Keeping up the bad work

Work has been kicking my ass, and as much as I would really, really like to talk about that, I don't wish to be fired or sued for slander (libel? I always forget which is which), so instead I'll tell you a story about a past job that was one of the most awful professional experiences of my life.

Several years ago, I was working as an event planner of sorts for a small start-up that found itself in financial hot water, and I was laid off that December (while my dim but bouncy coworker, over whom I had seniority, finagled a job in another department). I had loved this job more than any other I'd had, and I was very distressed; my boss was great, my commute was great, my pay was decent, and I liked the work. I had endless visions of eating macaroni and cheese and ramen for dinner every night as I struggled to survive on minimal unemployment checks. Panic was setting in. I felt all itchy. Clearly, I had to get another job, and fast.

I then remembered an Association Management company my sister had worked for about 10 years before. It had been her last job before she got pregnant and she ended up never returning, but I knew she had freelanced for them a bit, and that she had really enjoyed the job. The work entailed a lot of travel and attention to detail, just the sort of thing I was used to. I sent them my resume and mentioned my sister's name in my cover letter. I got a call soon after, interviewed and accepted the job, along with a sweet little pay raise.

My first clue that something was rotten in Denmark was the conversation I had with the woman I was replacing.
"Why are you leaving?" I asked her, while she was showing me where all the files was stored.
"I have a better opportunity at [Competitor Management Firm], but ... well, I might as well tell you that Jon has something to do with it." Jon was the guy I was to be working directly under.

You know it's bad when this is happening on your first day of work.

She went on to tell me some stories about Jon's poor sense of humor, his insistence on discussing religion (he was an Orthodox Jew), his tendency to micromanage. He can't be that bad, can he? I thought. She mentioned her coworker, who had deliberately transferred to another department to escape Jon. Maybe they're just really sensitive, I told myself.

OH, HOW WRONG I WAS. Jon discussed his dietary requirements with me. We had the option of eating a catered lunch*, for which we paid a monthly stipend, and he informed me whenever the food wasn't Kosher, also giving me a detailed explanation of Kosher law. He also operated under the assumption than anyone who was Jewish also kept Kosher.
He mentioned that one of the associations we worked with sent us a fresh evergreen wreath every Christmas, and then invited me to take possession of it when it next arrived (it was then January, mind you, I had worked there for about a week), since he was Jewish. He repeated this offer about every two weeks.

He regularly took medication for allergies in an ostentatious, slurping display which left drool on his chin. He discussed his ingrown toenail to anyone who had the misfortune to pass by, and even removed his shoe and sock to examine and tend to it. Sadly for me, my desk was about 5 feet away from his.

He reamed me out for being five minutes late on ONE occasion, and then two days later showed up twenty minutes late because he was dropping his daughter off at nursery school.

He eavesdropped on my personal phone conversations (which were few, believe me) and then fake-jokingly discussed them with me. This was especially nasty because the call in question had been about a current relationship. I remember standing next to my desk, saying, "You listened to my phone call?"
His reply? "I couldn't help but overhear you!" I had spoken in relatively hushed tones because we worked in an open-plan office which was basically a converted house.

It was not unusual for him to pop up over my shoulder as I worked so he could second-guess everything I was doing, from menu-planning ("You can't have bacon in the hors d'ouvres!") to faxing ("Are you sure you're using the correct codes?"), sometimes even going so far as to take the work away from me and redo it himself. He was the very definition of micro-management.

Finally, in a bid to keep him from looking over my shoulder every five minutes, I asked that my desk be turned around so that I faced out from my cube instead of in. This was a major undertaking, because it had to be approved by the powers that be, and then planned out and a date scheduled (for turning a desk! It had seemed simple enough to me). I suffered some more at Jon's hands, until at last my desk was turned.

Wouldn't you know that the next week I got another (really good) job offer? I can't tell you the soaring feeling of freedom I experienced when I wordlessly placed my resignation letter in Jon's in-tray, two months after starting the job.

*We were encouraged to spend our paltry 45-minute lunch hour (business hours began at 8:45 a.m., too, so they squeeeezed an extra half hour out of us - sneaky, huh?) in the wood-paneled lunch room, so we could "network" with our coworkers. Most of my coworkers were middle-aged and boring, and talked about their boring kids all the time (keep in mind, I was under 30 when I had this job, which may account for my poor attitude, but these people really were pretty lifeless). If I brought my lunch, it was a Big Event, and everyone would ask me what it was and how did I cook it. If I brought a book and tried to read, they would ask me about the book. Was it a good one? Who wrote it? What's it about? Eventually, I gave up and started eating at my desk, becuase I am a misanthrope, apparently. Shocking, no?