Remember when you graduated from High School and entered the big world of business opportunities? I sure do. I graduated from High School with an Accounting degree, wanting to get get a job immediately. Boy, was I ever wrong.
I had the "opportunity" to get a job as soon as I came out of school, and a "nice" job at that. I was the assistant to the Garage Manager at a spare parts for heavy duty realtor. Yeah, nice job. It consisted of typing Purchase Orders (in a goddamned old typing machine), Work Orders, Letters, Faxes, answering the phone, making reports, and telling the mechanics how to do their jobs (as if I knew anything about how to fix a bulldozer).
Work was great. Or so I thought. It came a time when I thought I could do that job for a long time. I had a nice output on life.
Now, my bitch boss (even though she was good looking), was a spawn of Satan himself. She would yell at me for a single typo. One time, instead of writing "órdenes" (orders in english), I wrote "ordenes". See the difference? (Hint: look at the "o"s). She picks the paper and rips it to shred in front of my face and throws it all over my desk. Then she yells at me for a simple typo.
"TYPE THIS SHIT ALL OVER AGAIN!!" she screams. Veins are popping all over her neck and forehead by now. "I DON'T WANT TO SEE ANY MORE ERRORS!! I WILL FIRE YOUR ASS IF I DO!! I HAVE THE POWER!!"
Believe me. I ain't kidding here. She used to scream that all the time. I HAVE THE POWER!! And not just to me, but to the mechanics also. I always thought of He-Man and the Masters of the Universe whenever she screamed I HAVE THE POWER!! I told some of the mechanics this and the name stuck. He-Man. He-Man was my boss.
But, shit, I was scared. I didn't want her to fire me. So I wrote that letter all over again, without errors this time. It took me like 20 minutes to write a two-paragraph letter. I was extra careful.
Then came the time where she asked me to go down to the garage (all the mechanics were out on the street doing something) and get her a "winch axle".
"What the fuck's a winch axle?" I thought, but I was afraid to say it out loud. So I went down the stairs to the garage and tried to find anything that would look like a "winch axle". Since I didn't know what I was looking for, I was down there for five minutes until she comes storming out the door, yelling my name. I look up and she's coming down the stairs, mad as hell.
"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING DOWN HERE?" she screams.
I was standing next to a table filled with what I first thought was debris.
"I'm looking for the winch axle," I say.
She picks up a long, phallus-like metallic object and shoves it at my chest.
"IT'S RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU!! CAN'T YOU RECOGNIZE A WINCH AXLE?"
Well, right after that I had to come clean. I told her I didn't know what a winch axle was. I told her I didn't know anything about mechanics. I graduated from Accounting, dammit!
She had this idea for me. She told me I would spend the following week working with the mechanics down in the garage, working on the heavy machinery.
"Like hell I will," I thought.
One more time, she proved me wrong. The following week I was dressed as a mechanic, completely dirty with oil, underneath a forklift. I was both scared (two tons of machinery hanging above my soft body) and disgusted (engine oil was running all over my body, in my hair, inside my ears, everywhere). And my bitch boss would be there at the end of the day to mock me and my appearance.
The worst part was the mechanics mocking me. Since I'm good looking and stuff (believe me, girls. I am), they would say things like, "What's a pretty boy like you doing down here with REAL men?" They always emphasised "REAL". They would call me names and such. That made me so mad.
There was this kid (I was older than him, he was like 17 or something), that always wanted to pick on me. He'd come when I was under a forklift or inside a motor and kick me. I couldn't stand it much, and I punched the guy square in the face like the third time he did it. Guess who got suspended? Me.
Lucky again.
Well, I could only take 5 months of torture from my bitch boss and the mechanics from Hell, and I presented my resignation. She turned all mushy and soft on me all of a sudden. So the bitch had a soft spot.
Turns out she didn't want me to leave because I was the best assistant she ever had (or so she said). She told me she did all that just to make me do my job properly. But I had made up my mind already, so I left 5 months after the nightmare began.
She called me once at my house to see how I was doing, if I had found another job. I told her I had, and I was happy with it. My new boss was a friend of mine. She tried to offer me 300$ a month if I returned to her (I was making 250$ a month before I quit). Of course I said "no", because my new job was much better, and I was making 300$. And by having a boss that was a friend of mine (even though that friendship soon crumbled), I felt more at home.
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