So My Boss Gave Notice…

…and I am not a happy camper.

I had foolishly thought I would just be able to coast through the next four months relatively unscathed until retirement, but NO!

Phil has been with our department for the last two years, acting as a buffer between the team and the clueless, out-of-touch, micro-managing middle manager who came on board post-COVID lockdown after our previous leader had given up dealing with her bullshit and attempted to move on.

My previous supervisor was outstanding. He understood the strengths and weaknesses of everyone under him and set expectations accordingly.  I would go so far as to say he was probably one of the best bosses I've had over the course of my questionable career.

But—being someone who stands up for himself and his team—he butted heads one too many times with Cuntula—as she's come to be known amongst ourselves—and had set in motion to transfer to another department. In anticipation of his departure, Phil was hired to take on the role.

Phil has accomplished a lot in the two years he's been here (he's actually been with the organization more than decade), and while his relationship has been anything but congenial with Cuntula, he did somehow build upon Derek's initial work in getting her to back off from attempting to directly manage us ("This is my team, not yours") and got her to dial-back the borderline psychotic need to control every aspect of what went on in the department. Unfortunately, a lot of that obsessive behavior was redirected onto Phil, and while I've known for some time that he's been stressed and unhappy in his decision to join our team, I didn't realize just how bad things were he was until he came up to me yesterday and just said, "I'm sorry."

First I thought I had done something wrong (god knows my attitude has been shit lately and I expect to get called out on it at any time), but when he realized the look on my face must've reflected that, he added, "I've given notice. My last day is the 30th."

On one hand, I'm happy for him. He's moving to a different department (not surprisingly, the one Derek attempted to transfer into) and it's technically a promotion. It's going to afford him the opportunity to work on things he'd only dreamed of being involved in, not to mention a big fat pay increase. On the other hand, after congratulating him, I looked at him and said, "Fuck you. Fuck you sideways in traffic!" He, of course, took that in the spirit in which it was given and apologized again.

What does this mean in the short term? Well, we're both hoping that Derek will volunteer to step back into the role. If not, Chris (my colleague) and I will be directly reporting to the bitch until Phil's replacement is hired.

Since they still haven't hired a replacement for my colleague who retired in April, the chances of that happening before I retire at the end of January are probably nonexistent.

And in light of her obsessive-compulsive need to have at least one body in the office (because it doesn't look good if someone comes by looking for assistance and there's no one there—even though every request is supposed to go through the Help Desk with a corresponding ticket generated—I fear that both Chris and I are going to be called upon to be back in the office full time if one or the other of us is on vacation or in training. Right now our respective in-office schedules mesh really well, so we're good as far as normal in-office coverage is concerned—although it's obviously better to have two guys on site instead of just one, but we're both hoping as long as one of us is there, that will be sufficient.

We're also hoping that because Derek is already in office nearly every day as it is—and is still a part of our team albeit in a totally different role—his presence and willingness to help out in person when remote won't do will preclude the need to fully return to the office.

You can't afford to quit. You can't afford to walk out. You might've been able to pull that off when you were younger, but not now. You have to wait for your retirement. 

Needless to say, my mood has been foul for the past twenty-four hours.