This is the Fun Part

It's Round 3 ya'll and this one is going to go into overtime. Who can be the most professionally perfect pain in the ass, me or Bossman?

Today, he sent me an email stating that effective immediately, there would be no more overtime. I'm sure this was in direct response to my pointing out in my statements that his accusations that I don't do anything for the first hour every day didn't make much sense when he was telling me daily to "take all the overtime you need." Oh yeah and, "If anyone has a problem with it, tell them to see me," when the GM had said "no overtime."

His left butt cheek probably still has the GM's teeth marks on it from that butt chewing.

Next, he sent an email informing me that I was free to take my vacation time whenever I wanted, he just asked that I work around the days he would be out of the office on company business. I'm pretty sure he got in trouble over telling me not to take any days off, corporate frowns upon letting too much vacation build up,  leaving the offices practically vacant the whole month of December while everyone scrambles to get theirs in.

All well and good, right?

But then? Then he brought out the big guns.

During our first meeting, Bossman decided I needed to follow this outline of job duties that he found buried in his desk over four years ago when he moved here. He didn't know who wrote it, where it came from, nor had he shown it to me, but golly gee willackers it sure did seem like a grand idea all of sudden.

Great idea. The outline was written when there were three people in the sales department. All the procedures have changed, there really wasn't much of anything still relevant to the job at all.

Of course, being a vindictive cube dweller hell bent on vengeance,  I had to bring this to the attention of the GM. He instructed Bossman to update the outline who grabbed his chance to get even and ran with it.

He knew how to hit me where it would hurt the most.

No music unless it is played so low that it can not be detected from the hallway (I'm in a cubey. IN THE HALLWAY.) The music must not be deemed "disturbing." Bossman will decide if it's disturbing or not. I have to depend on the judgement of a man who only listens to opera and classical to determine what is disturbing.

No earbuds. No cellphones. No texting.

I know he'll be sitting at his desk waiting for me to turn on some tunes just so he can make me turn it off, so instead, I sit in total silence. Keep in mind, I may speak to Lulu or Thelma, as long as it's work related, but I can't engage in conversation. It's so quiet in the sales department now, that I've dubbed it "The Morgue."

As for the cellphone, I just wait until my scheduled 10 minute breaks. And texting? Well there's still one place Bossman can't follow or watch me. One last oasis of solitude. That's right. I have become a toilet texter.

It's not that big a deal. The only text messages I send are usually to The Amazon to remind her to clean out the cat's litter box or buy bread. But now I gotta hide in the bathroom to do it.

Aside from Bossman strutting around like a sex starved rooster and my silently smiling in response to office conversations like a monastery reject, Lulu has given new meaning to the term "stink eye" whenever she sees Bossman. She is not pleased that she was specifically named in my reprimand.

I have a feeling this is going to get worse before it gets better. I feel like me and Bossman are in a battle of wills, but I think I've got the upper hand. I know that by trying to bully me, he got himself into alot of trouble with the GM, with the legal department and with the CEO.

Now I walk the line and I wait.

This ain't my first pony show ya'll. I got this.

We've got this Humpday in the can. Hang in there. We'll make it.

Later Taters!