I spent today with the Pit of Despair. Note I say "with" rather than "in." That's because, here in Hell, the Pit of Despair is a person.
One of my coworkers continually believes that everything that occurs in Hell is about him, and that all of us are conspiring to ruin his life. He found a rough draft copy of the letter we wrote yesterday (see "Let's Write a Letter") in the "to be shredded" box. [He must have mislaid his keys in there, and come across the letter while he was looking for them.] The Pit of Despair spent the whole day today moping around because the letter confirms that the Devil is a demon from Hell sent to rob him of all happiness.
Now, to some extent, this conviction is hard to refute. The Pit of Despair is correct in that the Devil is a demon sent from Hell. However, while The Devil does a fine job robbing us all of what little happiness we might otherwise find in our workdays, he's not nearly discriminating enough to focus on just one of us. Why should he limit his scope in such a way?
To the Pit of Despair, the Devil is just the most recent in a long line of people who want nothing more than to make him miserable. Had the Pit of Despair been involved in the Let's Write a Letter game, one could understand his disgruntlement. However, POD had not. The letter did not concern the Pit of Despair, didn't involve his area of responsibility, or his job in any way. So how could it have been written to ruin his life? Here's the transcript of our conversation on this point:
Pit of Despair: So, did you see that letter the Devil wrote yesterday?
Me: Why, yes, I ended up signing it before it was mailed. Horrible, wasn't it? Hey, how come you got a copy?
Pit of Despair: I fished a draft out of the shred box.
Me: Of course you did. Was this before or after it was shredded? (The Pit of Despair would think nothing of spending an entire day matching up and taping together a document that had already been shredded. I know this because I have seen the taped-up results.)
Pit of Despair: I wish I'd had the copy before my therapy session this morning. It would have proved what I've been saying all along.
Me: And what is that, POD?
Pit of Despair: That the Devil is trying to destroy me. It's just like when my second grade teacher yelled at me because she said that you should use liquid to put out fires, and I pointed out that gasoline was a liquid. She was trying to ruin my life.
Me: Oh, no. We're not having the "gasoline-is-a-liquid" conversation again. Get out of my office and take some Prozac.
And it's not just the gasoline-is-a-liquid story. It could be the story about how he went to a breakfast meeting at the Chairman of the Board's office and the COB didn't ask him to sit at the table or offer him a cup of coffee. Or the one about the fifth grade teacher who marked his geography test wrong because he correctly identified the body of water off the east coast of Florida as Biscayne Bay and she was looking for the answer "Atlantic Ocean." Or the snooty barista who completely ignored him when he was next in line at the Java Hut. He's got a million of them. And ALL of them feature people who are trying to ruin his life.
Dealing with the Pit of Despair is like dealing with the Dementors in the Harry Potter series. The difference is, instead of reliving the worst moment of your own life, you have to relive one of the worst moments of his.
Once upon a time, I was young and naive . . .
Like every good fairy tale with a beautiful princess (me) and an evil villain (the Devil), this story begins with a once upon a time.
Once upon a time, I was young and naive. I believed that, while there might be evil people in the world, I wouldn't run in to many of them. Then I met my current boss.
He wasn't even my boss when I met him. He had been lurking for some time in the underbrush at my employer, making other people's lives miserable. My co-workers would complain about him, telling outrageous stories about how difficult he was, what a control freak he could be, how he would make a simple meeting scheduled to last for thirty minutes into a half-day of mindless droning interspersed with fiery ranting. I would laugh and laugh. I thought: What whiners. What babies. He can't be that bad.
Then the ax fell on my wonderful, understanding, hardworking boss, and the Devil showed up, throwing away her potted plants and shredding anything that looked like it might complicate his job. Of course, he didn't really know how things worked, so he turned to me. He promised me pretty things, like a promotion and a raise, a title, an office, and my own secretary, if I could help him make sense of his new responsibilities. I was already in a weakened condition, because I missed my old boss. So I took his proferred apple, and became Eve, fallen from grace and ensnared by the Devil.
I've had 2500 days with the Devil. That's 26o work days a year, for 11+ years. For each year, subtract 1 actual sick day and 9 mental health days [110], three weeks of vacation [165], and 8 holidays (New Year's Day, Presidents' Day, Memorial Day, July 4, Labor Day, Thanksgiving (2 days), and Christmas) [88], and you get 2500 days.
Of course, if this really were a fairy tale, there would be a tidy little ending where the Devil would get his comeuppance and I (or at least someone) would get to live happily ever after. I'm working on it, believe me. But in the meantime, misery loves company. So meet the Devil. You're gonna love working for him.
Once upon a time, I was young and naive. I believed that, while there might be evil people in the world, I wouldn't run in to many of them. Then I met my current boss.
He wasn't even my boss when I met him. He had been lurking for some time in the underbrush at my employer, making other people's lives miserable. My co-workers would complain about him, telling outrageous stories about how difficult he was, what a control freak he could be, how he would make a simple meeting scheduled to last for thirty minutes into a half-day of mindless droning interspersed with fiery ranting. I would laugh and laugh. I thought: What whiners. What babies. He can't be that bad.
Then the ax fell on my wonderful, understanding, hardworking boss, and the Devil showed up, throwing away her potted plants and shredding anything that looked like it might complicate his job. Of course, he didn't really know how things worked, so he turned to me. He promised me pretty things, like a promotion and a raise, a title, an office, and my own secretary, if I could help him make sense of his new responsibilities. I was already in a weakened condition, because I missed my old boss. So I took his proferred apple, and became Eve, fallen from grace and ensnared by the Devil.
I've had 2500 days with the Devil. That's 26o work days a year, for 11+ years. For each year, subtract 1 actual sick day and 9 mental health days [110], three weeks of vacation [165], and 8 holidays (New Year's Day, Presidents' Day, Memorial Day, July 4, Labor Day, Thanksgiving (2 days), and Christmas) [88], and you get 2500 days.
Of course, if this really were a fairy tale, there would be a tidy little ending where the Devil would get his comeuppance and I (or at least someone) would get to live happily ever after. I'm working on it, believe me. But in the meantime, misery loves company. So meet the Devil. You're gonna love working for him.
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