Disgruntled Worker's Dream (Part 3)

The only way you moved up is if you kissed IRA's ass. So Single Forty-Something must’ve sucked at ass kissing because it took her years to move up. I might’ve liked her back when she wasn’t pandering to IRA. But then she must’ve got good at it because now here she was in NY. And I’m sure now that she’d done all that ass kissing, she wasn’t going to let it go to waste.

I realized she wanted to please IRA and what a pain in the ass that was, but there were other managers in the company that were able to walk that fine line. The line of making IRA like them without being a Pitt Bull. But for Single Forty-Something it wasn’t possible. She was a control freak by nature. She had no choice. And I wasn’t the only one who wasn’t happy with her. Most people were looking for new jobs. They hated working for Single Forty-Something. Now it was months later, and people were wishing for Drunkie Boss to come back. Oh, how the tides had changed!

After I was honest with Single Forty Something about not loving how she managed me, she found out I was pursuing comedy. She freaked. Literally. I had a car and lived in Manhattan, and so did she. She’d stalk my garage and ask the guys what time I left. She’d call my clients to see when I had last been by and what we talked about. If I called out sick, she’d drop by. She questioned everything I did. Watched my every move.

I kept hoping things would get better. Despite all of this, I was one of the top sales reps in the company. I thought she might ease up, but no such luck. She made my life hell, and then she did the unthinkable. She stole work that had taken me six months to complete and presented it as her own at a meeting to IRA. I finally had enough.

The end was here, and now that I was a comedian, I had a plan. I invited her and my team to a comedy show, and I wrote some jokes just for her. About her. The disgruntled workers’ dream. My bits were all about my job and my boss. The dumb products. Corporate America. Micro-managers. Stolen work. Everything that had transpired in

the last two years working for this chick. Strangers laughed hysterically. It felt good.

I walked off stage and the rest of the show took place. I had been looking at my team and Single Forty-Something before and after my set and there was a marked difference. I had killed that night. I felt free. She came up to me and said, “You’re very talented.” Holding a piece of paper, I said, “Thanks. Here’s my resignation.” And I walked out of the club and never looked back. The beginning had been good. The middle had sucked. But it was all worth it in the end.