Today In My Hippocampus ...

The hippocampus is a portion of the brain that is integral to memory. And today ... December 8 ... is a day that sticks out in my recollections like a sore thumb. Actually, it's more like a sore thumb being forced into my eye while someone kicks me in the balls!

Years ago, on this date, I started a new job and I was probably as professionally excited as I have ever been. The interviewing process had been grueling ... four separate meetings and one two-hour aptitude testing session. But I had met the lady who would be my immediate supervisor early in the process and she was wonderful. Funny ... experienced ... creative ... warm ... logical ... innovative ... and a firm believer in mentoring. When I got the call offering me the position, she sounded so pleased. I almost leaped through the phone to kiss her.

So shiny like a new penny, I arrived 20 minutes early for my first day. I wanted to dig in and make a great impression. I was told by a dowdy assistant that "the boss" decided to stay home until after lunch, but she left me instructions. I was handed a crisp, very light file folder. Inside was a single purple lined Post-It ... "count paperclips or something ... just stay out of trouble." I still have it!!

So after more than four hours of doing basically nothing, the "supervisor of my dreams" rolls through the door like a thunderhead ... pure sound, lightning, and fury. She fired off demands and threw her coat onto a rack. She missed and the assistant scrambled to place it appropriately. This woman I admired didn't even look the same ... she was all harsh planes and somber colors. Any hope of co-existing, let along enjoying my work, was dashed by 4 p.m.

So for five months I toiled under this dictator with a vagina. And every day just gor incrementally worse. She barked when she spoke and never offered a single constructive criticism. She devalued my opinions and previous experience, making me always "check" myself and crippling my desire to offer input on team projects. She was fickle and mean-spirited and constantly late for appointments. And somehow ... in her way of thinking ... her tardiness was always "explained" through the incompetence of myself or another departmental staff member.

One day, the she-devil, two other employees, and I were heading across the parking lot to our cars to attend an off-site meeting. About halfway to our vehicles, the boss stopped and announced that her husband had been transferred to Kansas City and she would be leaving in three weeks.

I was stunned. Shocked. Relieved. "Happy" does not say enough.

Apparently, I had fell into a pleasant stupor ... because suddenly a co-worker was shaking me. "Hey ... what's wrong?" she said, looking very concerned. "You just stopped moving and glazed over. What can I do to help?"

I just smiled. "Back up," I prompted, "I need room for a cartwheel!!"

POINT OF RANT: In a positive way, bad bosses have made me a better supervisor.

Today At My Boss' House ...

Now I bet none of you (I hope) have ever been in this situation: you and five co-workers are in the den of your boss' home for a planning retreat, you all are wearing casual clothes while you toss around project ideas and budget concerns for the next six months, and your boss' horse-sized Great Dane is, for all intents and purposes, performing oral sex on you.

When we arrived at Lady Boss' house in a caravan of four cars, it was 9:30 a.m. The morning was crisp with snow flurries dancing about. As the group exited the vehicles, we were greeted by a vague shape coming out of the snow from the side yard of a lovely Victorian home. The wintery mirage took on more definition and I just assumed a horse had gotten loose from the nearby barn. No, it was Barney, a male Great Dane of pony proportions.

Our boss shouted hello and the assemblage was quickly ushered into the house, asked to remove our shoes, and led into a cozy room with fireplace ablaze. After coffee and sodas were passed around, the small group set to work. One co-worker set up an idea easel. Others took out notebooks or scratchpaper. Barney focused on working my crotch.

I don't care for dogs. They're noisy, bothersome, and needy ... at least the one's I've met. But this one was making me "feel funny" with its snorts and aggressive snout-work. And the scene was causing my co-workers to giggle at my expense. And the boss didn't bat and eye.

Now Lady Boss loves her Barney, dotes on him even more than her two children. She family photos on her desk at work that prominently feature the brute. She often tells "hilarious" tales of Barney and his misadventures. But today, we're in Barney's world and he seems to make the rules.

After a bit, she makes excuses for his geisha-esque manners like "he's just getting acquainted" (to which I think "do I leave $20 on the dresser when he's finished"), or she suggests "just push him away" (to which I whisper to one co-worker "like I haven't been doing that since I sat down"). But the foreplay continued.

Here's my big question ... or complaint ... shouldn't my boss be taking the lead in stopping her pet's fellatiating actions? Is it really my responsibility, as a guest in her home, to curb the crotch sniffing beast?

And the day went on. Barney did "head" off and get into something else, but that something else was a female co-worker's purse from which he tried to eat a lipstick. Then the lummox knocked over a Pepsi. And I can't decently describe the amount of drool that damn dog produced. Those slimy jowls spewed on chair arms, pant legs, and swatches of carpet. The room we were in definitely had a lived-in look, but I never would have expected canine saliva to be the biggest decorating accent.

We weren't released from "Great Dane Does Dallas" until shortly after 2 p.m. There were other advances on my crotch, a few more spilling incidents, and a number of "surprise appearances" by Barney's bared-for-the-world-to-see weiner. The only respite was that Barney was put in another room for about 30 minutes during lunch. And then only because he kept trying to pull the boss' plate off of the table.

I had driven separately. I wanted so badly to be home ... to take a shower ... to visit a therapist ... to adopt a cat.

POINT OF RANT: Dogs are not people ... learn to live with it!!