Rise of the Bastard II: The Ball-Busting Black Widow

Okay, so maybe the title on that one says it all.

Have you ever met or worked with a woman who could not control her emotions in the workplace? Someone for whom you leave your home every morning to take on their problems for them during the workday? And finally, do you sometimes find yourself wondering which of you would work best under heavy medication?

If you've answered yes to any one of those questions, you've worked in at least one white-collar office environment. Typically Miss Dystemper ends up behind a phone station, trying very hard not to scream at the general public when they call in and mis-dial an extension. Her husband/ex is a jackass, her bills are outrageous, and her children are completely out-of-control: almost as bad as the Automotive Harrassment Squad that follows her to and from work every day.

Things become worse when your sympathetic ear isn't enough. Slowly--

(well, if you want to get there quickly, dry up the sympathy well early on...it's like a secret passage, directly to Hell)

--but surely, you will eventually be rolled up into The Problem and added to The List.

Usually there's a reason this person will never be asked to leave unless and until they shoot up the place. Either they know where the bodies are buried, or they have carefully built their web over the years, and no one dares touch it, let alone try to take it away. By attrition they become indispensable.

"Indispensable" is often in the eye of the beholder, who happens to be a robot. Humanity does not compute. Continued function is imperative. Mission-critical buster of balls shall continue. Inefficient humans will be deleted.

I had the joy of being with two such persons. Thankfully in entirely different companies (though you never know--I hear BastardCo is hiring). In one situation, my cheerful disposition made it a joy to the BBBW to knock my feet out from under me, wrap me up in red tape, and drain the life out of me. In the other, my cheerful disposition was seen as the iron-clad guarantee that the Wicked Witch would Re-Glenda-fy beneath my Awesome Sunshine Powers.

Neither worked, of course. Both taught me that if you're a good person, shitty people don't deserve you. Both also taught me that if you're a good person, you will lose to anyone who owns the web and/or hides the bodies.

(P.S.: for the Morally Offended, this gender-door swings both ways...more in the next entry, because good--and bad--things come in trilogies)