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Settle in, folks. Make sure your safety belts are fastened. This is a dark ride. If the ride stops, do not attempt to leave your seat. The ride will resume shortly.
As a bit of background, I must state that I have a business license; my work is performed on a freelance basis. Hence, the people whose story I am about to relate were not my employers, not my managers, but my customers. I worked for them on the basis of my license, and they paid me for the invoiced work.
That said, let's continue.
I began working for a small company some years ago. The owners were a married couple, who were (at first) very friendly. They did quite a few things that helped me considerably at that time, and I felt that we had a good working relationship. At that time, we did.
Then the business began to expand. The female half of the couple, Hag, began to feel the stress. More customers = more business = more work = more money. Fairly simple equation, isn't it? Not for Hag. Hag felt that more customers = more stress = more hagginess on her part. More JUSTIFIED hagginess on her part.
So. It began in small ways ("Can you come in and do a job for us early tomorrow?" "Here's a big job that needs to be done soon; you weren't leaving yet, were you?"). Then it escalated. The more work that came in, the more stress Hag was under. Hag, you see, had never in her life worked in a subordinate role. Nary a McD's in her resume; she had always been in charge.
You know what that means. Always been in charge, never had to bear the brunt of an employer's disapproval meant that she had no idea what it was like to be a lowly peon. Remember, I was not her employee; I could have walked out at any time. Yet, to Hag, this was not the case. If you worked in cooperation with her, she owned you; it was as simple as that. And I contributed to it by being readily available (wanting to have a good income) at odd times, working late hours, and generally letting her wipe her feet on me.
As the business expanded, both Hag and her husband Ho deteriorated - in dress, in behavior, in personal hygiene. No, I'm not making this up. They never wore "professional wear" unless they were meeting with a client, a potential client, or a prospective employee/contractual worker. Okay, fine; I'm all for casual dress, myself. Yet they wore things that I wouldn't be seen dead in, if I would wear them at all. Ho was a heavy smoker, and Hag joined him in his mad race to cancer. There were times, walking into the room they occupied, when you couldn't see the opposite wall. They didn't shower every day; the personal odor was a bit much. Hag developed an eating disorder (or maybe she'd had it before, and it came back), and eventually, talking to her was like taking a ride through a very realistic haunted house attraction, where you are face-to-face with a speaking skull. Her eyes were sunken; her skin was taut.
Bad, eh? Well, keep reading.
Ho was a real ladies' man. He hit on everything female that worked for or with him - secretaries, other freelancers, and me. This usually occurred when he was drunk. As a special bonus, he was verbally abusive when drunk. He wasn't drunk at work - not that I ever saw - but he was thoroughly fogged-in with his cancer sticks. He liked to spend his time finding new games to play on his computer. I heard later that he also spent a great deal of time sexually harassing one of the female employees, even telling her that she should dump her boyfriend to be with the married, chain-smoking, philandering, what's-personal-hygiene Ho.
What a treat! Don't we all just LIVE for moments like that?
Hag was an equal-opportunity asshole, ready, willing, and eager to share the hate with anyone who came within her personal space, but that lump of coal in her bony, brittle chest had a special place for me. Hag loathed me. She didn't even speak to me in a civil tone of voice. If a project went wrong, no matter who had caused it, she laid the blame at my door. I stopped looking directly at her when she spoke to me. As things grew worse, I left the room whenever she entered it. No, I didn't care if I hurt her feelings. It never even occurred to me, because this hag had no feelings to hurt. She spent much of her time telling me what I "should" do. Evidently, I "should" have just signed myself over to her, body and soul, to do what she liked with. She ragged on me for the slightest thing. If I did a project one way, she wanted it another way. If I did it that way, she wanted it done the first way. Whatever I did, whatever it was, it was wrong. Getting sick? Oh, no, that wasn't an option. Eventually, the stress was making me sick, so I took a couple of days off, and her royal highness was right pissed at that. She would march into the room, glaring, and I knew she had something else up her ass, and that she would blame me for it. It happened weekly. Hell, it happened daily.
So, you're probably asking, why didn't I just leave?
I should have. I can see now that I should have. One reason was that I was afraid I wouldn't find other work. I was afraid that if they knew I was looking for work elsewhere, they would stop giving work to me.
Guess what?
Yes, they did. They stopped giving me work. No phone calls, no emails, no contact whatsoever. No meetings to tell me that they weren't going to give me work anymore. Nada.
I then scrambled around, looking for work, and found it. I found a client that gave me more work, the atmosphere was relaxed, it couldn't have been more different from Hag and Ho, Inc. In the meantime (as I heard from friend who was associated with them), Hag was going so far as to get snotty with her own clients, Ho was still as much of a skirt-chaser as ever, and employees and freelancers alike were getting the hell away from both of them. I saw them just once - Hag saw me first, and said my name; I can't tell you how startled I was to see them. She was actually smiling at me, or more accurately, baring her teeth in her skeletal face. It was a relief to get away from them. I like horror, but I prefer it in the form of fiction.
As a bit of background, I must state that I have a business license; my work is performed on a freelance basis. Hence, the people whose story I am about to relate were not my employers, not my managers, but my customers. I worked for them on the basis of my license, and they paid me for the invoiced work.
That said, let's continue.
I began working for a small company some years ago. The owners were a married couple, who were (at first) very friendly. They did quite a few things that helped me considerably at that time, and I felt that we had a good working relationship. At that time, we did.
Then the business began to expand. The female half of the couple, Hag, began to feel the stress. More customers = more business = more work = more money. Fairly simple equation, isn't it? Not for Hag. Hag felt that more customers = more stress = more hagginess on her part. More JUSTIFIED hagginess on her part.
So. It began in small ways ("Can you come in and do a job for us early tomorrow?" "Here's a big job that needs to be done soon; you weren't leaving yet, were you?"). Then it escalated. The more work that came in, the more stress Hag was under. Hag, you see, had never in her life worked in a subordinate role. Nary a McD's in her resume; she had always been in charge.
You know what that means. Always been in charge, never had to bear the brunt of an employer's disapproval meant that she had no idea what it was like to be a lowly peon. Remember, I was not her employee; I could have walked out at any time. Yet, to Hag, this was not the case. If you worked in cooperation with her, she owned you; it was as simple as that. And I contributed to it by being readily available (wanting to have a good income) at odd times, working late hours, and generally letting her wipe her feet on me.
As the business expanded, both Hag and her husband Ho deteriorated - in dress, in behavior, in personal hygiene. No, I'm not making this up. They never wore "professional wear" unless they were meeting with a client, a potential client, or a prospective employee/contractual worker. Okay, fine; I'm all for casual dress, myself. Yet they wore things that I wouldn't be seen dead in, if I would wear them at all. Ho was a heavy smoker, and Hag joined him in his mad race to cancer. There were times, walking into the room they occupied, when you couldn't see the opposite wall. They didn't shower every day; the personal odor was a bit much. Hag developed an eating disorder (or maybe she'd had it before, and it came back), and eventually, talking to her was like taking a ride through a very realistic haunted house attraction, where you are face-to-face with a speaking skull. Her eyes were sunken; her skin was taut.
Bad, eh? Well, keep reading.
Ho was a real ladies' man. He hit on everything female that worked for or with him - secretaries, other freelancers, and me. This usually occurred when he was drunk. As a special bonus, he was verbally abusive when drunk. He wasn't drunk at work - not that I ever saw - but he was thoroughly fogged-in with his cancer sticks. He liked to spend his time finding new games to play on his computer. I heard later that he also spent a great deal of time sexually harassing one of the female employees, even telling her that she should dump her boyfriend to be with the married, chain-smoking, philandering, what's-personal-hygiene Ho.
What a treat! Don't we all just LIVE for moments like that?
Hag was an equal-opportunity asshole, ready, willing, and eager to share the hate with anyone who came within her personal space, but that lump of coal in her bony, brittle chest had a special place for me. Hag loathed me. She didn't even speak to me in a civil tone of voice. If a project went wrong, no matter who had caused it, she laid the blame at my door. I stopped looking directly at her when she spoke to me. As things grew worse, I left the room whenever she entered it. No, I didn't care if I hurt her feelings. It never even occurred to me, because this hag had no feelings to hurt. She spent much of her time telling me what I "should" do. Evidently, I "should" have just signed myself over to her, body and soul, to do what she liked with. She ragged on me for the slightest thing. If I did a project one way, she wanted it another way. If I did it that way, she wanted it done the first way. Whatever I did, whatever it was, it was wrong. Getting sick? Oh, no, that wasn't an option. Eventually, the stress was making me sick, so I took a couple of days off, and her royal highness was right pissed at that. She would march into the room, glaring, and I knew she had something else up her ass, and that she would blame me for it. It happened weekly. Hell, it happened daily.
So, you're probably asking, why didn't I just leave?
I should have. I can see now that I should have. One reason was that I was afraid I wouldn't find other work. I was afraid that if they knew I was looking for work elsewhere, they would stop giving work to me.
Guess what?
Yes, they did. They stopped giving me work. No phone calls, no emails, no contact whatsoever. No meetings to tell me that they weren't going to give me work anymore. Nada.
I then scrambled around, looking for work, and found it. I found a client that gave me more work, the atmosphere was relaxed, it couldn't have been more different from Hag and Ho, Inc. In the meantime (as I heard from friend who was associated with them), Hag was going so far as to get snotty with her own clients, Ho was still as much of a skirt-chaser as ever, and employees and freelancers alike were getting the hell away from both of them. I saw them just once - Hag saw me first, and said my name; I can't tell you how startled I was to see them. She was actually smiling at me, or more accurately, baring her teeth in her skeletal face. It was a relief to get away from them. I like horror, but I prefer it in the form of fiction.
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