Illustration by Bob AulI've been your manager for one year. I saw you take a three-month “stress leave” because you were being held accountable for your piss-poor performance. You came back to work, and I was genuinely happy, only because I wanted to show you I didn't hold grudges. You bitched about every piece of work I asked you to do, as it would interfere with your ability to leave work exactly at 5 p.m. You even told me that since I made “the big bucks,” I should be the one to work 10 hours—or more—per day! I have a life, too, but decided that since you're married and I'm not, what the hell? So, I was Mr. Nice Guy, not letting you bother me, and doing a good portion of the work you said you couldn't do. Then you got pregnant, and I was happy for you! I gave you a little hug and a big smile and asked when you were due. You turned your ass around and filed a complaint with HR that I had made you “uncomfortable” and had sexually harassed you. My boss read me the riot act—how dare I give you a hug to congratulate you on your pregnancy! Well, the gloves are off now. No more giving in to your devious little “I won't do this” tirades. You'll be held accountable—and so will everyone else—for the work I send to each and every one of you. And if you or anyone complains about it or doesn't do it, I'll write you all up so fast it'll make your heads spin. I'll be watching. And think again before you complain I sexually harassed you: I'm gay, and, believe me, you're not my type.
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