And what to do about them. . .
I’m pretty sure the reason that I’m not “professionally successful,” a “go-getter” with a “bright future,” is that I actually cry at work. I know, I’m such a girl. Well, ok – I close the door to my cubicle and just snivel, but somehow I suspect the average 41-year has slightly more effective ways of dealing with asshole colleagues.
The perfect asshole colleague (AC), of course, never does anything that you could sue the AC for, or drag the AC before Human Resources, or actually even explain why the AC makes you want to both cry and puke at the same time. The AC will: maliciously misrepresent things you say so that everyone thinks that you are somehow responsible for major fuck-ups; carbon-copy the misrepresentations to co-workers, with strategic contextual bits cut out; respond to your on-going efforts to be excruciatingly diplomatic (for the sake of ‘collegiality’) by telling you that you’re stupid and incapable of independent thought; belittle all aspects of your argument by simply repeating that you are wrong and the AC is right; refuse to undertake any task that will not be formally evaluated because the AC has more important things to do (and since everyone else has a notional sense of professionalism, the AC’s work will simply be delegated to someone else), and ignore all efforts to open dialogue and pull something positive from a train-wreck of office politics, etc. In other words: every office has one. Welcome to capitalism (actually, I suspect that there were ACs in the feudal era as well, but in general things just sucked more then).
But no – I don’t want your sympathy. I actually want revenge. This may be difficult to do, since this would potentially jeopardize my own job, and I need my job (for now). But there must be subtle, yet cruel, practices that would give me tremendous satisfaction. Alternately, I need to find some way to self-medicate so that I’ll be able to remain sober, concentrate on tasks at hand, but not feel any sicky, pukey feelings. It would be nice, actually, if I just had some self esteem and could get over this. But frankly, I tried to be diplomatic, patient, sympathetic and a few other things, and just got reamed. So give me some help, people! Sedatives of choice? Favorite childish revenge pranks? I’ll be up all night feeling queasy, anyway, so fire away! (metaphorically, of course).