Profanity Approaching...

My boss needs to eat a box of dicks and die.

If I knew for certain that another job was waiting; if I knew for certain that I could live on my own for long enough to get another job; if the benefits weren't so good and all those other things that people say when they're eating their own guts out but can't summon the courage to just make the fucking leap...if all those things weren't true, I would absolutely, with no question, have quit this job in a firestorm of cursing and accusations today.

I do not remember ever having been so angry--at least, not within the scope of my severely-compromised memory.

The details are too long to relate; short version is: When I tell you I am upset and want to discuss something, and you e-mail me back a message that is, in essence, "You have no right to be upset, because you did this unrelated thing, that unrelated thing, and a third similarly-unrelated thing wrong, and so instead of listening to YOU, instead -I- will be snotty and juvenile and utterly unprofessional, list a group of things YOU need to do, and finish it with the completely compassion-free snide 'Correct??'" ...if that is your response to "I am upset about the way you handled X situation and would like to discuss it on Monday," then you need to eat an entire LARGE bag of dicks and die. And that is exactly what my boss did.

(No, he didn't eat the dicks. I mean, I don't know what his personal life is like--although you can DAMN FINE BET that he doesn't pull bullshit like the above with his WIFE, unless she's a similar flavor of goddamn idiot...anyway, I was going somewhere with this, I think. Oh yeah...eat, die, needs to.)

I had to write FOUR SEPARATE responses to his e-mail before I could calm myself enough to come up with one that was even in the same ZIP CODE as "appropriate and professional". Writing is the one skill I truly believe I have, and I know for a fact that I share a great talent of my father's: the murderously polite letter. My dad, when people pissed him off, would write them letters which would shred the skin off their bodies and leave them saying "thank you" for the shredding. I mean, he was GOOD. I'm not QUITE as good as him--I let emotion get in my way sometimes--but I'm pretty good at it. But today--again, it took four tries before I managed not to cuss him out six ways to Sunday.

Put it this way: this is what I started with. (Anything in brackets should be taken as an improvised flight of verbiage, and not what I sent to him.)

(Reply to Douchebag:)

You know, perhaps this exchange doesn’t show either of us at our best moments. Let me start this over:
I apologize if the tone of that last message seemed brusque; as I wrote that message, I was a)trying to complete the work I had promised, and b) upset because even though I had assured you in no uncertain terms that I would get the work done by the end of the day, you felt it was necessary to add assignments for xxxxxxx to both tickets while we were on the phone discussing it. I felt that you were completely dismissing my assurance that xxxxxxxxxxx would be complete before I left for the day, which they were (with the exception of two details that couldn’t be completed without xxxxxxxxxxxxx.)

And this was the end:

(Incidentally: whatever your intention might have been as you wrote it, the tone of your reply below conveys many things, but “concern” is not among them. As I said, my prior message may have been open to interpretation, so I’ll just assume you were responding to the frustrated and angry tone, for which I again apologize. As for the tickets you mentioned, we can discuss those further on Monday.)

And honestly, I wish I cared more about what he might do to me. I am serious. If they fire me, at least I can get unemployment--and believe me, Human Resources will get an earful. I was so tempted to just leave the whole thing where it stood and just call HR and set up an appointment--God knows I wouldn't be the first, not by a long shot!--but I decided to at least make an attempt to act like a grownup. The rest of the letter was very polite and professional; I used all "I" statements, didn't accuse him of being the troglodytic, male-chauvinist, underevolved ass-munch which I wholeheartedly consider him to be; and managed to finish the letter with "Thank you for taking the time to read this," instead of "If I leave this job before I see you crouching ignominiously over a rain-soaked cardboard box spilling your pitiful worldly possessions onto the concrete as you take the long, shame-faced walk from your office to your car for the last time, I will consider my time on this earth as having been completely wasted, for my ultimate moment of happiness will have eluded me for eternity. Incidentally, kindly go fuck yourself with a chainsaw." In short, I was as polite and as professional as I could be while wishing great personal misfortune and possible bodily harm on a fellow human being--but again: Douche. Bag. Seriously.

If my e-mail doesn't de-escalate the situation--I know, the last bit quoted up there may not be the most de-escalationary thing I've ever written, but it's loads better than the first three drafts would have been, and the main body of the letter was much less poisonous--but if my e-mail doesn't de-escalate this, and if it ends up with Human Resources, I will go in there with all guns blazing, starting with his strange habit of listening to ideas only when they come from men, or rolling his eyes when my one female colleague says anything, and a few other little tidbits besides. He would not have DARED to reply to a man like he replied to me, and it galls me because I am the last person in the world who plays the gender card, ESPECIALLY at work. But I know where this guy grew up, because it's right near where I grew up, and I know the mindset that gets set into many of the males--and in him, it's right up at the surface. So that's where I'll take it first; second, I'll go into his flaws as a manager (not least of which is "You DON'T reply like that to an angry employee, no matter how much you want to.") He was on vacation a couple of weeks ago; it was amazing how much more smoothly things went in his absence. I'd noticed the same thing last year when he was gone, but it was definitely confirmed this year: The Crazy is not the source of most of the problems in our department. I mean, some decisions she makes contribute to the chaos, but for the most part, I think HE is the problem, not The Crazy.

I am now completely exhausted. I have been so angry and so worked-up all day, and now I'm just tired--and when I leave here at 9:30, I have to be back tomorrow at 8 AM. I am going to just pass out the minute my head hits the pillow, I think...and dream of chainsaws.