A manager rushed into the break room, then pulled me aside and asked about some CRM shoe-in we needed “by the end of the day”. Obviously, this guy was out of the loop on the entire team’s schedule. Typical for a wagie wrangler… Now, I will let YOU know that I don’t drink coffee. However, most wagies do and since it was early in the morning… I had an excuse. I had to let him know.
“No.” I said. The 2 letter word hitting him like a bullet hits the chest of an inner city black boy surrounded by corrupt cops. “Not possible.” I stared in his eyes, watching “the man’s” demeanor turn from confidence to desperation. He stumbled: “But, but c-suite sai-. if you don’t do-”. I stood my ground, “Look. Do I have to explain this to you? I haven’t even had my coffee yet.” My hands trembled from adrenaline as I placed my glasses on. Break over.
“Timothy, out. Jessica, go outside.” I wasn’t about to let the interns witness what was about to happen. Then I started…
“Last Friday you told us to build the Atlantis service. The entire team dove down into the depths of the abyss to find it. Build it. It’s a house now. You have this big beautiful house. A mansion even… You want the mansion to keep its value and stay warm and comfy. So what do you do? You clean it. Take out the trash. Fix it when something goes wrong. Over the weekend your mansion faced some wear and tear. The plumber was overworked while routing the pipes and now shet is leaking out. What’s your next move? You have a house right? What, are you a poor?” The battle commenced.
The manager responded in a typical wagie fashion, “Yes! I have a house. I’m no- I’m not poooooooor.” He looked around after denying the insinuations. People were starting to surround us. I continued. “So do you not clean your house then? You just leave trash bags full of shet all over? You never wipe down the very surface that you eat on? You perform whippets with poop particles? Is that what you do?!” The manager was about to become the managed.
One of the interns (outside of the break room) started to weep. Everyone else in the break room was surrounding us now. Unfortunately, the manager was cornered; his back against the very wall he pulled us aside to at the start of the conversation. What a blunder… All he could do was shake his head (hands on forehead) murmuring “no. no. no!” Check. Mate in one. It was time to finish what we started.
“You build a house in a haphazard manner on Friday. You had a huge party. Now it’s all dirty. The water looks like the Ganges River on its worst days. Yet you want to build a tub to bathe in the mess. Is that what you want? All this dirt? ARE YOU A DIRTY FUCKER?” The manager cried out on the verge of tears, “NO! I’M NOT A DIRTY FUCK.” “Exactly…” I turned around and stared at the cowagies witnessing it all, then started to walk out of the room.
“Mondays are for maintenance.”