Let's Vent Together

Okay everybody, I need your help. If you haven't figured out how to use the comments yet, now is the time. If you won't comment, email me. jsfuller77 at gmail dot com.

Someone very dear to me is having a review, of sorts, at their job. This person has a Bad Boss. Previous reviews have not gone well. I'm not going to name names or give specifics, because this post isn't about my friend. It's about you.

Everyone's had a Bad Boss. Everyone's got a Bad Boss Story. Let's hear them. I'll get us started.

Unfortunately, I have a great boss right now. I'll need to reach back into the past for my contribution. Especially since my current boss is a regular reader.

In college I delivered pizza for a non-chain pizzeria. It was a great job; I loved it. I did it all four years. Did I mention I finished college in only four years?

At said pizzeria, which I'll call OPP for short, I had two bosses: The Owner and The Manager. For the sake of this post, I'll call them George and Neil, respectively. Because those certainly aren't their real names. Nope.

Anyway, George was a young, brash, cocky, likable...

Alright, let's just say it. He was Greek. He was very Greek. My Big Fat Greek Wedding? That kind of Greek.

So, brash and cocky in the likable way. This Bad Boss story won't really be about him; I can't think of anything too terrible that he did. I just wanted to tell you about him because it makes me laugh.

But I think I'll tell you about Neil. Neil was a jerk. I wish there was a nicer way to say it...wait, that actually is the nicer way to say it. He tried to be a good guy when he was in a good mood, but it didn't really work, and that wasn't very often anyway. He yelled, he threw things, he went off on power trips bossing us around. If he didn't like you he made you peel onions all night. When I almost sliced my finger off with the meat slicer one night, he said, "Let's get you [ie. your money] counted; you can bleed at home." I can't prove it, but I suspect he kicked puppies.

But as Bad a Boss as he was during working hours, the worst of it was that he tried to hang out with us after quitting time. Sometimes we'd play poker or go for drinks and he always came along. What could we do, say he wasn't invited? On these occasions he tell endless stories which illustrated how much smarter he was than other people he happened to come into contact with in his daily life. You can imagine how riveted we were.

The best Neil story I can recall was a time when the poker game was actually at his place. Cards were being dealt, sworn at, and laid down, small amounts of money were changing hands, all was right with the world. Then on one hand, Billy lays down three of a kind and Neil lays down two pair. Billy whoops victoriously and reaches for the pot, which was significant as far as our stakes went. Neil erupted in fury.

"Two Pair beats Three of a Kind! Two Pair beats Three of a Kind!"

The entire table stared at him, dumbfounded. Obviously, he had temporarily lost his mind. Several voices rose, trying to remind Neil of this basic rule of poker, that Three of a Kind is inarguably a winning hand against Two Pair. Neil was having none of it. "We've always played Two Pair beats Three of a Kind!"

Not a soul could remember such an occasion occurring in the past.

Someone offered to fetch a rule book. This was a little bit before wikipedia.

"Fuck the rule book! House rules! In my house, Two Pair beats Three of a Kind! House rules!"

Half-articulated arguments were made about the sort of things to which house rules could extend...betting limits, certainly; order of deal; which games were in play or not; the amount of table talk which was allowed...but which hands beat which? This was a thing enshrined in the lofty annals of pokerdom; this was carved in stone; this could not be questioned.

Suffice to say, Neil kept that pot. It was the last hand of the night, and the last hand played in Neil's house by any of us.

So what's your Bad Boss Story?