Very early in my career, I worked for a supervisor who was hell on wheels. This man walked around in a tweed suit with a tie, and 98-degree non-air conditioned days never induced him to remove that jacket. The entire staff lived in fear of his observations, which could be devastating. The first one I received was single-spaced, three pages long, and I could not make heads or tails of it.
"He must like you," suggested a more experienced colleague. "If he didn't you'd certainly know it."
Another of my colleagues was about my age, but he spoke with what all of us felt was an affected accent and wore a bow tie. This upset me a little, as I feel men over the age of five should generally not wear bow ties. But he'd heard I'd been observed, and couldn't wait to hear about it.
"It was outrageous!" I told him.
"Really?" he asked.
"Yes. He woke me up. I've never been so upset."
"You were sleeping?" he asked.
"Just resting my eyes," I said. "But that's not the outrageous part."
"Oh my goodness. What happened"
"Well, first he woke me up, which upset me. I mean, does he have the right to put his hands on my person?"
"I don't know."
"Well, I don't really mind that so much. The thing is what he said to me afterward."
"What did he say?" asked Mr. Bowtie, peering through his horn-rimmed glasses.
"He said I should sleep on my own time! He has no right telling me what I should do on my free time! Am I right or am I right?"
"Look, when a man leaves his job, he has the right to do whatever he wishes. You can't tell me to go home and sleep. I might have things to do."
I'll never forget the look on Mr. Bowtie's face. I hear he left teaching and got a job in high-level admin.
After all, someone needs to believe in Bill Gates. I've no doubt he's well-compensated for believing such things.
Stories herein containing unnamed or invented characters are works of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.