See if any of this sounds familiar to you…
You pull into the parking lot at work a full half hour early. You’ve brought a bagel and cream cheese and contemplate whether to sit in your car and listen to NPR while you eat it, or whether to go into the break room to refresh the bagel in the toaster.
However, approaching your parking space, you see your boss, pacing around, looking agitated. He flags you down, and you lower your window as you approach.
“Good morning?” you say tentitively. And before you can unlatch your seatbelt, he has started on a list of “must-do”s that need to be addressed immediately. You know there’s no use explaining that it’s not technically time to start work yet. You get out and follow him into the building.
By the time you hit the front door, he has given you seven urgent demands, a few of which contradict each other and two which, not only can you not do, but science hasn’t developed the technology to make it physically possible.
Your mind races, prioritizing and strategizing how best to meet the impossible demands in a way that will satisfy him, even as you fall short.
As you make your way to your desk to get started, he calls you into his office. He has the reports from last night’s automatic tests, and he wants to read them to you.
“Do you just want me to take a look at them?” you ask.
He gives you the side eye, and so you settle in, waiting for him to start.
He reads the first page, but it just doesn’t make any sense. It’s like he ran the reports through Google Translate into some language that sounds vaguely related to English, but not exactly English. You struggle to stay with him, until you finally have to admit--
“I’m sorry. I’m having a hard time following that. Can I just read it myself?”
He doesn’t dignify this request with a response, but starts over, a little more slowly but more agitatedly this time.
It’s the coffee, you realize. You haven’t had any, and your brain isn’t functioning properly. You need to get some coffee, and that thought suddenly becomes the only thing on which you can focus.
He sees your attention drifting and starts over, unbidden, this time YELLING THE WORDS AT THE TOP OF HIS LUNGS.
Actually, that helps a bit. You get the general idea and make more mental notes of what it is you need to do about it when you get to your desk. Which should be any time now, right?
Then your boss looks back over his shoulder, and something outside catches his attention. Other employees have arrived, and the parking lot is full. He darts past you and out the door.
You’re used to this kind of erratic behavior by now, so you take the reports he was reading and walk into the corridor, reviewing the salient points on your walk to your cubicle.
Your boss intercepts you, taking you outdoors with him to show you a travesty.
“That car,” he points, “Is parked over the line. We need to move it. But we can’t because that car is too close to the side. So we need to move all of the cars.”
You know there’s no point in trying to convince him that it’ll be fine the way it is, so you say, “I’ll get everyone to come out and move--”
“We’ll do it. Get their keys.”
“Their-- whose?”
“Everyone’s.”
“You want me to go inside and gather everyone’s keys?”
He nods. You drudge back in, going desk to desk. No one even asks. They just hand over their keys and go about their business.
When you return outside, your boss is nowhere to be seen. You go to the farthest car to start moving them as he mentioned, and realize that you really should have asked whose car belonged to which keys, because you’re going to have to try until you find the one that works.
As you fumble through the remote entry fobs, you see that your boss has gone back inside and is on the phone. You move all of the cars except the last one, for which you realize you don’t have a key.
The owner of that car is in another building, and she comes out just as you’re squeezing out of the car beside hers, parked insanely close now. She gives you a dirty look and makes it a point to have her passenger’s side mirror hit the driver’s side mirror of the car you’re in as she pulls out. Your coworker probably won’t even notice. Then the mirror falls off, hanging by the cables. She’ll probably notice.
You go back inside, determined to snag some caffeine before you do anything else. You can tell your boss is about to talk to you, so you head him off at the pass.
“I’m on my way to the kitchen. Do you want me to get you anything?” you offer.
He smiles, “The usual!”
You go into the kitchen, pouring your coffee and adding the milk. The way the dairy swirls into the brown liquid soothes your soul, for some reason. You watch it for a moment, then move on to the cabinets. You pull out the bread, some peanut butter, a tin of tuna, and a jar of sweet pickles.
You knew. You knew when you got this job that he was eccentric. Well, you were told. You didn’t really know know. Now you know.
Making this sandwich, even while breathing through your mouth so as not to catch a whiff of the odd assemblage of ingredients, centers you even more. You spread the peanut butter on the square of indecently white bread. You smooth it, taking more care than is necessary, and more pride in the slick surface than the task warrants.
You inhale, picking up your coffee-- and he beckons.
You hurredly lick the knife, and two hours into your day, the remnants of the creamy peanut butter might as well be a perfectly-cooked steak. You slam down your caffeinated beverage and carry the sandwich into your boss’s office.
He asks you how much of his to-do list you’ve knocked out so far.
It’s pointless to say, “None of it! I’ve been doing other stuff you’ve asked me to do. I haven’t done one single thing, of course!” So you mumble something about really digging into it now.
He smiles, placated, picks up his food with one hand, and starts scrolling on his computer with the other. You hurry out, eager to leave before the disturbed sandwich starts releasing its odor anew.
For the first time today, you sit down at your desk. You power on your computer and notice the voice mail light blinking on your phone. You pick it up, punch in the code--
“Can you come here for a moment?” your boss calls from his desk. He means you. He always means you.
You manage not to slam the phone back down as you stand.
“Yes?” you ask as pleasantly as possible.
“It’s not working,” he says, motioning to his monitor.
You say, “I’ll give IT a call.”
“That won’t be necessary. You can fix it.”
Again, to argue this point would waste time, and you probably can fix it, anyway.
Ten minutes later, the boss’s computer is back up and running, and your nasal passages are full to the brim with sweet pickles, tuna, and peanut butter. You carry the plate back into the kitchen, place it in the dishwasher, and return to your desk.
Your chair is missing.
You sit on your desk and pick up your phone, determined to check voicemail messages. Once those are cleared out, you’re starting to feel some momentum kicking in.
Then a voice over the PA system announces that there is an office celebration in the conference room, and everyone has to go celebrate, including you, whether you want to or not.
The entire day passes like this: false starts, interruptions, genuine attempts to be helpful and productive; distractions; minutiae; concern that you’re never going to get caught up, much less ahead; and maybe, on the rare occasion, a victory moment when you get to mark a single item off of your seemingly endless “to do” list.
“Can you come in here for a moment?”
For the fifteenth time today, at the least.
You stand in the boss’s doorway and see him pull his keys out of the top desk drawer.
“I’m taking off a little early. Cover for me?”
You try to hide your unmitigated relief and nod seriously. You watch him walk out of the office, down the corridor, and you can see him getting into his car from the back window.
He forgot to turn off his computer.
You sit at his desk, log off, and--
The electricity goes out in the whole building.
You had a clear path ahead. You were going to get so much done this last hour.
Instead, you sit in the dark, soaking in the silence. You don’t pack up and leave like everyone else. You just sit. It gets quieter. It feels a little bit like heaven. You close your eyes for a moment--
The lights come back on.
You startle, looking outside. The sun is coming up? How can that be? It was just 4 o’clock two seconds ago!
But no. It’s morning again, and the boss has just pulled up. He’s getting out of his car.
It can’t be. You’re not ready. You haven’t caught up from yesterday, not in terms of work and not even mentally. You’re exhausted.
Then you see his morning-fresh face, and notice his peculiar gait.
“I’m in love with him,” you say aloud, as if you needed the reminding.
You love him. With all of your heart. And that’s why you do this. That is why you put in your best effort every single day. That is why you try to take his ridiculous demands seriously, and why you genuinely want to do what will satisfy him, even if you don’t always understand it.
But before he can throw you off of your game, you dash to your desk, tear your day-old bagel into bits, and dip it in the schmear, cramming it into your mouth as quickly as possible, and mentally noting that you need to brush up on self-Heimliching. As soon as you get some free time.
Does this whole scenario ring any bells?
If so, then my guess is that you have a toddler. Because this is every dang day of my life right now. And I’m going to go sit in the dark for a few minutes.
