I Never Should Have Taught Her, pt. 02
Some time back I wrote a story called I Never Should Have Taught Her.
I thought it was cute, but some commenters thought I was advocating violence.
Well, you can't please everyone.
I had an idea for a very small story, or maybe just a scene in a story, that would never amount to anything and then I thought, "That could be a sequel to the earlier story."
So, having learned nothing from the first experience, I'm giving it a second try.
Don't be offended.
It's just a story.
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Do you ever wonder what makes people the way they are? I mean, we all have our own unique personalities, our likes and dislikes, and those differences make life interesting. Our sense of humor may not be the same. We dress differently, we dance differently, and we eat different food, but most of us are more alike than we are different. We have the same wants and needs, we have similar goals for our lives, and we feel the same pain when you offend us. Then you meet the ones who are something else entirely, the ones who need to feel superior. My wife's boss was one of those.
I came home from work on a Friday, dead tired from a long week, and found my lovely wife, Elizabeth, sitting at the kitchen table with tears streaming down her cheeks. All thoughts of the long day and hard week vanished as I kneeled beside my bride.
We'd been married for six years at that point. Our son, Henry, was a year old and Beth had gone back to work. We wanted to get Henry to the point where he could feed himself, climb into his own child seat, and be a helpful big brother before we thought about a second child.
Now, there is something you need to know about Elizabeth back in those days. From the day I met her, she had an open heart and an innocent, loving way. It's what first drew me to her. She wanted to enjoy everyone she met, and she nurtured others at every opportunity. However, she had a weakness that was very much a part of that open heart: she had a streak of insecurity. She always looked for the best in others, but at the same time it would set her back if others did not find the best in her. She could take direction and complaints when it came with humor and respect, but she was vulnerable to severe criticism. Don't get me wrong; she was a momma bear when it came to Henry, but a bit too insecure when it came to herself. In the years we've been married, she's gotten better and more secure in herself, but there remains that little nugget of self-doubt.
Money was a bit tight back then, but not a daily struggle, and we never lived for money. Beth had changed jobs shortly after returning to work. She wanted to cut back on her hours to spend more time with Henry, but her previous employer wouldn't allow it. I thought that working part time was a great idea. Beth would make some money and feel some independence, plus she got to spend time with other adults, so I figured it was the best of all worlds.
It wasn't long before she started telling me that she was getting odd vibes from some of the women in the office. It seemed that no one enjoyed working there and that was especially true of the women. No one would speak about it, but something wasn't right. She'd been back at work for about six months when I found her sitting at the table in tears.
"Babe, what's the matter? What happened?"
She just shook her head and between the sobs she said, "I don't want to talk about it."
Now, any man who's been married for any amount of time knows that you don't walk away just because your wife says, "I don't want to talk about it." It either means "I'm mad at you!" or "Be patient. I need to talk about it." I didn't think I'd done anything wrong and neither of us are big drinkers, so I just stood, fixed two glasses of iced tea, squeezed some lemon slices into each, and sat back down next to my wife. She took some sips and slowly got herself under control, somewhat.
"It was terrible. I've never been so humiliated or felt so dirty in all my life!"
"Geez, Beth, what happened?! Just tell me. Whatever it is, we can deal with it."
"I got called into Frank's office today as the rest of the staff was leaving for lunch."
Frank is her new boss. I've only met him once, but if ever a man was condescendingly misogynistic, Frank was it. I was trying to thank him, telling him that Beth working part time was great for us, and he made a crack about "I just hope she appreciates it." What a jackass! That comment has stuck in my craw ever since. I knew that sooner or later Frank was going to be a problem, but I never suspected what kind.
Beth was taking short, sharp breaths in between her words. "He called me in... and when I went to sit... he told me to remain standing. Right away I felt very uncomfortable. He was looking at me like he wanted to yell at me... but there was something more. He was just staring at me... and I started to get the creeps."
I was getting angry just listening to her story, but I tried not to let it show. If it did, she would start worrying about me and what I might do, and then she'd hold back, and before you know it, she'd shut down and I'd be no help to her at all. So, I just held her hand and listened.
"He's staring at me and he says in this very high-handed voice, 'The spread sheet you build for the Jenkins account is full of mistakes. If I'd let it get by, you'd be fired, and I'd be answering questions to the head office.' I didn't know what to say. You know I don't make mistakes often and I always catch them. I proofed that sheet several times, ran sums horizontal and vertical, and it all checked out."
She was shaking her head and I knew she was too upset for this to be the whole story. As I watched, I could see it written on her face: her pain was turning to anger.
"He told me to close the door, so I did. Then he told me, 'You girls just don't take this job seriously, do you?' I swear, my own father never spoke to me that way! He says, 'I try to treat you like professionals, but you just act like a bunch of silly little girls.' You know I take my job very seriously. I thought he knew that, too."
"Beth, I know his type. He's an arrogant, misogynistic ass. You can't let him get to you."
She fought to get control of herself and then she told me what was really going on. "He said, 'If you are going to behave like a little girl, I'll just have to treat you like a little girl. Bend over the desk!'"
"What?!"
"That's what he said. I said, 'No, I'll do no such thing.' Then he says, 'Little girls who can't behave need to be spanked. Now bend over!' Well, I said, 'I will not!' and I stormed out of his office. I got halfway back to my desk and he shouts across the room at me, 'Elizabeth, you get back here this instant!'"
She's shaking and I'm beginning to count all the ways I can kill the SOB. This isn't sexism, it's perversion. That son-of-a-bitch was getting a sexual high off the idea of spanking my wife!
