Descent into hatred
Descent into Hate!
Hate. It is such a nasty, ugly word. As young children we are taught to never say that word, being ranked just under the proverbial four-letter-word, and we are to never experience that emotion, or at least, not to admit to it. It is, however, the best term to describe feelings that are invoked from behavior that is so insidious, and seemingly small, but builds up to a resentment so thick it can be sliced with a sharp knife.
How did we get to such a place? Where did it begin? One starts out on a new job with great enthusiasm, desiring to be a valuable addition to the employer. Eager to please, going beyond, striving to be the best, one hopes that what we do is appreciated. However, it doesn’t take long before small, little jabs to our self-confidence undermine that enthusiasm. Tirades based on incorrect assumptions are imposed upon our mental capacities instead of the employer simply asking the questions that would belie the assumption as untrue. Then when confronted with the pre-established rules of the requirements, the rules change, being inconsistent as the whims of the person laying down the rules. As, if that is not enough; insignificant untruths that we allow to slide for fear of a confrontation we have slim chance of winning, or even of coming to a conclusion slide in cementing the idea we are damned if we do and damned if we don’t.
So now we have gone from enthusiastic to confused.
This practice continues aided by insinuations that what we perceive as truth, is inferior because we did not graduate from an elite college, nor do we hold a degree of anything; except of life experience. It infers we cannot think, cannot speculate, nor deduce outcomes other than those provided for us by those who completed their college experience. We are only competent enough to add staples to her stapler and change the ink in her printer, as she is apparently unable to figure these things out. Confusion blends with indignation.
Outbursts of fury further the downward slide from indignation to frustration. The perpetrator is angry from unknown situation before they even step foot in the office and is compelled to vent at anyone within range of fire. Their anger builds to a point that they spew venom in the form of vicious verbiage, splattering any employee who happens to be around. Afterwards, when emptied of their wrath, they appear unscathed at the end of their tirade, wanting to engage in pleasant conversation by way of an offering of peace. Meanwhile, those of us who have been subjected to the slanderous outpouring are left standing drenched in the verbal vomit, wresting it off as best we can, wondering what in the heck hit us. More confusion and the desire to don heavy armory for the next siege grip our persona to deflect more of the vicious barbs that may flank us from nowhere.
As if that is not enough, the employer stands without an inch of space behind our chair, their breath raking across our neck while dictating messages as we type; all the while complaining they just don’t have time to do this. And heaven forbid, if we are too slow; they push us out of our chair, and type it themselves while signing our name. More frustration. Micromanagement is heaped upon us to the point that we can barely breathe without permission or told the correct way to inhale. This is where impatience and incredulity sneaks in; turning the confusion, indignation and frustration into something stronger. Something we are, as yet, unwilling to give a name.
Then we are made appalled by accusations of stealing reams of copy paper, bottles of water, or anything other thing that appears to be missing. You would think someone with a master’s degree would be able to figure out how items get used up over time and need to be replaced. They tell little lies to cover them when caught in their false assumptions, such as, someone broke the paper towel holder in the bathroom, even though it was perfectly fine earlier and couldn’t possibly have been broken earlier or it would not have remained attached to the wall. However, that realization escapes their attention as they continue to blame anyone who has access to the office. Even the cleaning lady makes this list. Of course, there again, those who don’t hold a master’s degree are just not smart enough to figure out the truth.
The final straw breaks when in a fit of pique, we are told to “own the task” by the same person who always has a scapegoat ready for their own mistakes. “Of course, I gave that paper to you? Why don’t you have it? On my desk? You must have sneaked in while I was absent and lay it back on my credenza.” The very one who refuses to send anything that may make her look foolish in her own name, but signs the name of one of her service assistants attacks us for not “owning the task” which still lays upon her desk as she had lacked the foresight to actually give it to one of us. We have now stepped from appalled to resentful.
After years of such treatment, is it any wonder that a person who eagerly wants to do a good job slides from enthusiastic, to confused, to indignant, to frustrated, to appalled, resentful and slipping into the no man’s zone of hatred. One stays at hatred for so very few moments, as it is anathema to our core nature. Finally, we slide further down into pity. One can only pity the person who is so miserable, and hold’s one’s self to such small esteem as to desire to bring even those people who are subordinate only in rank, down to their level by bringing out the worst in their employees rather than to encourage them to do their best work.
So, do I hate my employer; no, it has gone way beyond that. I pity them.