I should have walked out on my first day. In fact, I should have walked out the moment you looked at me and said “I normally have a no flirting rule in the office, but I can tell that I will not be able to stick to that with you!” I was nineteen, had recently lost one of my parents to cancer – you were in your 60s, a business owner and the person who signed my pay cheque each month.
But I needed the job, I wanted the job, and I thought that I could manage you. I was wrong. Within those first six months, you went from telling to me pin my hair, because the way it framed my face was distracting, to visiting me unannounced in my home where you met my cat – and making inappropriate comments afterwards about my “puss”.
And yet I stayed, resolutely ignoring your advances, and worrying about disappointing my family, who had recommended me to you.
One time you asked me to join you for a “business trip” which ended up being some strange sightseeing holiday. It was only when you insisted on that hour-long walk around the local lake to discuss the details of the trip – where you asked me to lie to your wife about who you were going with – that I realised that I could not carry on, and cancelled the trip.
I will never be sure what pushed me over the edge. The time you spent telling me the many ways in which I was more attractive than my flatmate? Or when you cried to me about how you wish you had met me before you met your wife?
Anxious to not antagonise the man who could withhold my pay cheque, and to be honest feeling incredibly guilty about whether your inability to behave professionally was my fault (as if a 19-year-old woman is responsible for the conduct of a 60-something man), I came up with an excuse that I had to focus on my studies and said I could no longer work as your assistant.
A while afterwards, you contacted me asking me to come back. You said you had hired two other women to do my job, and since the business was expanding, you needed my help. You made a point of mentioning how because of the new staff I would never be alone in the office with you. I agreed, thinking it safe. On my first day back, you suddenly and angrily fired the other staff, leaving us alone again.
You did not do anything chauvinistic at first. It was only small remarks, toeing the lines of normal office conduct. A remark about how brilliant I was. How nice my outfit was. Insisting that I had lunch in the office, paid for by the company, but then berating me when I helped myself to food.
Your insults became increasing and more frequent. For those last six months, I found myself either crying or vomiting before work. I would arrive late, not because I did not leave on time, but because I had to spend ten minutes trying to persuade myself to get aboard the second bus I had to take to get to the office, knowing that it would inevitably lead me to you.
In the end, I stood up to you and left for good. You got your revenge by withholding the money you owed me. At that point, I had no more fight in me, so I decided to just let you have the money.
But you never quite gave up. Every couple of years, you telephone my family to ask for my latest telephone number. When they refuse, you ask for my address. When they hang up, you send a Christmas card for me to my parent’s address with a full page detailing what you have been up to lately. What makes you think that you have the right to harass me still?
But I did learn something from you. Because of your behaviour, I know how to recognise bad bosses and have stayed clear of them ever since.
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