Hurt
When I was a very young woman, older teens, I went and found a job that was far removed from what my parents wanted me to do. They wanted me to go to Europe and model or go to New York and design clothes... and I wanted to stay in my town and live this part of my life here. I met up with an old family friend. A guy I knew from my days working at my dad's store and he used to come in and say things about my hair, my clothes. Always admiringly. I asked him for a job and he laughed. He worked for his father in law, and they were in the screen printing business. I signed on as a printer and it was espeically filthy work, but very fun. My folks weren't thrilled, since they weren't thrilled with anything I chose to do... but they could see I was happy.
Dad would say how he would see me in town walking into a store with my back so straight and ink all over my hands. He could see I was proud. And I adored and admired my funny boss and he would join us during printing, and we would all have lunch together. He never came onto me, but seemed to really let me be myself.
One afternoon we had a rush delivery and my friend Dave and I were the ones to do it because we were both so fast and sort of perfectionists. So David found the t-shirts, I burned the art on the screens and we got to work, 400 shirts all by hand. We had a blast and finished in the evening with the music blaring and the dryer humming. It was like an intense cocaine rush. Better than a party and we were exhausted, amazingly filthy and excited.
The next morning I came in and my boss was waiting for me. He was glaring at me and I was really confused. He told me that the t-shirts we used were the wrong ones and that we printed 400 shirts with the wrong print. I was certain David had checked the work order several times while I did the artwork. My boss told me that it was my fault because I should have been checking all of it. It was my responsibility and David was not to blame. Then, he began to write me up and looked up at me and said, "And I called your dad and told him." I was devastated and humiliated. I couldn't stop crying.
I called Pop and told him I was sorry to disappoint him. He was too, really disappointed.
The worst thing that happened to me though was the loathing that oozed into my heart for this man who I had admired. I couldn't believe how he had treated me, and that he had blamed me in front of my father. I didn't even have the heart to try to explain myself.
I quit the next day.
Years and years I carried this feeling for my boss. I would think of it on occasion be filled with hatred and relive the embarrasment and humilation of what I thought was my mistake.
One day, it was strange, I was living in this apartment and from around the corner came my old friend David. He was hauling something, I don't remember, but he was one of the maintenance guys of the complex. We talked for a long time and it came around to the t-shirt situation. He said to me, "Do you know that it turned out that Rob (our boss) had written that order up wrong?"
I was flabbergasted. Dang, I've always wanted to use that word. But I was.
And later, what I uncovered about myself was that the hate for him was now gone, and in it's place a certain compassion. And not only that, but what I carried all those years, that loathing, I learned was not anything to do with him, except in a removed way. It had to do with me and trying to live up to someone else's expectations and never getting there. I hated me. And I hated me for being imperfect. And how it turned out is I had done a perfect job with his imperfect work order and he had hidden behind me, gave the misake to me, because he was afraid of looking bad in front of his father-in-law.
What a horrible situation, when all it was was a typo. Just a typo. Something so simple causing years of deep pain, and it was then that I released myself from loathing forever. I don't even feel pity or compassion for him anymore, not at all ~ That would make me seem somehow above him, and everyone makes mistakes.
Dad would say how he would see me in town walking into a store with my back so straight and ink all over my hands. He could see I was proud. And I adored and admired my funny boss and he would join us during printing, and we would all have lunch together. He never came onto me, but seemed to really let me be myself.
One afternoon we had a rush delivery and my friend Dave and I were the ones to do it because we were both so fast and sort of perfectionists. So David found the t-shirts, I burned the art on the screens and we got to work, 400 shirts all by hand. We had a blast and finished in the evening with the music blaring and the dryer humming. It was like an intense cocaine rush. Better than a party and we were exhausted, amazingly filthy and excited.
The next morning I came in and my boss was waiting for me. He was glaring at me and I was really confused. He told me that the t-shirts we used were the wrong ones and that we printed 400 shirts with the wrong print. I was certain David had checked the work order several times while I did the artwork. My boss told me that it was my fault because I should have been checking all of it. It was my responsibility and David was not to blame. Then, he began to write me up and looked up at me and said, "And I called your dad and told him." I was devastated and humiliated. I couldn't stop crying.
I called Pop and told him I was sorry to disappoint him. He was too, really disappointed.
The worst thing that happened to me though was the loathing that oozed into my heart for this man who I had admired. I couldn't believe how he had treated me, and that he had blamed me in front of my father. I didn't even have the heart to try to explain myself.
I quit the next day.
Years and years I carried this feeling for my boss. I would think of it on occasion be filled with hatred and relive the embarrasment and humilation of what I thought was my mistake.
One day, it was strange, I was living in this apartment and from around the corner came my old friend David. He was hauling something, I don't remember, but he was one of the maintenance guys of the complex. We talked for a long time and it came around to the t-shirt situation. He said to me, "Do you know that it turned out that Rob (our boss) had written that order up wrong?"
I was flabbergasted. Dang, I've always wanted to use that word. But I was.
And later, what I uncovered about myself was that the hate for him was now gone, and in it's place a certain compassion. And not only that, but what I carried all those years, that loathing, I learned was not anything to do with him, except in a removed way. It had to do with me and trying to live up to someone else's expectations and never getting there. I hated me. And I hated me for being imperfect. And how it turned out is I had done a perfect job with his imperfect work order and he had hidden behind me, gave the misake to me, because he was afraid of looking bad in front of his father-in-law.
What a horrible situation, when all it was was a typo. Just a typo. Something so simple causing years of deep pain, and it was then that I released myself from loathing forever. I don't even feel pity or compassion for him anymore, not at all ~ That would make me seem somehow above him, and everyone makes mistakes.
posted by SPOA | 9:31 AM
2 Comments:
"he used to come in and say things about my hair, my clothes. Always admiringly"
I thought it when I read this the very first time and two years later I feel moved to say it here: What an asshole.
Never trust a man who works for his father in law.
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