Because I Have To

BECAUSE I HAVE TO

I looked down at the journal in front of me. “January 1” was staring up at me, the page void of anything but the date. I sighed.  

I had bought the diary, journal, reflection book — whatever you want call it — last week. It was a book that I had purchased out of necessity. 

It had been the week between Christmas and New Year, and I’d been at work. The office was mostly quiet, and I had opted not to take holidays. Most people wanted the whole week off. Not me. It was the perfect time to get caught up on paperwork and reports. Besides, I’d seen about as much of my family as I wanted to.

I thought I was alone in the office.  

Until someone grabbed my shoulder.

I swung around and pushed my assailant in the chest with the heel of my hand, sending him reeling backwards, sprawling on the ground..

Unfortunately, my assailant was also my boss, Chandler.

“Holy shitballs, Chandler! Why’d you grab me?”

He pushed himself up to a sitting position.  

“Lainey! You hit me!”

I stuck my hand out to help him up. He refused my offer.

“You scared me, Chandler! I thought I was alone!”

He stood slowly and brushed himself off, then rubbing his chest.

“I called your name. You didn’t answer.”

“I don’t think that grabbing me by the shoulder was the best way to get me attention. Kind of a douche move, Chandler! You scared the crap out of me! You’re an asshole!”

He looked at me. “I don’t have to remind you that I’m your boss, and you shouldn’t be talking to me like that, do I?”

“I don’t have to remind you that sneaking up on me and grabbing my shoulder breaks so many HR rules, do I?”

He scrutinized me.

“Well, now that we’re here, come on back to my office. There’s something I want to show you.”

I followed him back to his office.

“Have a seat.”

I sat.

He handed me a stack of papers.

“What are these?”

“The feedback forms from you last seminar.”

I looked quickly through the forms. He handed me another single sheet of paper.

“This is the tally sheet. I collated the evaluations.”

I read the numbers written on the paper.  

Content — 9.5. That was good. I put a lot of work into my seminar courses.

Materials — 9.7. Wow! I was happy about that. I used a combination of electronic and printed materials. Sometimes you need a website, sometimes you need a reference booklet.

Relevance — 9.8. I expected that. The people that I taught were there, for the most part because they wanted to be. They were trying to improve themselves, and get a better job.

Pacing — 9.6. Perfect! I always try to keep the classes moving, but not so fast that there isn’t time for questions.

Presenter — 7.1. Oh shit.

I looked up at Chandler. He handed me another piece of paper.

“These are the comments about what the participants thought about you as an instructor.”

He read out loud, “’Rude!' 'She knows her stuff, but man, no personal skills.' 'It would be great if she wasn’t so sarcastic.' 'I don’t know if she tries to be mean, but she succeeds.' 'My mother-in-law is nicer!' 'If patience is a virtue, maybe she could be, well, more virtuous.' 'I’ve never had an instructor roll her eyes at a question before.' 'Very snarky.’”

I looked up at Chandler, saying nothing.

“That’s not my only concern, Lainey. I’ve had informal conversations with staff.”

“You asked people if they liked me?”

No, actually,” he said. “They’ve come to me.”

He opened a file on his desk.

“The number-one problem seems to be that people don’t know how to take your sarcastic responses.”

I looked out his office window.

“Maybe, the sarcastic responses are meant to illuminate the fact that what they said is stupid.”

Chandler looked at me for a moment before continuing.

“Regardless, I’ve arranged for you to see a behaviourist tomorrow at nine a.m.” He handed me a card. “Her name is Jessica Williams. Her address is on the card.”

“But—”

“You need to see her, Lainey. Your job depends on it.”

So, I went to see the behaviourist.

“Hi Lainey. I’m Doctor Jessie.”

I looked at her. Seriously? The woman had a PhD in psychology, and she wanted me to call her Dr. Jessie?

“Thank you for seeing me Dr. Williams.”  

I smiled, shook her hand, and took a seat.

“That’s interesting,” she said.

“What?” I asked.

“Well, I told you to call me Dr. Jessie. Instead you called me Dr. Williams. Why is that?”

I shrugged. “Actually, you introduced yourself as Dr. Jessie. I opted to call you Dr. Williams.” I smiled. “How many years did you spend earning your doctorate? I think that you deserve to be called by your formal designation. Or just by your first name. Either/or. Not Dr. Jessie. That’s demeaning.”

“Lainey, is this your way of bucking authority? Or, perhaps your need to control the space?”

“You know, Dr. Jessie, sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.” 

We — read Dr. Williams — decided that my best “tool” for addressing my weak interpersonal skills was to keep a journal reflecting on every time I was able to control my interactions with other people. Piece a cake, right?   

January 1: I struggle with people who want my opinion about the weather. I was at the dog park with my dog Spike, and some guy was standing beside me watching his dog trying to hump Spike. “Cold enough for you?” he asked. I looked at him and almost said. “No, actually, I’d like it to be cold enough for your dog’s nuts to freeze off so he’ll stop humping my dog.” Instead I said, “Hey, do you think you can get your dog to stop grinding on my dog like she’s the last girl you dated?” That’s progress right?

January 4: So, I’m back at work with the whole contingent of dumbasses, oops, I mean co-workers. One … perhaps more than one … some … many … all of them are offended by my rappier wit or sarcastic regainers — whatever. We’re in a staff meeting. Chandler just finished sharing the new seminar schedule with the group — topic, presenter, location, company. Stephanie raised her hand hand, and Chandler acknowledged her.  

“Yeah, Steph?”

“So, I see that Lainey is going to Cabo. I want to go to Cabo. You’ve got me going to Duluth. I don’t want to go to Duluth. It’s cold!”

Chandler looked to me.

Instead of saying, “They said they didn’t want a bimbo, I rely on my wits, not my tits” I said, “It’s because I took the time to learn what the client wanted, I did the research, instead of just looking pretty.”

This is better. But she did stomp out of the room.

January 4: Chandler called me into his office. Apparently Steph is offended that I insinuated she was stupid. I pointed out to him that she is, in fact, stupid.  

I continued, “And tell me that she doesn’t put her ‘assets’ out on display? She’s not smart, she’s just stacked.”

Chandler told me I have to see Dr. Williams ASAP.

January 8: Dr. Williams read over my journal entries, humming and hawing over them, circling — in red — the points she felt I needed to make more progress in.

“Now, Lainey, why do you feel the need to dismiss your co-worker’s ability to do her job?”

I rolled my eyes.

“Because she’s stupid. And shallow. And offensive.”

“You rolled your eyes, Lainey. Why is that?”

“Because I’ve already spoken to Chandler about this. That’s why I’m here.”

“Do you feel that you, personally, are making progress?”

“Yup. I’m sitting here instead of ghosting you. That’s progress.”

January 9: I was giving a seminar to twenty people. I had handed out the agenda, and had it up on the screen at the front of the room.  

A woman seated near the back raised her hand, waved at me and said “Are we going to get an agenda?”  

Instead of asking her where her seeing-eye dog was because only a blind person would miss it displayed on the screen at the front of the room, I said, “Did you get the handouts?”

“Yes.”

“Did you look at said handouts?”

“No. I’ve been busy.”

I smiled, “Okay, so, how about you have a look at the handouts, then ask me questions about the stuff I’ve already discussed.” I smiled wider and waved my hand at the screen at the front of the room. “As well, behind me, in huge letters is another copy of the the agenda, in case you can't find the paper copy. Can you see it, or should you maybe move forward? There’s a chair right here in the front.”

It’s not my fault she stomped out of the room. I seem to have that effect on people.

January 10: I was in line at the coffee shop. I was the next person up, but instead of being served this rando guy walked up, and started to order.

“Excuse me,” I said. “I believe that I’m next.”

“I’m in a hurry.”

“So? You think maybe I like standing in line. That it’s my hobby, waiting in line?”

He turned back to the barista.

“Hey, Jack, I’m talking to you. You can’t jump the queue.”

“My name’s not Jack, and I did jump the queue, so you’re wrong in both cases.”

By that time he had his drink and was leaving. I tripped and fell into him, spilling his coffee all down the front of his shirt, pants, coat, and floor.

“Bitch! You did that on purpose!”

I looked at hm smiling. “My name’s not bitch, and I ddn't do that on purpose, so you’re wrong in both cases.”

All the people behind me clapped, and the barista comped my drink, so that’s a win, right? I only pissed off one person. Everyone else was happy.  

January 10: Busy day. I was heading home, and I got to the front door of my building, There was another person coming up the walk, but I got there first, and held the door. The person, a woman, walked right through, talking loudly on her phone, ignoring me.

“You’re welcome!” I shouted after her. 

When the elevator arrived, she got on first, still talking loudly.

“I don’t care what he said, I am not paying the extra charge!” she shouted.

So I started to sing “You Are My Sunshine,” loudly.

She looked at me. “Excuse me! I’m trying to have a conversation.”

I looked at her and said, “And I’m trying to have a quiet elevator ride, so I guess we’re both going to be disappointed.”

She glowered at me, and returned to her phone. “I’ll call you back.”

We stood in silence. Her floor was first. As she was getting off the elevator, I broke out into a chorus of “You Can’t Always Get What You Want.”

She told me to go fuck myself.

A win? For me!

January 15: Back at work. Anna from accounting was up in the office talking with Steph.

“New dress, Anna?” asked Steph.

“It is! It’s from the winter collection of Van Housen.” She did a little pirouette. “What do you think?”

“Gorgeous!”

I thought that perhaps she had up-cycled the floral drapes from her grannie’s house, but I didn’t say that. Instead I kept my opinions to the myself. See, I can control myself.

January 15: After Anna left the office, Steph came over to talk to Gina.

“Did you see that hideous rag Anna had on? And it’s from Van Housen — old lady clothes. I bet her mom bought it for her.”

Because I happen to have the desk beside Anna, I spoke up.

“At least she can bend over without falling out of her dress.”

Steph complained, and Chandler sent me home for the day.

January 21:  Heading to Cabo on a plane. I always take the aisle seat. Big mistake today. The person in the window seat, apparently had a bladder the size of a peanut. Up and down, up and down, all flight long. As I watched him guzzle bottle after bottle of water, I commented that because he wasn’t a camel, everything that went in would have to come out.

He told me, “Maybe you should mind my own business.”

“Maybe I would if your need to pee didn’t interrupt my business every twenty minutes.”

The next time he needed to go, I didn’t move. He had to climb over me. I could have tripped him, but I didn’t. Win?

January 22: Cabo. It doesn’t matter how lovely the location …

During the first session, a man approached me just before the beginning of the seminar.

“Are we getting out early?”

I looked at him.

“We haven’t even started yet, and you want to leave?”

“No, but I don’t want to spend my entire day stuck in here, when Cabo’s just outside the door.”

“Then don’t.”

“My boss will throw a fit if I don’t attend.”

“Then stay. It doesn’t matter to me.”

“But I have to leave by two. I’m signed up for the Jungle Booze Cruise.”

“Then leave early.”

He was obviously frustrated. He slapped his hand on my desk.

“You don’t understand! I have to stay as long as the rest of the people from my company. I’ll give you a hundred bucks if you let us go early.”

I looked at him.

“Dude! Stop being a baby. Go sit down, and pay attention. Or don’t. I’m not your mom. Or your boss.”

Normally, I would have taken the money and not let them out early. Win!

January 25: Steph was talking to Anna again, and she complimented her on her boots. And, as usual, as soon as Anna left, Steph scurried over to complain about Anna's outfit to Gina.

“I can’t believe she wore those boots. They look ridiculous with that skirt. It’s like Goth meets Cinderella. And totally inappropriate for the office.”

I spoke up.  

“I liked them. A combat boot that signifies the trench warfare mentality of the office environment. Very on-point.”

Steph and Gina both looked at me. I shrugged.

“We weren’t talking to you,” snarked Steph. “And if you don’t stop eavesdropping on my conversations, I’m going to tell Chandler, and he’ll have to fire you. Chandler does anything I want. All I have to do is ask nicely.”

She shook her shoulders, then wiggled her butt.

“Then how come I went to Cabo? And you’re going … where was it? Oh yeah, Minnesota. In February. Sucks to be you.”

“You need to shut your damn dirty mouth. One more complaint from me, and you’re gone.”

She stepped in closer, getting right up in my face.

“I will see you fired, and I will do everything I can to make that happen. Nobody likes you. You need to go. And I will lie if I have to get you gone.”’

“Really?” I held up my phone. “I’ve been filming this entire time. Maybe I’ll share it wth Chandler. Ohh, maybe HR would like to see it. Hmmmm. What to do, what to do?”

Steph lost it. “I hate you!” she screamed. “I want to see you dead!”

I sat back down at my desk, ignoring her.

January 25: I was leaving the office. I walk to work, because who needs to see and smell all those people, with their coffee breath an b.o. on the bus? Not me.

Walking down the sidewalk I heard a motor rev. Not thinking anything of it, I continued to walk away from the office.

“Watch out!” someone called. I turned just in time to see a car jump the curb and come barrelling down the sidewalk. I tried to dive into the front alcove of a building, but the car clipped me. I rolled away. The car backed up, and came at me again.

Holy shit! I was going to die at the hands of some psycho driver. The car rammed the doorway, but I plastered myself against the front door, so it missed me, barely. The car backed up, getting ready to go after me again. I yanked on the lobby door, and scooted inside.

That didn’t stop the car. It came flying through the front window of the building.

Glass flew everywhere. The people in the lobby fled back into the rear of the building.

“I’ll kill you! I swear to God, you are going to die today!”

The car had gotten hung up on window ledge. The front door opened. It was Steph. Holy shit! And she had a gun. Instead of running away from her, I put my head down, and tackled her, like this was rugby. The gun went flying. The security guard came running over, and between the two of us, we managed to subdue her. I heard sirens in the distance.  

Ha! She started it! Not my fault.

January 26: I limped into the office, early. But Chandler was already there.

“In my office,” he said.

Once I was painfully seated, he said, “I heard what Stephanie did. She is, of course, fired. What did you say to her?”

I looked at him. “Nothing. I did video her bad-mouthing you, Anna, and threatening to get me fired. That may have set her off. She also said she wanted to see me dead.”

Chandler looked at me, and shook his head.

“I need you to go to Duluth next week.”

I pulled out my phone, and had a look.  

“I can’t. I have another appointment wth Dr. Williams.”

“Cancel it. We’re short handed now that Steph’s in jail. Consider your therapy ended.”

And that, boys and girls, is how it’s done.