Bosses, we’ve all got’em (except for you lousy freelancers). And even though having to do what someone tells you to do every day makes it seem like all the days are their days, National Boss Day is a real thing. Which, hey, everyone needs a little love here and there, but given that we live in a country where labor is routinely crushed by management, why the hell do we need a day devoted to how much we love our bosses? So instead, let’s all share some stories of nightmare bosses. Our own Sue Smith leads things off with a tale of UES nannying going wrong.
Four years ago, a rich housewife from my improv class asked me to nanny for her. She was the kind of woman who wore skirts and heels to perform, even though it demanded rolling around on the ground. She lived in an $11 million house (she told me) on the Upper East Side with her husband and their two lovely, honestly lovely, children. She had a staff of two to three every day (nanny, chef, housekeeper), even though she didn’t work. She told me once that her husband wouldn’t consent to having children unless they had full-time help. Once, she asked me to pack a bag for her daughter to go to the Hamptons. I did it and asked her to look it over to make sure I’d packed the proper items. The following Monday she complained that I had only packed her sweatpants. The house was pristine but she was a neurotic bi-polar woman with a drinking problem. Her son poked me in the eye with a toothbrush and scratched my cornea. I had no idea that she had a problem with the way I was doing things until a Saturday morning when the six year-old sat on my lap, told me her mom didn’t really like me, and said that my services were no longer needed.
Hachi machi. Can any of you beat that?
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Woah, no one better be bad mouthing JK Simmons