The Boss Revenge Thread
- Thread starter WhaWhaWha
- Start date
Jade4u
It's been good to know ya
There's got to be a more subtle way to "get" your boss than that.
Years ago, when I was in my early 20s, I had a job in one of the university departments (which shall remain nameless
). I worked for an austere older lady with no sense of humour and a face that looked like she applied it with a trowel each morning.
Here was the set-up: her office was separated from the office I and her other immediate subordinate occupied by a glass wall. Thus we had no privacy -- BUT neither did she!!
Bear in mind this was back in the 70s.
I noticed soon after I took the job that the HOLD button didn't work on my phone. I brought this to her attention. She said, "you're probably just not doing it right."
Um, okay. I was a Chemistry major in the accelerated program. The HOLD button was probably too complex for me.
I'll admit it. I was insulted.
So I waited for her to go to lunch one day, and I switched phones with her (which was actually not all that easy back then).
I watched through the glass, waiting for that delicious moment. Finally it arrived. She got a call and went to hit the hold button ... she hit it again ... and again ... and again.
I was peeing myself, as was Martha, the chick who sat at the desk across from me. (She'd insisted that I had the seat facing Ms. Nasty, and was now regretting it.)
About 15 minutes later, she came to my desk. "Did you switch phones with me?"
"Why do you ask?" I batted my eyelashes innocently.
"Because my HOLD button doesn't work."
"Really. ... are you sure you're doing it properly??"
That was round 1.
In between round 1 and round 2, she got very annoyed when two guests to our department showed deference to me: one was the orchestra director Arthur Fiedler and the other was the feminist activist/Congressperson Bella Abzug. Both took an instant liking to me, and that was the end of my being introduced to guests!! I was obviously too uppity for my "station." I was kept in the back after that.
Round 2: I tend to be more well-organized than I look, especially with respect to time management. One day, I was looking at the clock, thinking about what all I had to accomplish yet that day, when Ms. Nasty walks in and tears a strip off me for "clock watching." I wasn't clock-watching. I was clock-looking.
She could be really humiliating when she wanted to be.
So once again, I stayed late at lunch. It was Thursday. And every Thursday she lit out of the office right on time to make her hairdresser's appointment. (Where she got her "do" sprayed with enough hair spray to qualify as a motorcycle helmet!!) Anyway, there was a clock in her office across from her desk -- same type as was on the wall in Martha's and my office.
I crept in over lunch and turned her clock ahead half an hour.
Sure enough, she was eyeballing the clock and a few minutes before quitting time, she had her raincoat and umbrella and was heading for the door ... where she was met by our Director. Who asked why she was leaving early.
Now, the Director's office was just past hers, but no glass wall. There wasn't time to change the clock back, so as Martha surpressed giggles, I quietly swapped our clock with hers. She huffed back into her office, looked at the clock on the wall, and then turned her glare into our office.
Lucky Martha wasn't under quite as much pressure to keep a straight face.
There never really was a round three. There were various other pranks, but she'd become just too easy and I ceased feeling any sense of accomplishment at zinging her. I shut her in the vault once -- which shouldn't have been a big deal since she could get out. But apparently she either panicked or didnt know how. We had to retrieve her.
The final moment was when she appeared at my desk one day and told me my mom was on the phone, and asked if I knew a "Suzie."
Suzie Q was my mom's poodle. Turns out she kicked the bucket, and my mom (hysterical) had phoned to let me know. Ms. Nasty had been screening my personal calls (as if!) and took this one seriously. I took one look at her foundation-&-powder caked face and thought to myself, "she doesn't have a clue." I took three bereavement days off with pay!
But... I was also working at The Velvet Touch massage parlour at that time, often making in an evening there what I made working for the university all month. I guess I knew it was time to get off the fence and accept the fact that I just wasn't cut out for this "decent girl" stuff. I quit as soon as I got back. The Director tried to talk me out of it -- which was kinda nice. But I knew it was time.
Sometimes the best way to get back at a bad boss is .... quit.
..c..
Years ago, when I was in my early 20s, I had a job in one of the university departments (which shall remain nameless
). I worked for an austere older lady with no sense of humour and a face that looked like she applied it with a trowel each morning.Here was the set-up: her office was separated from the office I and her other immediate subordinate occupied by a glass wall. Thus we had no privacy -- BUT neither did she!!
Bear in mind this was back in the 70s.
I noticed soon after I took the job that the HOLD button didn't work on my phone. I brought this to her attention. She said, "you're probably just not doing it right."
Um, okay. I was a Chemistry major in the accelerated program. The HOLD button was probably too complex for me.
I'll admit it. I was insulted.
So I waited for her to go to lunch one day, and I switched phones with her (which was actually not all that easy back then).
I watched through the glass, waiting for that delicious moment. Finally it arrived. She got a call and went to hit the hold button ... she hit it again ... and again ... and again.
I was peeing myself, as was Martha, the chick who sat at the desk across from me. (She'd insisted that I had the seat facing Ms. Nasty, and was now regretting it.)
About 15 minutes later, she came to my desk. "Did you switch phones with me?"
"Why do you ask?" I batted my eyelashes innocently.
"Because my HOLD button doesn't work."
"Really. ... are you sure you're doing it properly??"
That was round 1.
In between round 1 and round 2, she got very annoyed when two guests to our department showed deference to me: one was the orchestra director Arthur Fiedler and the other was the feminist activist/Congressperson Bella Abzug. Both took an instant liking to me, and that was the end of my being introduced to guests!! I was obviously too uppity for my "station." I was kept in the back after that.
Round 2: I tend to be more well-organized than I look, especially with respect to time management. One day, I was looking at the clock, thinking about what all I had to accomplish yet that day, when Ms. Nasty walks in and tears a strip off me for "clock watching." I wasn't clock-watching. I was clock-looking.
She could be really humiliating when she wanted to be.
So once again, I stayed late at lunch. It was Thursday. And every Thursday she lit out of the office right on time to make her hairdresser's appointment. (Where she got her "do" sprayed with enough hair spray to qualify as a motorcycle helmet!!) Anyway, there was a clock in her office across from her desk -- same type as was on the wall in Martha's and my office.
I crept in over lunch and turned her clock ahead half an hour.
Sure enough, she was eyeballing the clock and a few minutes before quitting time, she had her raincoat and umbrella and was heading for the door ... where she was met by our Director. Who asked why she was leaving early.
Now, the Director's office was just past hers, but no glass wall. There wasn't time to change the clock back, so as Martha surpressed giggles, I quietly swapped our clock with hers. She huffed back into her office, looked at the clock on the wall, and then turned her glare into our office.
Lucky Martha wasn't under quite as much pressure to keep a straight face.
There never really was a round three. There were various other pranks, but she'd become just too easy and I ceased feeling any sense of accomplishment at zinging her. I shut her in the vault once -- which shouldn't have been a big deal since she could get out. But apparently she either panicked or didnt know how. We had to retrieve her.
The final moment was when she appeared at my desk one day and told me my mom was on the phone, and asked if I knew a "Suzie."
Suzie Q was my mom's poodle. Turns out she kicked the bucket, and my mom (hysterical) had phoned to let me know. Ms. Nasty had been screening my personal calls (as if!) and took this one seriously. I took one look at her foundation-&-powder caked face and thought to myself, "she doesn't have a clue." I took three bereavement days off with pay!
But... I was also working at The Velvet Touch massage parlour at that time, often making in an evening there what I made working for the university all month. I guess I knew it was time to get off the fence and accept the fact that I just wasn't cut out for this "decent girl" stuff. I quit as soon as I got back. The Director tried to talk me out of it -- which was kinda nice. But I knew it was time.
Sometimes the best way to get back at a bad boss is .... quit.
..c..
Please feel free to submit me any terrible boss stories. I am working on a segment where we get revenge on boss's who have seriously screwed over their employees. I am hoping to get enough together to submit it to the powers that be...If I get it all together you'll be the first to know. Anybody interested in participating please send any personal stories that you may have so that you can get revenge via my video camera........
Send inquiries to the email address below.
Kreegs.
Send inquiries to the email address below.
Kreegs.
A few years ago I derailed my own promising MIS/IT career following some setbacks. Avoidable perhaps, since I chose to focus on personal issues, but in retrospect things happen for a reason so I have no regrets. So began the not-so-promising job drifting / consulting phase of my life.
Prior to 1999 I was a computer operator, technical manual writer, and web developer for two different fortune 500 companies. Following 1999 I have been a Data entry clerk, factory line worker, pizza chef, pizza delivery man, janitor, mattress delivery driver, truck driver, bus driver, rush courier, clock assembler, retail display merchandiser, cel-phone programmer, photographer's assistant, industrial supply salesman, alarms sales manager, telemarketer, customer service agent, printing services salesman, highrise building superintendant, bible salesman, ad copywriting and layout consultant, and at times a temporary technical manual writer. Some of these positions lasted a few days, others one or two years. Sometimes I worked two jobs concurrently. In some of those jobs I was bossed around, in others I was the boss.
In one job at a Magna Steyr factory in Scarborough, I worked the production line welding iron bolts and threaded inserts into steel pressed-plate moldings. All work was logged for quality assurance in a book that hung from a chain on the side of the robotic welder. After three weeks on the job I noticed that I was consistently exceeding all production numbers in the logs for both quantity and percentage of acceptable pieces. In other words I was doing very well. Then another line worker took me aside to let me know that the shift-senior had it in for me. Apparently the custom, I was told, was to discriminate against my demographic since I belonged to a group who were reputed to always have prospects. The seniors would then make needed vacancies / pass these jobs along to other people in need of affirmative action. I had heard of these things happening, but found it hard to accept that it was happening to me in that day and age. It did not seem sensible or plausible, but before I could make the appropriate inquiries I was taken aside by my shift senior and coldly informed that I was not meeting production requirements.
I referred the site manager to the log books, which suddenly went missing and were replaced with a new binder and magically all new fresh blank log sheets. The old sheets, it seemed, had been archived and could not be retrieved without a sixteen-page request form signed by a shop steward, the Pope and six notary publics. How inconvenient.
Three weeks later, my job agency instructed me to return to the same factory, and report to the office for a desk assignment. The agency did not have a lot of qualified technical writers on staff. They assigned me to write quality assurance inspection manuals. Manuals to inspect the parts, which I was not qualified to assemble, to ensure they were in fact assembled within tolerances and according to design specifications.
I still remember the shift-senior's eyes when she saw me on the floor, retrieving inspection fixtures and first-off press moldings. She thought it was a mistake and engaged in a furious argument in my presence with the site manager. I don't know what was said, as it was all in Tagalog (official language of the Phillippines) but it ended in her huffing off and refusing to make eye contact with me for several weeks.
The line worker, who had taken me aside the previous month, told me that the shift senior was worried that I was inspecting the quality of her work and would be taking out my resentment on her. In fact it was my job to write the manuals, not to evaluate the quality of anyone's work, but I didn't let her know that.
I admit I was reluctant to return to the same site, considering my resentment at being treated so unfairly, not to mention my mistrust. But Ms. Nepotism's hissy fit gave me a grim sense of satisfaction even though it was short lived. I remained in that position for five months until Magna lost it's brake pedal and emergency brake assembly contracts with Saturn and GM. I remained on the job to document a few fuel doors but that only lasted another week.
Still, if I could plug her ugly pug face into that software and add an array of bukkake style spray pistols...
Prior to 1999 I was a computer operator, technical manual writer, and web developer for two different fortune 500 companies. Following 1999 I have been a Data entry clerk, factory line worker, pizza chef, pizza delivery man, janitor, mattress delivery driver, truck driver, bus driver, rush courier, clock assembler, retail display merchandiser, cel-phone programmer, photographer's assistant, industrial supply salesman, alarms sales manager, telemarketer, customer service agent, printing services salesman, highrise building superintendant, bible salesman, ad copywriting and layout consultant, and at times a temporary technical manual writer. Some of these positions lasted a few days, others one or two years. Sometimes I worked two jobs concurrently. In some of those jobs I was bossed around, in others I was the boss.
In one job at a Magna Steyr factory in Scarborough, I worked the production line welding iron bolts and threaded inserts into steel pressed-plate moldings. All work was logged for quality assurance in a book that hung from a chain on the side of the robotic welder. After three weeks on the job I noticed that I was consistently exceeding all production numbers in the logs for both quantity and percentage of acceptable pieces. In other words I was doing very well. Then another line worker took me aside to let me know that the shift-senior had it in for me. Apparently the custom, I was told, was to discriminate against my demographic since I belonged to a group who were reputed to always have prospects. The seniors would then make needed vacancies / pass these jobs along to other people in need of affirmative action. I had heard of these things happening, but found it hard to accept that it was happening to me in that day and age. It did not seem sensible or plausible, but before I could make the appropriate inquiries I was taken aside by my shift senior and coldly informed that I was not meeting production requirements.
I referred the site manager to the log books, which suddenly went missing and were replaced with a new binder and magically all new fresh blank log sheets. The old sheets, it seemed, had been archived and could not be retrieved without a sixteen-page request form signed by a shop steward, the Pope and six notary publics. How inconvenient.
Three weeks later, my job agency instructed me to return to the same factory, and report to the office for a desk assignment. The agency did not have a lot of qualified technical writers on staff. They assigned me to write quality assurance inspection manuals. Manuals to inspect the parts, which I was not qualified to assemble, to ensure they were in fact assembled within tolerances and according to design specifications.
I still remember the shift-senior's eyes when she saw me on the floor, retrieving inspection fixtures and first-off press moldings. She thought it was a mistake and engaged in a furious argument in my presence with the site manager. I don't know what was said, as it was all in Tagalog (official language of the Phillippines) but it ended in her huffing off and refusing to make eye contact with me for several weeks.
The line worker, who had taken me aside the previous month, told me that the shift senior was worried that I was inspecting the quality of her work and would be taking out my resentment on her. In fact it was my job to write the manuals, not to evaluate the quality of anyone's work, but I didn't let her know that.
I admit I was reluctant to return to the same site, considering my resentment at being treated so unfairly, not to mention my mistrust. But Ms. Nepotism's hissy fit gave me a grim sense of satisfaction even though it was short lived. I remained in that position for five months until Magna lost it's brake pedal and emergency brake assembly contracts with Saturn and GM. I remained on the job to document a few fuel doors but that only lasted another week.
Still, if I could plug her ugly pug face into that software and add an array of bukkake style spray pistols...
