Fresh out of college I took a job at a marketing firm on Madison Avenue, making terrible wages and working for a terrible boss. Her name was Sabrina Sexton, and for a while I thought she was actually insane.
It wasn't that she worked us hard, if you're young and ambitious enough to go to NYC for a job you expect to be worked hard. Instead, at times she seemed schizophrenic. She'd heap praise on me in the morning and the scream at me in the afternoon. She'd tell me what she wanted, and after I had followed her instructions to the letter, she'd threaten to fire me for wasting the company's time on bullshit.
Of course employees talk, and we certainly talked about her. When I speculated she was literally crazy, someone else suggested she had a problem with amphetamines. In all cases we weren't sure how she managed to first get her job, and then keep it.
Some of us expected she must have slept with the big boss. Sabrina was smoking hot, even for a woman 15 years older than me. Single and no kids so she spent a good deal of her free time at the gym. At least, when she talked about off time, that's what she talked about.
She was average height, about 5'5" with a fit body that had just the right slope from her waist to her hips. Her hair was chestnut brown, but it was difficult to tell how long it was because she always wore it up revealing an elegant neck. Her glasses gave her a bit of that sexy librarian vibe.
Still despite being meticulously put together, she seemed a mess. She had talent for the marketing world, there was no doubt about that, but she was not a leader. We succeeded as a team in spite of her.
One day, in the middle of a preparing for a big client presentation, I had had computer troubles and the IT guys had screwed around and robbed me of a few hours of my life. So when everyone else was leaving for home, I was stuck finishing my end of the product.
My friend Charlie, a well-manicured Latino who I'm pretty sure was gay patted me on the back and smiled, "You sure you want to be alone here with the bitch? Who knows what she'll do with only one person to scream at." Sabrina was still in her office, a glass encased box on one side of the room, but she kept the blinds drawn.
I laughed and said, "I'm gonna have to brave it, Charlie. If you don't see me tomorrow tell my parents I love them." He laughed as he made his way to the elevator.
Sure enough about 20 minutes later, Sabrina's door opened and she looked around the office, confused at its emptiness. When her eyes fixed on me, they narrowed and she barked, "You. Get in here. Now."
"Great," I thought to myself, "Thanks IT." But I dutifully made my way toward her office and walked in.
"Close the door," she ordered. When I started to say there was no need since we were alone she cut me off and through gritted teeth she said, "A simple goddamn order and you can't even do that without 50 fucking complaints."
I rolled my eyes to myself as I shut the door. Trying to maintain a pleasant disposition in order to end this meeting quickly I said, "So Ms. Sexton, what can I do for you?"
"For starters you can redo all of the copy on the recent campaign," she said tossing a file of paper work at me.
"Um," I started taken aback, "I'm a graphic artist, not a copy writer."
"So you don't know how to write fucking English?" She insulted me. "You went to college, didn't you? Surely your degree made you take writing classes."
I didn't really know what to say, "Well, I could try, but I still have to finish the graphics we decided on, and that will take me a while."
"Jesus Christ," she muttered, "Useless, all of you are fucking useless."
It was the end of a long day so I said the first thing that came to mind, "So why don't you just do it yourself then?" It was part frustration, part serious suggestion. I mean, what did she do all day?
She looked a little stunned. "You know what," she said, "Just go home, and don't bother coming back tomorrow."
I shouted, "Are you fucking kidding me?" I needed this job, but I wasn't about to beg for it. "You know what Sabrina, you don't fucking deserve me or anyone else who works in this office."
Her eyes went wide and then narrowed in anger, but I continued, "If you look good to the big boss it's only because people like me work hard despite your so-called leadership. You soak up the praise and the paycheck, but don't deserve shit. You're like a spoiled child and you should be treated like one."
She laughed at me and mocked, "What does that mean? Are you going to spank me?"
The frustration with her and this job took over as I stepped to her, my 6'0 frame dwarfing her own. I all but snarled, "Someone should."
"Like you're man enough," she said sarcastically, but there was a kind of wide-eyed hunger inspired by my aggression. I took her roughly by the back of the neck and pushed her forward over her desk. She whimpered at the rough treatment as I made her bend at the waist.
