I Can’t Read My Boss

I will die unexpectedly.

I consider myself great at empathizing with others. Well, OK, I’m lying. I am actually great at reading between the lines, reading the mood, and then doing whatever the fuck I want anyway because life is too short to care. Also, I might have Asperger’s Syndrome or something.

Side note: I actually asked Google if I suffered from a mental illness, and according to my symptoms, I should be dead since I was 10. Yeah, I’m disappointed about missing that deadline for 21 years and counting, but let’s leave that for another day.

In any case, I’ve always been amazing at knowing when my parents/ teachers/ boyfriends/ managers/ [insert other authority figures here] are mad at me, or happy, or disappointed, or whatever. Not that that has ever stopped me from fucking shit up, but at least I’ve always known where I stood with them. Very useful skill to make up for all the other life skills I haven’t acquired yet.

This was true until I met my current boss.

She doesn’t care about me or anyone else is the best manager I’ve ever had, don’t get me wrong, but it’s extremely hard to know what her mood is like on any given day. She might be happy one second, she might go ballistic the other. It’s like playing Russian roulette, except the gun is fully loaded at all times.

On the other hand, she avoids interacting with us at all costs is such a laissez-faire leader that I don’t necessarily have to risk my life in the battlefield of corporate life everyday. But fuck me if it doesn’t hurt when she hits me with one of her contempt-loaded bullets at point-blank range.

After a year and a few months of dealing with her, I have finally picked on some cues that have saved my life more than once. The number of creases in her forehead make the difference between receiving a gentle answer or the emotional equivalent to being nuked. Obviously the more creases, the higher the danger level.

So I had it. I knew how to stay alive. Everything was alright until the other day when my ass was blasted into oblivion. How could this have happened to me? Her face was glowing, I would have thought she was having the best day ever.

The next day I was a bit more cautious but still got a psychological kick that I felt in my very real balls.

I went to bitch and moan to a colleague because I was too traumatized to go on like this. Turns out that my boss got botox. Oh, my God. How many more days will pass before she regains full movement of her face? How many more victims before she can raise those eyebrows again?

I’m all down for cosmetic procedures, but some of them are just life-threatening. Only exception is, it’s not her life that is in peril, it’s mine.

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