Work – Voenix Rising

Well, maybe not like, but at least tolerate. Even through the lockdown I was a diligent, engaged employee. Showered, dressed, and clocking in promptly at my usual start time, even notifying the team by text when I was taking a break or going to lunch.

But then we were all called back into the office 3 days a week under a new overseer we not-so-affectionately refer to as Cuntula. I remember our first skip-level one-on-one where I said I wished that we could all go back to full time WFH—and she countered that if it were up to her, EVERYONE would be back in the office five days a week—and we should be grateful for the two days we are allowed to WFH. And that was it. And that was when I stopped giving her the benefit of the doubt. We would never see eye to eye on anything…

She quickly turned into a micromanager—because she didn't have a clue what she was doing—stepping over our immediate supervisor to assign tasks or critique our work. Thankfully, our supervisor (who is a great guy, by the way) stood up to her and made it clear we were his team to manage how he saw fit. Of course she didn't like that, and while she backed off, there was a lot going on behind the scenes for the next year that culminated with my supervisor putting in his notice (pending a positive background check and transfer to a different division) a few months ago.

About a year ago, we acquired a new senior tech who transferred in from a different division. I worked under him when I first came on here, and had utmost respect for him and the way he conducted business. He's proven time and again that he was the best choice for the role, but when he was hired, there was the buffer of our aforementioned supervisor between him and Cuntula. Not so any more. She's micromanaging him, and they've butted heads on numerous occasions now, so while I respect and admire what he's taken on—more than he was anticipating when he accepted the position, I'm sure—I'm positive his time here is numbered as well.

So in short, Cuntula has poisoned the department. I know the majority of her theatrics are because she's a middle manager and therefore has to constantly justify her job, but I still can't seem to muster any sympathy for the bitch. I'm not quite to the point where I was with DISH (Do I go to work, or do I drive my car off a freeway overpass on my way?), but my stress level is where there are days I come home, eat dinner, and then just pass out for the remainder of the evening until Ben wakes me up to go to bed.