Wednesday, 10 June 2009

The Work Bitch

For those of you who were a little bit worried I'd lost my humour and sparkle, due to the melodramatic contents of my last posting, please cast aside any of your concerns, I am perfectly fine. I have eaten, drunk, ranted, complained and experienced enough Bridget Jones homage musical moments to have worked my way through my rough patch. I have emerged completely lucid. Verging on calm serenity (or "unervingly quiet" as G says) and most definitely focused on bettering my life and making more time for me.

The reason for my new found optimism is the realisation that while I may not have my dream job, or slick svelte thighs that can glide into skinny jeans without fear of chaffing. Or even being the man of my dreams, who bothers to return phone calls and thinks that hanging out with me is actually a bit of a result. Yes I may be devoid of all of the above, but at least I am not... a Work Bitch.

Yes I admit that I am a workalcoholic, but I have not yet fallen privy to the delusions of a certain type of woman found climbing up the greasy pole at work. You know the type.

The bossy ones - those women that e-mail, constantly, because putting a phone receiver to their ear is one of the few tasks, they can't delegate to some poor unsuspecting office junior. And let us not forget the patronizing breed - those women who talk to colleagues with more years of experience and knowledge then they care to mention, as if they were complete idiots.

If you are unlucky enough, you will encounter one woman who emcompasses all of the above. When you meet this woman, consider yourself both blessed - as you will get to laugh at the numerous ridiculous e-mails she sends you, containing stupid ill-advised or considered suggestions - all constructed without due care, dilgence and attention. And you will also be cursed, as the mere sight of her name either in your email inbox or on your phone makes you instantly irritated.

Such a woman has over the past three weeks crossed my path and amused me throughly today, while engaged in a heated (only her, no one else on the email loop was remotely bothered) discussion about branding. The bitch stood her ground and refused to go along with the majority and offered such a lame excuse for her contradictory viewpoint, that everyone ended the discussion fed up, bemused by her arguement and amazed by her inherent laziness.

It got me thinking back to other Work Bitches I have encountered over the years.

First there was the poison drawf. A miniature flirty brunette minx, with a capacity to screech and laugh loudly, while taking sadastic pleasure in anyone's unhappiness. She was, unsurprisingly for most of time I knew her, single and ended up leaving us to work at a health club. I bet the mental health of all her new colleagues disintegrated rapidly after she joined them!

How about the blonde ex womens' magazine boss, who was parchuted into the advertising department of the newspaper I worked on and hailed as a potential saviour. She lunched a lot. She got her nails done....a lot, she asked me if I knew where the nearest tanning shop was - mmm... a big ask to a woman of colour!. She fired a lot of people and finally made me redundant on the day I exchanged contracts on my first house.

I responded in true diva style by leaving while she was away on a work jolly, but not before deleting her entire diary for the next six months. Her angry voicemails on my mobile, demanding I call her immediately for the next month amused me greatly.

Oh, I nearly forgot a special favourite of mine the angry Celtic woman. Who constantly reminded everyone, how she had dragged herself up from being a store manager to a regional director of operations at the coffee chain I found myself working for.

Her constant protestations of being so down to earth, were kind of rubbished one day, when she asked me to phone the hotel she and her cronies would be checking into later that day, to see if someone could check her luggage in ahead of her (she also asked me whether I could also arrange a cab for the luggage to the hotel, minus its owners of course) because she couldn't be bothered to check-in herself and then go out to an evening event .....she didn't want to waste her valuable short she was a complete twat.

Which brings me back to the present. Numerous articles have been written about the way women trash each other in the workplace, but no one has ever pointed out the blindly obvious. Women only hate women who hate them.

Everyone I work with regardless of gender gets mycurtesy and respect. It is only when you start throwing your weight around, talking down to me or patronizing methat I switch off, completely.

Invariably and unfortunately, my encounters with this type of behaviour have come from women. So let's stop pussyfooting around and if you are going to call a spade a spade, then you can call a Work Bitch a Bitch!, but remember that it isn't necessary to be bitch to get ahead; I should know!

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