Word O'Clock

I really like my boss. He buys me coffees in the morning, compliments me on my “wild 80’s hair”, tells me I light up the room and swears a lot but never at anything. He owns lots of cool cufflinks - one set is a bottle opener and beer bottle top. He looks like John Boy Walton and loves his kids, brings a lunchbox to work with celery sticks in it as he is watching his weight and lets me buy cases of beer for the office on the work credit card. He is rad.

In my previous jobs I have hated my bosses with a passion. One complete mad man called me a “Fucking Dumb Head” in front of the entire office. I laughed out loud at his ridiculous choice of insults and when he turned around and stormed into his office I called him a “Fucking Cock Smack” just as the door slammed so only my colleagues heard. We giggled and I got mad props. Then there was the Crazy Evil ‘Ranga Lesbian who used to corner me in the stationery closet and close the door and threaten me by pointing her index finger in my face. She would read my emails if I left my computer unlocked and ended up stealing $100 000 from the business. Poor lady. Imagine being a lesbian with red hair and Fanta pants. It wouldn’t be easy.

Sometimes I wonder why feminists fought so hard for women to be able to develop high powered careers. Not that I have one currently, but I have dabbled and they are abnormal and completely overrated. I reckon it would be way easier to have 3 choices of jobs like when my mum was young. You could be a teacher, a nurse, or a secretary if you even wanted a job at all. Cooking dinners, hanging with the kids and pottering around the house sounds way better than sitting at a desk, going to meetings and talking about reaching targets and key performance indicators with stakeholders all day.

I’m just having a “Grass is Greener” moment. Mostly it’s not you know.