this hellhole.

How the fuck is it, that every time one of these fucking shitbags enters a work place they kill off everything good around them?  Why am I the one who has to find something else?

About this time three years ago our his basement flooded which led to us gutting and reframing the basement.

The day it happened, my parents' basement, with whome I was living, also flooded. I had to call into work to help them keep the water at bay.

Then he called and he snapped his fingers and I left my parents and went running over to help him. Only one other person stopped by during the whole process - his dad to drop off a shop vac. No one else came, no one else helped.

When I arrived I walked down the stairs. I could tell he was upset, and I was already anxious but I wanted to try to comfort him.

I opened my mouth to say hello, but didn't get the word out of my mouth before he had punched me in the chest so hard that it knocked me back against the stairs and the wind out of me. He also told me that if I did one thing to upset him, he'd give me a few to the head.

I spent the next 16 hours removing water from his basement along with carpet, flooring, heavy furniture and drywall.

I don't think I spoke.

To give you an idea about when my sex life was like with him, i had two days of what I can only describe as a full body exhale ( complete with tears, shakes and waves of unexplained exhaustion) when I realized that I could still have sex, but would never have to humour someone's request demand for anal again.

My chest still relaxes a bit every time I think "never again".

There's just fragments of things I used to be and have borrowed from other people

a mess

I can clean a shower without getting a single drop of water on the tile floor.

It doesn't matter that I'll be washing the floor after anyway.