In September or October of 2013, I averred to my Chief that I couldn’t be counted on to work at the same company if I did not work in IT or for him.
It was a significantly political statement. I knew it, meant it. It was all somewhat topsy.
And then, the politics went pretty quiet. But it’s corporate, these things ebb and flow. In the midst of some such flows, I lost my project management crew mate. The last six months, projects have been largely me and the Chief.
Then last week it’s all gone pete tong. Suddenly, Tuesday afternoon the Chief was leaving; was gone.
I found I reported – not to anybody in IT – but to a person who I could not find less appealing in intellect or posture. Someone I could not have less respect for as a project manager (she had zero experience as such prior to coming aboard to manage the C.O.O’s PMO); a person who knew I was aware of how much she viscerally and actively despised the C.I.O. and those who reported to him.
A person who takes personally things that have never happened to her personally. Takes them very personally.
I’m ranting a bit. Fuck it. This is my blog. And right now, I report to no one.
Anyway. I digress.
In keeping with my fondness for naval themes, I’ll call her The S.S.PMO.
The S.S.PMO was painfully-obviously uncomfortable in the first meeting she took with me as her report. She wasn’t at all in charge. It was a fantastic act. She looked stoned; stunned-stupid.
She’s not stupid. She’s not that bright, either. She is a beaten dog. She can’t dare twitch her ears or the end of her tail without the express permission of her very-endeared C.O.O.
I did not fully understand this until the next morning. I received an eviscerating message from the S.S.PMO as I had not sought her approval for an email I sent to some department somebody relating something she had declared (declared!) was not a priority. Apparently, I mistakenly thought I could send an un-approved-of-email like some – FUCK THIS ALREADY.
As stated in my letter of resignation: I have more than a decade of experience in IT Project Management. I’m fully qualified to write and send email.
Really, I have no desire to professionally survive essentially the same scenario as my second marriage. I do not care to walk on eggshells. I do not want to second-guess everything I know.
I know a fair bit.
I know this: that C.O.O. and her Gaslight Crew can get fucked. That’s it. It’s terribly vulgar, and I mean it, too. It’s a really good mouthfeel phrase: “Get. Fucked.”
So, yes, you read that correctly: I resigned. Late Friday evening, I had sobbed and vomited enough in the previous 3 days to realize that I wasn’t OK and it wasn’t about how thick is my skin. This was not going to work out.
The body remembers, and mine was hell-bent on making it known. I didn’t care or need to wait around for it to be plainer. Nor for anybody else’s validation.
Understandably, this might seem something like blindly abiding my chief. It might seem like I left a stable (however moderately-paying) gig because of that loyalty.
The Chief will always have my respect, admiration, affection; I’m happy for this. But the politics be damned: I saved myself from the morass for myself.
My love is the Pax Oceana. My heart belongs to the City of Angels.
My loyalty is to the girl I sleep with every night. The lady with whom I wake up, the reason I make and eat good food and drink plenty of water. The best homemaker, to whom I’ve pledged to be the best sugardaddy.
As ferocious as it might be, such loyalty serves me first. It’s no good to anyone else otherwise.