It Seemed Like An Ordinary Day

So I woke up one morning last week dreading going to work-- which I've usually done since I started working at the fashion and beauty pr firm where I worked. PR firm, you're thinking? I know, I know, I hadn't gotten to this job in the blog of it all. I didn't want to be a cliche who wrote about her bad job, got busted for it, and you know the rest. So, again, following the backwards path of my life, I am writing about my horrible job after I walked out on it. Which is something I've never done. Not once. In 37 years. Crazy, right? And I've taken my share of abuse, trust me-- I've also taken the guy down the street's share and at least 150 other people's. Did I mention I worked in Hollywood? AND in fast food? Or that we lived on food stamps for awhile when I was growing up? But that day, for some reason, my boss's super inflated ego and super bad treatment of me were finally just too much. Kind of like the wife who kills her husband when he says "hello" wrong-- even though in the grand scheme of things, it was really nothing.

The thing is. I should have done it sooner. Like one year and three months ago... well, not really. I mean I did learn things. But so did our interns. And every single one of them quit the "belittling environment" as one of them so eloquently put it in an email saying she was never coming back. I didn't say it so much as just kept driving after she told me to take a drive after telling me to take a walk and me-- well, picking up my things-- all my things, and saying, "I would love to." But that's after a year and 3 months of picking up her dog's shit (yes, an actual dog-- having been instant messaged on more than one occasion "smells like doody"-- meaning "Pick it up. Now"). Being belittled, picking up her lunch and not taking a lunch, feeding her dog his lunch which required a very careful cutting process of a bad smelling sausage like food, writing in explanation points because my writing was all wrong, doing errands without being reimbursed for gas, having no vacation, working overtime without getting paid for it, having her take credit for my work and covering for her while she suffered her latest heartbreak-- which I had no choice but to listen to and provide shrink services ALL day long while holding the office together while she went home under the guise of working from home only to spend the entire day IMing me the specifics of the break-up. Then the email exchange from him to her and her to him and so on and so on.

As I sit here, jobless, I think back to that joyful day when she canceled my dental and vision insurance during jury duty because it was "costing her more than it was saving her"... huh? I didn't have time to be annoyed about it because I was too busy being happy that I didn't have to go to work. One sure sign your job is a bad one? When you prefer doing jury duty downtown to being there. (Although it was a meth case and I learned some fascinating facts about why Claritin D is now behind the pharmacy counter at SavOn). No more will I have to front the money for client things from my own measly bank account and wait to be reimbursed. Did I mention what I was making? Well if not, it was 15% of what I used to make writing for TV-- but as she liked to remind me, "It's more than she ever planned to pay me. And it's better than retail"-- because apparently that year or two of my life defined me and my worth.

One minute I'd be getting client items worn on "The OC", coordinating stylist pulls and pitching magazines, the next-- well, I hate to keep bringing up shit-- but it was my job, apparently, to look after it. She constantly reminded me of my age by talking about how old she is (younger than me), and complaining about how fat she is (thinner than me with the help of a five day a week trainer). It was exhausting. But I did it. For a year and three months. Six of those months also working a second job in retail on the weekends to make ends "kind of" meet. It wasn't pretty. And after the experience, I'm a little less so, too. But I'm also done. Happy, shocked and... done.