We all love to hate our bosses. He’s a slouch, she’s a dog of the female variety, he steals my ideas, she always stinks up the car! If there’s one subject that tweens don’t get tired of wagging their chins about, it’s their evil bosses. The success of Google and facebook is oiled by all the young people chatting to each other about the latest abomination that their higher ups have committed.
If the earth gets further contaminated when toxic insults are released into the atmosphere, then I, together with my former boss have a lot to answer for.
Being an intern, I was eager to please. I was an enthusiastic little sponge, just gasping to soak and soak and soak up all the tricks of the trade. I had dreams, hopes and a determination to LOVE all the people at my work place; to take as much work off their hands as possible so that I could feel like I’d earned my tiny salary at the end of the month.
This enthusiasm quickly faded under the grating, chaffing personality of my immediate boss- the Creative Director. Now, they say that the names our parents give us have a bit of a hand in how we turn out as adults. If you’re called Komakech, you’ll probably not be a very happy guy. If you’re called Apenyo, it’s likely that you’ll end up a journalist.
If your name is Asif Amin (ha!), its very possible that one day, you’ll leave India, your beloved home, and fly to Uganda to ruin a certain intern’s life.
This is exactly what happened. After 168 hours of working under this insufferable fellow, I started looking around for cliffs to hurl myself over.
I’m not sure what that company was thinking when they hired such a painful idiot to run such a big show. Maybe they wanted to prove to themselves and their competitors that big is big and not even a creative director straight from mediocre hell could ruin them; I don’t know, but for two whole months, their existence and my life were in this little fellow’s hands.
I’ve heard people swear that they’ll rush into oncoming traffic before willingly working under an Indian boss. This has always confused me. In a country where job hunting is an occupation itself, we can’t afford to be picky, right? Wrong. I know people who would rather sit at the local kafunda all day than get employment in an Indian headed organization. It’s possible that Ugandans are just lazy and don’t like the idea being pressured to deliver quality work. It’s also possible that Indian bosses are less enjoyable to work under. Who knows? Not me. What I will say is that his race had nothing to do with the awfulness of Asif. I’m sure that he’d have been as unpleasant if he’d been a Ugandan/ Somalian/ Mongolian/ whatever.
Our dramatic story died a fast death. I lost it, he lost it, he fired me, he got fired a week later, I died and went to schadenfreude heaven. One, two, three, all together: Muahahahahahaha!
Because I’m oily and glib, I’m going to end with a (pleasant) shout out to my current boss. Hello, good sir. Please give me a promotion soon, yea? Ok! Goodbye!