DON’T YOU WANT SOMEBODY TO HATE

DON’T YOU WANT SOMEBODY TO HATE

 

 

 

Not the title from a Jefferson Airplane hit, but I think Grace Slick had it wrong. 

Don’t you need somebody to hate?

Wouldn’t you love somebody to hate?

Everyone has that one person in their life.  A neighbor, a co-worker, a boss, your train conductor, a teacher; everyone has that one person that makes their life more difficult and or miserable.

Mine was Bobby T, a manager at the Wall Street firm where I toiled for forty years.  Bobby T was a misogynist asshole who often left the female employees in his unit crying in the ladies room because of his being an insensitive low class bullying sadistic asshole (did I say asshole again...sorry I have no other word for him.) 

Bobby treated those below him on the corporate totem pole like gum on the bottom of his shoe.  He backstabbed anyone at his corporate level and if anyone above his station stopped short, they ended up with a Bobby T nose up their butt.

I will never know how Bobby T became a manager.  He could not manage worth a dime.  His style was from the 1950’s.  Beyond “Because I said so,” and “Just do it” he had no management skills at all.  He did not know spit about the very unit he ran, was as dumb as a stump and was hated by everyone.  Even his own managers knew he was an asshole, but they did not want to make waves.

He was also fat and ugly.

I did not like Bobby T. (Did I mention he was an asshole?)

When things were slow, I would swap Bobby T stories with co-workers.  We would laugh about his stupidity.  We would complain about his treatment of other workers.  We would laugh about his snooping on everyone and his underhanded ways to gain favor with corporate big wigs.

When I went home, my wife (pre-Mrs. C.) would ask,

“What did Bobby do today?”

 It was the only part of my job that interested her.

Mrs. C. recently had a co-worker who was a pathologic liar.  She made things difficult at work.  She was pushy and obnoxious.  First thing I would hear when Mrs. C. came home from work was,

“Guess what Joanie did (or said) today.”

There was always something interesting to talk or vent about.

In 2005, my firm had a mandatory staff reduction. 

Bobby T was reduced.  Bobby T cried.  Bobby T stomped his feet like a child.  Bobby T was escorted out of the building by security. 

The rest of the office rose to their feet and applauded as he left.

Weeks later, when work was slow, I sat in a friend’s office bored and with nothing to talk about.  In unison we both suddenly blurted out,

 “Somehow I miss Bobby T!”

Joanie left Mrs. C’s dance studio a few months ago.  Last night when she came home I asked her,

“How was work?”

“Fine.”

“Just fine? Damn, I miss Joanie!”

“I know, me too.”

 You better find somebody to hate.