You would think after all these years of business in the workplace, I would be able to spot a Sociopath.
I mean, it’s pretty d*mned easy after working for so many of them, sitting in meetings with them, and witnessing the effects of how they wheedle at the emotional states of everyone around them.
And yet I didn’t, and I’m afraid it’s going to cost me big time.
Usually, I pride myself on being an excellent judge of character. Even when the snake in the grass is posing as a tulip daring you to get close enough to sniff, I have been able to see the snake’s tail whipping to and fro.
I try to steer clear as much as possible. If I can’t steer clear of a head-on impact with a sociopath, then I try to deflect as much as possible.
Even when the sociopath happens to be my boss.
Recently I wrote an article about getting my year-end review and how it wasn’t as bad as I anticipated. In fact, I thought it went pretty well. You can read about it here:
Oh, what a stupid, unsuspecting foolish man I was. I was foolish to fall prey to this master manipulator, this pathological liar extraordinaire. This man who possessed such shallow emotions he made the previous boss who was a sociopath as well, look like Mother Theresa.
I know all this because I realized it far too late to do anything about it. I went back and read my own work, and two distinct thoughts came to mind. One a feeling of terrible dread how in hindsight, I could have possibly missed the signs. And the other, a sense of fear that I had managed to walk into the bast*rd’s burning oven of my own volition.
Here’s a part of what I wrote. I’m so fu*king ashamed of myself now.
A lot of you may be thinking oh for Christ’s sake P.G. snap out of it. Can’t you see he’s f*cking with your brain? He’s trying to make you believe you have a choice. Nobody has an option anymore. There aren’t companies around that actually treat their employees like that. To that, I say you are absolutely correct. But there are good people working for companies like that who do. And this man seemed to be one of them.
I’m ashamed because I let this smooth operator, this prick in sheep’s clothing manipulate me into thinking we’d struck up a common understanding. I’m furious with myself for not listening to my initial instincts about this piece of sh*t. Even as I’m writing this, my hands are trembling with rage.
Because the motherfu*cker flew into town this past Thursday, called me into an empty conference room and shut the door behind him.
Then after barely sitting down, he proceeded to tell me after much deliberation he’d decided to rate my last year’s performance as a “did not meet requirements.”
I Did not meet his totally subjective opinion of the fu*cking requirements.
The rage inside me that began to boil as I heard those words is still just as white-hot, just as intense as it was three days ago.
Oh, but it gets worse.
After tapping my a*ss with that precisely targeted set up punch, he said, “and because I rated you as not meeting requirements, I have to put you on a ninety-day action plan.”
Folks, I’ve been working in the IT industry for the better part of twenty-five years, and I have never, NEVER, been put on an action plan. Nor have I ever been rated below “meets requirements”.
Oh, but this motherfu*ker wasn’t done with me yet.
He went on to say, “so there’s this form we have to fill out. Here’s the deal. I’m taking Monday and Tuesday off to go skiing, so it won’t be next week. How about I fly in at the end of the month, and you and I will sit down and build your action plan together?”
Wait, do what motherfu*ker? You want me to create the knife you plan on using to cut my fu*king throat?
Evidently, he does.
He then went on to say it had to be before the first week in April because now that he’s rated me “does not meet requirements,” which automatically brings about an action plan, it has to be completed and turned in before merit increase time.
To guarantee I don’t get a merit increase.
Yeap, no measly nickels and dimes will be thrown my way this year.
And, AND, even if I successfully make it through the action plan and he deems me not still stricken with leprosy or the plague, the action plan brings with it some pretty fu*king fantastic door prizes.
I lose twenty percent of an already dismal bonus.
I will never be able to transfer out of the clutches of this diabolic madman to another department.
Thank you motherfu*ker, may I have another?
I should have realized when I first met this prick and had my first run-in with him what I was up against.
I wasn’t running with the Devil. The Devil was running me. All of the traits have shown themselves to me. I’ve witnessed his superficial charm, the manipulative tricks to turn words to his advantage, the lies, and feigned emotions of his hidden agendas.
And yet I let this motherf*cker con me into believing he saw me as a kindred employee working toward a common goal.
The only goal this prick is working for is to legitimize sending me packing.
Although the money is good, at me and my wife’s age it’s more about the benefits. Neither of us is a spring chicken anymore, and our bodies are, of course, arguing with us each step we take.
I’m not telling all the Boomers in the room anything new, I know. I’m just stating that at this late stage in my life, I would have thought I’d be a hell of a lot smarter than I am.
I’ve two weeks and then ninety days before I either make it out the other side of the action plan alive or I don’t. In the meantime, I need to start looking for people willing to adopt my wife and me.
Hey, we’re both potty trained, and we don’t snore. Well, I mean we’ve never heard ourselves snore, so I’m guessing we don’t.
Hope to see you folks on the other side of this insanity.
Thanks So Much For Reading
Let’s keep in touch: firstname.lastname@example.org
© P.G. Barnett, 2020. All Rights Reserved.