What an odd day.
It started out with me being sick as I got ready for work. The only reason for this – and I am sure of this – is stress. It used to happen when I worked for a woman called Kandi (and no, it wasn't in a brothel). She was awful and victimised me (and a few others) for nine months before I woke up with blood all over my pillow and vowed to never go there again. I think I had the beginnings of an ulcer or had bitten my mouth hard in the night. There was a lot of blood.
Kandi nearly ended up in jail long after I left. Police raided her house and she was found to have done some odd things with the organisation's cash. But she got away with it. I believe the karmic boomerang will get her.
So, anyway, my eyes watered as I tried to keep my breakfast down. My mascara ran a bit as I swallowed bile.
The working day – a mad day, yet again – ended with Gordon hinting that I wouldn't get paid for my work "because the budget was bust". I was astounded. But the publisher, who I phoned at home from the privacy of a side room, promoted me and placated me in one breath. And said he'd probably sack Gordon next week.
After this, I packed my stuff up with gritted teeth and went to a bar with my good friend, R, who has been working for me. She is a talented journalist and it has been a pleasure to have someone lovely and competent on side while Gordon has been in my life. I can only drink non-alcoholic stuff at the moment, but I imagined that my ginger ale was beer and dreamed of large ballons of dark rioja to come as I vented my spleen.
The day hadn't started very well, really. At about 10am, Gordon strode up to me and waggled a picture of some random, ill-looking woman in my face and said: "It's your mother," before laughing his head off and spending the rest of the day arranging his personal life and moaning about the magazine (and its publisher, clients and staff). Gordon is at least 55 but acts like a 13-year-old obnoxious fucker with a sense of humour triple-bypass.
Luckily, my mum is hale and hearty. If she hadn't been, God forbid, Gordon may have parted with his spectacles and bits of his nose. I'm sorry, mate, but never, ever insult or laugh at my parents of whom you know nothing. You utter knob.
I'm now a far, far different person to the girl I was when I worked for Kandi. My focus is fine-tuned (and is getting better due to kung fu, I reckon) and my bullshit radar is (mostly) supreme, especially in work scenarios.
So, I have no time or patience for people like Gordon, who treat me like an idiotic bimbo when I'm practically running a publication. Because I am a smartly-dressed woman, with longish hair, who looks young for 37, is generally friendly (and possibly, only possibly, because I hate to think this way...) not Caucasian, does not mean that my brain is in the toilet, mate. So, come Monday, we'll see what hand fate deals you. In the meantime, I intend to have a fine weekend.
Life. Is. Too. Short.
Well, thank goodness, you don't work for Kandi anymore. And I don't think I like Gordon very much, what a prick. Mell D, you make me sad with your comment about not being Caucasian being a slight poss reason for this eejit treating you like a bimbo - do you really feel this? Maybe I am naive, but it would just never occur to me - I never even think of myself in terms of not being Caucasian, although I do refer to myself as being of mixed race on my blog now & then. But if I thought anyone was being even remotely racist towards me, I would have to injure them. But I understand you have to remain professional! Thankfully, I have had no experience of racism since I was about thirteen. Though maybe it has been there & I just don't see it. x
ReplyDeleteThank goodness, indeed, NMJ (re Kandi). I must admit, I do not think of my colour at all – I, too, had racial insults at school until the age of about 13. Nothing too horrible, just ignorance. It is always Caucasian friends (or in one case, a union member) who moot the possibility of someone seeing me in terms of my skin colour. It was my friend, R, who suggested it in Gordon's case. And likewise, with other work situations, it has always been people deemed 'white' who have suggested a racial motivation behind any problems. I prefer not to go down that road – I refuse to define myself by my skin colour and heritage alone, so just don't think of 'me' in those terms. I see myself as Mell D and that's that. I'm always shocked when people suggest racism as a motive for someone not being OK with me. I hope to goodness he isn't racist. I really would have to react, and rather dramatically... x
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