Starting a new job has made me think about past experiences vis-à-vis the workplace. I’ve already done the naked German work place experience. So, now it’s time to do the Sexually Harassed by a Boss who looked like Barry Gibb post.
I never really knew much about sexual harassment before I actually started to work in the production company owned by Barry Gibb lookalikey. If I had been asked to describe sexual harassment I probably would have thought it would involve a boss forcing himself on you, a bit of flashing or a wee grab of the boobs; something physical like that. But of course sexual harassment takes many forms, and perhaps it’s the non-physical type that can be the most insidious as it’s not exactly provable, tangible or obvious.
For seven years I was one of the targets of Barry. Given that I have seven years' worth of stories, there’s too much to fit into a blog. So, what follows are little vignettes of hideousness ending with the straw that broke the camel’s back and made me take up the offer of teaching at college.
No 1: The Time I Co-Presented a Live Show
So I’m producing a live news magazine show that is broadcast at a major industry Expo. I've everything to prove having only been in the job a month. The co-anchor pulls out two days before the Expo and Barry insists I fill in. As well as script and produce the bloody thing.
I have, at this point, no presenting experience and I’m pretty sure I was total shit. The makeshift “studio” in the Expo is right next to outside doors and it is freeeezing. And like most girls and, I believe, blokes when it gets cold nipples protrude slightly. I am not immune to this. For some reason I am not wearing a jacket whilst on air and Barry is making a fucking nuisance of himself in the control gallery (i.e: I am as useful technically as a chocolate toaster, but I own the company so I will hang out in the gallery doing fuck all in order to impress young ladies)
He spots the nipples on the screen.
His day is made.
I never ever hear the end of how “Misssy gets sexually aroused whilst on camera”. For the next six years he will tell this story over and over again to everybody he ever meets. Usually in my presence.
No2. The Night out on the Day after I tell him I am Pregnant.
As if telling him I was pregnant wasn’t hideous enough:
“Meeester and I are expecting a baby”, I say.
“Fucking hell, I thought you were into your career! This is way out of the blue”
The next night a range of us are out for some kind of work's do. Barry is pissed and is sitting next to me, as he always seems to be on these occasions, no matter how hard I try to engineer otherwise.
The following conversation can be heard by everyone, including those not even in our party.
“Fuck, I can’t believe you’re pregnant”
“Well…it’s true”
“That’s fucking it for you”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re finished. After this you’ll be a mum, you’ll be past it”
“What?”
“You won’t be a shag anymore, you’ll be a frump. Seen it happen a million times”
And so on……..
The Straw that Breaks the Camel’s Back
It is the Christmas Party.
6pm: For the seventh year running Barry has organised the tables so that I am sat next to him. Apparently I have not gone "frumpy" enough to be demoted from the position of “Person I’d Most Like to Abuse my Power Over”.
Oh, and this year’s a special one as Barry’s wife has finally found out he’s a womanising dirty bastard and has filed for divorce. Barry is drinking heavily.
8pm: Dinner is over, I run to find my friends and try and leave Barry’s, no doubt suggestive, conversation behind me.
I am up dancing with one of these friends and all of a sudden I feel a looseness to my dress, which is a spaghetti strap number that ties at the back. Barry has pulled the string. Thankfully, I am in time to catch it and not see the whole ensemble fall to the floor revealing entire naked body except for Bridget Jones pants.
10pm: Barry drinks some more. He is really bloody pissed and is seen in tears in front of other target of sexual harassment declaring how sad he is since wife left him two weeks before their Silver Wedding anniversary. Boo Bloody Hoo!
11pm: I am sitting with a bunch of my work mates when Barry stumbles over and tries to hold court. Everyone can’t tell him to fuck off since he’s the boss. We all humour him except for Delightful New Start who loudly, innocently and drunkenly asks, “Who’s the wanker?”
I practically clap with delight. Delightful New Start is now my favourite person.
11.30pm: I am thinking of going home. A taxi is called, but it will be twenty minutes so I rejoin group. Barry reappears. He is now talking to Delightful New Start who is more than a little pissed, as he has just stopped being a student and can’t believe his luck at the free bar.
This is the part of the conversation I have no option but to hear,
“…except for Misssy. Hey Misssy, I bet you’re one” shouts Barry across the table, gate-crashing into any conversation I might have been having with someone a lot nicer.
“Bet I’m what?”
“A screamer.”
“What?”
“A screamer, a moaner. C’mon you are, aren’t you?” *************************************
I wake up next morning and promptly write out my notice.
12 comments:
I hope your resignation letter had the words "boorish oaf" in it. What kind of woman sleeps with such a pustule?
Oh crikey, he didn't also look like a toad, did he? (I can't think what Barry Gibb looks like, so that's no help at all.)
Yeah, they're out there, aren't they? Gag!
I lost a good job because of a manager like that. 3 weeks after finishing college I got an interview for a land development consultancy firm. I didn't expect to get the job but I went along for the interview experience. I couldn't believe my luck when the person doing the interview was really nice and put me at ease straight away. It was the strangest interview I've being involved in, it didn't seem like an interview at all it was more like a long chat but at the end of it I walked out with a job.
I was excited all weekend because I the person that had interviewed me for the job was going to be my manager, we already seemed to have built up this good rapport together and she emphasised how much I was going to be involved in the creative side of the department. But when I went in on the Monday morning I discovered the place had more managers than Marks & Spencers had customers and got taken under the wing of another manager instead. The work wasn't the work that I had been promised, I was good at it but I could do it with my eyes shut and quite frankly it bored me to tears. But being new I kept my mouth shut and thought about the money, it was the same good money that I was offered at the interview so I assumed this was just the work that I had to do initially while I settled in. After a 6 week probationary period I was due to get even more money and I thought this would be the time I would be moved onto the creative work. I had it all planned out, this money was going to clear my student debts within 3 - 4 months and probably after 12 I'd have enough to buy my own house. I didn't last that long.
The manager I was working under was a complete sleaze ball around women. I'm generally a quiet person by nature, especially so in a new environment but after 5 weeks I couldn't watch or listen to his sleaze any longer. Everytime I saw him in action a shudder would go up my spine and his behaviour wasn't even aimed at me but still he gave me the creeps anyway. Probably if my job was a bit more demanding I could have ignored him easier but unfortunately it gave me too much time to take in the office goings on. After a while, under the pretence of not having enough work to do, I went over to his desk and proceeded to tell him how his behaviour was out of order and had no place in a pub nevermind an office. I should have stopped there but with the phones ringing and me having to speak over the top I must have got myself riled up. I really tore into him and went on an on about how his position came with responsibilities. I didn't stop until I looked up and saw the false wall of the petition. This was when I remembered that the office was open plan and I realised not only had I said too much but the reason the phones were ringing was because everyone was listening to every word I had just said. Before he had a chance to say anything I resigned, lifted my jacket and walked out.
2 weeks later he was transferred out of the Glasgow office to Edinburgh and I got a phonecall from the person who I had had my interview with, offering me the original job back. Why I turned it down I do not know. I made more money in that job than I do now, 10 years on. I lied through my teeth by saying I had another job when I just didn't want to go back to the place where I had a fit. I should have just swallowed my pride and went back but I was young and very foolish back then and dammit I didn't mean to write a post as a comment.
Gorilla: It's very hard to say the real reason you are leaving a job in your resignation letter given that you need a reference. If anyone ever has the guts to take the sleazebag to court over sexual harrassment I will gladly give evidence. I wasn't brave enough at the time, and as I say, the way he did things was very sneaky.
Cat: Barry Gibb- tall, bearded, thin build, falsetto voice. If anyone offers you a job meeting that description, run away. ( My ex- boss didn't have a falsetto voice by the way...that's the real Barry Gibb of the Bee Gees). I pray he meets with his just deserts.
Scotsman- You are a flipping hero. Unfortunately this guy owned to company and nothing could be done. Total and utter abuse of power. Many of the other managers were nearly as bad.
Fair play to the lads in the gallery- they told me of his nipple antics asap so that I could wear a jacket (or boilersuit) the next day.
I was no hero I was just a fool. It was only while I was sitting on the train that I thought of all the things I could have should have done instead. Like keeping my mouth shut. Perhaps writing an anonymous letter to his superior or some other piece of action that didn't involve me sitting in a near empty train carriage in the middle of the afternoon.
What an Asshole!
Sorry you have to put up with that!
Men are usually pigs, but there is a time and a place...
And work isn't one of them.
Cat - Barry Gibb looks like Jesus.
Where was I?
In Manchester on some sort of 'how to win friends and influence people' course, courtesy of the work. One of the young ladies was ranting on about her boss, who, for example, would deliberately drop things on the floor by his desk and then ask her to pick them up. And leer while she bent over, of course.
Knowing what department she worked in, I suggested that she raise the matter with the only senior manager in that department whose name I knew offhand.
"That's the bastard I'm talking about!"
Sigh...
I just stumbled across this blog today, it's the most enjoyable I've read in a long while!
Mr Farty- It's an epidemic! Bring back bromide in the tea, I say!
Craig- Well, thank you sir. I'm glad you like it. Try the Celebrity Litigation blog also, it's a hoot!
In undergrad, I worked at a convenience store for a while. My boss liked to discuss the probable pleasures of handcuffing me with every cop that came in. He was a real pleasure to work with!
Mama- It seems the world is full of horrific cretins. I suggest a series of laws which allow a woman to kick a guy in the nuts without penalty if he makes sexist/unwanted sexual remarks.
I reckon it would be a winner with Hillary certainly!
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