The Devil Wears Pay-Less (Let the Glorious News be Spread, the Wicked Old Witch, At Last is Dead!)

Our good friend A.S.S. inspired me to write this.

After almost three long months of being out on disability, I will be re-entering the work-force tomorrow morning. I am both excited and full of dread at the same time.
Excited because the first few days will be more of a social calling, going through 3 months of emails in my inbox, and catching up with people. Plus, I'm going back to work. hey, I can only be home-bound with nothing to do for so long!

I am also grateful that my former boss is no longer with the company.

She left on my last day, and I've yet to know what life is like without her Wicked presence, and that makes me anxious to go back in and breathe normally.
It's been noted by every person who has ever worked with her-- even if only for one day - that no one person, has ever torn through a department (and a large one, at that) and done more damage in as little time as she did. Picture, if you will:
Moth-ra, riding Godzilla's back, who is riding King Kong as they tear through New York City. (And I was the little blonde in the big monkey's hand as she scales the Empire State Building)


She came to us, as a "gift", someone who could rocket out already #1 Network into astronomically huge success a little over a year ago.
She was quite chatty, sweet, young but motherly, and beautiful yet natural. She reminded me a bit of my cousin, with Gina Gershon's mouth. She wore glasses and was always a little messy, but it seemed endearing.

I was excited to work with her, and she sang my praises almost every day. I adored her... Annoyed warned me about her. "Watch out,' he said, after meeting her for about 5 minutes, 'She's a cunt."

About 2 months in, I was asked to take over for someone whose position I had previously, while they were out. I didn't mind, as this was a position that I left in order to take my promotion, but I knew I was good at it and they needed me.

One late night, we discovered that Paul, the guy whom i was covering for, made mistakes that were costing our department precious time and money. I helped her sort it out and she was grateful. She spoke of me moving up in the company.

We would spend late nights going over invoices, me with my tired eyes and hair tied back in a bun, her with her glasses crooked on her face, a scrunchy holding half of her hair back, and her husband's old short sleeved dress shirt on (she was short and skinny, he was tall and a large man). I thought she looked that way because of all of the hours she was putting in. Surely, no one PLANS to look like this, especially a high ranking boss...Right?

The next morning, I get into work and I get called into her office.
She tells me calmly that she fired Paul that morning, and I WILL be his replacement for the next month, until she gets someone to take over the position.

I didn't want to be the next on her executioner list, so I agreed to take over. Heck, wasn't like I had a choice.
They brought in someone to take over my position in the meantime and promised me that subbing for the month wouldn't interfere with my Production. We shook on it, and she bought me a Starbucks.

Six months later...
No Production Lxperience...
And the Guy That I Trained, Now Working as the #1 Producer in my Department later...

I was in her office almost once a week getting yelled at for Paul's old mistakes.
She was ravenous, always looking to dig her claws into me or anyone else who crossed her path. This was a woman drunk on power, and someone who was not afraid to use it.
Once, I saw a book sticking out of her bag titled "Nice Girls Don't Get the Corner Office."
Sad... She had to read a book in order to be successful at her job.
One of her new names was "Cujo." She loved to go after the jugular.

She talked to people, all the time. She criticized our Head Writer, who is comic brilliance, at every meeting. Loudly. With glee. She clashed with my old Director, and was doing everything in her power to get her fired. She eventually did. That was a sad day. She was kissing any ass that held a title over her, and would brag to everyone under her about it.

She made an ass of herself almost daily, traipsing through the office with her glasses, that were always crooked (how did she SEE?) her shoulder-length Sun-In-streaked hair falling out of an old ratty scrunchy... yup... a SCRUNCHY... and wearing hideous concotions like a mango colored turtleneck 3 sizes too big, beige cropped pants, and Tevas. In March. She would also wear a backpack that you would use hiking... One that closed in the front, across your chest, like a dog harness. She would often pull out a bottle of water from it, and reach in with dirty fingers into the side pocket for a warm string-cheese, which she would eat in front of you.
Imagine... a buck-toothed woman, kind of dressed like Mike Meyers in the Hyper/Hypo sketch from SNL, dawging a Poly-O in front of you.










And she had the nerve to complain about my tuna, which was always fresh, always discreet, and always eaten at my desk, in privacy. She would actually come out of her office, come OVER to me and complain that it looked like I was eating cat food.

In winter, she would wear silk short flowery skirts, printed tights with pills and dings all over them, her husband's big white undershirt, a vest, and a black faux-fur bowler hat.

It looked like she bit her nails to the point of bleeding every say, then dug in the dirt for about an hour or so.

She also had a habit of twisting her hair in one hand, and in the other, applying fushia/violet lip gloss WITHOUT A MIRROR. Between that lipgloss landing all over her huge teeth every day and her hands being bitten to the quick, I don't know how she was ever hungry for lunch.

She assembled (read: called in her friends and made up titles and got them jobs) and sat them all, like gargoyles, outside of her glass office door, in little cubicles. Cause she was the Queen, you know.

She must have been the type of girl that not only got stuffed in lockers in middle school, but grew up to be the girl in High School that cozied up to you, then started afight between you and your best friend, then ran home as you both fought in the schoolyard at three o'clock.

She used her power to try to form a little "clique" or girls that she would parade down the halls in front of everyone, waving her credit card exclaiming "salads and Starbucks, on me... whhoooo hoooo!" and she's smile cattily, at everyone as if to say "You're not invited to my party... na na na na na...."

She would scream at the drop of a hat, curse like a sailor, and would never apologize if she was wrong... Which was often. Until I was moved back into my position (where I sit and rot, currently) I got the brunt of it.
I'll never forget the day she dragged our poor coworker into a machine/facility closet to yell at him... for nothing that was even his fault. She yelled at him in that little room until the lights went off (it had a sensor that turned the light on once you entered the room, and off after twenty minutes) she left the room in a rage, and he looked like he was about to laugh his ass off.

She interrupted my Christmas break last year by constantly calling me Upstate New York and complaining why, in the blizzard, I could not get to a computer.

She promised me - and other people- things she never delivered. She was madly in love with her, and never stopped mentally masturbating herselflong enough to see that she was the only one who felt that way.

My department went from a high stressed but LOVING and HAPPY and FUN department that worked long hours... Sometimes 3 doubles or more a week to a high stressed, high strung, Xanax-popping, Monster.com searching trainwreck that smoked too much, hated their boss and saw no end in sight. She worked us to the bone, and then back again, then called us at home, and yelled for the pleasure of hearing her own voice. If 5 doubles weren't enough to get a last minute job done (that SHE forgot to disperse), then you were expected to work doubles Saturday and Sunday. One week, I worked 9am till 2am Monday through that following Sunday. The only exception was Friday, when we were in edits until 3:30am.
I gotta hand it to her, we were soaring. From the tippity top, she was one hell of a mover an shaker. She knew how to get what results she wanted... but she lost everyone's respect in the process.

People would skeeve whenever she walked by. People nicknamed her the "Hot Mess" because she was always sweaty, and well... She looked like she got dressed in the trunk of someone's car.

She once sent me on location for a shoot. When I got there, I was told that per her request, the crew was to put "The Princess" (me) to work "like a slave horse." That day, I worked from 5:45 AM until 10pm. I offered to stay and help the crew wrap up. Because I'd rather eat shit and die than to have anyone think that she was right and that I was, in fact, a Princess.

Freelancers refused to come into the office, except for when she took her many vacations. Then, it was like the set of the Wizard of Oz, when all of the Munchkins slowly come out from hiding to see that the Wicked Witch is in fact, dead and under a house.

One day, she called me out of session because of all of the mistakes I was making. I had to leave session and come in for a conference IMMEDIATELY She yelled "RIGHT NOW" about three times in a row before she hung up. Petrified that I was about to get fired, I started to get my stuff together. My stomach was in knots and my throat felt like it was closing. I almost threw up, & I had just eaten, when it hit me. I did nothing wrong, and I don't care anymore.

I went back into the office and she refused to see me. Apparently, her little crew having a latte party in her office was more important than calling me out of session for a beheading.
I waited from 2pm until 7pm that night... I was late for an evening session because she had her little flying monkey make me wait around to see if she had an "avail"
at 7:05 pm, she emailed me with the following:

"Can't see you tonight, will fit you in tomorrow if I can. In the meantime, why don't you sit and think about what you might have done?"

Ominous! I laughed. I haven't been spoken to like that since... Well, NEVER!

From that night on, I realized she was the reason we all hated our job. Unfortunately, I still automatically cringed at the sound of her voice or the sight of torn up scrunchies on the floor (they would fall out of her head and be all over the office... Like a marker).

Within a week, people started quitting. I'm not talking 2 people. I'm talking 7. It was a Mass-Exodus. I couldn't get over it. She didn't care...She just fiddled while our Rome burned.

Shortly after, she called me in her office. I thought I was about to get fired. Well, that's what everyone thought, every day of the week. As I neared her office, I saw it was filled with my co-workers. "Great, Public Hanging."

She offered me a beer... (not unusual) and announced that she was leaving. I almost dropped my bottle of water. As she talked about her great offer, triple the salary she makes now.... Couldn't refuse it... Blah blah fucking BLAH... I heard birds chirping. The dark cloud lifted and the angles sang. Shackles from my wrists, ankles and neck magically unlocked and fell to the floor in a "whump."
Talk about a mental orgasm.

Her remaining days were filled with...You know, I don't remember. I don't even care. I had too much going on in my life to worry about her. She wasn't my boss any more, and I was about to go out for major surgery. I didn't care. I was free.

I was forced to go to her goodbye party...And she hugged me goodbye. I said so sweetly, with a smile on my face a mile wide "Goodbye... And May a House Fall on you... And All of Your Sisters!"
(sadly, we were in a bar, so I don't think she heard me. Too bad, huh?)


Then, I clicked my ruby red heels together three times (I really wore ruby red heels that day...Just for the occasion), went home, and boiled my skin.

I've since checked in, and there's not even a trace of her. There's laughter throughout the halls, no one gets ridiculed publicly in meetings, and people are actually getting along.
Tomorrow, I go back to a Payless-Free Zone.
Wish me luck...

xoxoxo,
Rosie