This week was a lesson in humiliation. I now know never to underestimate the desire some people have to gain the political upper hand, even if it means making a patsy of someone who has worked their butt off for them for over two years. Yup, that patsy was me.
I won't go into too much detail, suffice it to say that I delivered a blinding presentation at a conference last week and was then promptly savaged by an unhappy (and highly influential) meanie in the audience. The Turncoat just sat there, pretending that he had nothing to do with it, despite having approved all the content and complimenting me on it the day before. Worse still, he then continued this pretence throughout the remainder of the conference, directing snide comments at me during meetings and avoiding being seen with me during the networking sessions.
And after this unpleasant event, did The Turncoat try to make amends? Did he buggery. What he did was turn to me and say, "Well, you didn't handle that very well, did you?"
It was a wince-inducing flashback to Year Five when my friends stopped speaking to me because Jane, the hardest girl in the school, called me 'square' for wearing Start-Rite black patent t-bar shoes. I was left to pick miserably at my packed lunch in the corner of the playground, salty tears dripping down on to my ham-and-salad sandwich, while the rest of the girls shared their crisps on the gym steps. It lasted a whole week, a long time when you're nine years old.
I guess I was naive to think seasoned businessmen should be past the bitchy tween stage by the time they near retirement. Guess I was wrong.
My inner child may be shouting "Not fair! Not fair!", but my inner bitch is snarling, "You just wait, you nasty little shit... one day, sweet revenge will be mine..."
I won't go into too much detail, suffice it to say that I delivered a blinding presentation at a conference last week and was then promptly savaged by an unhappy (and highly influential) meanie in the audience. The Turncoat just sat there, pretending that he had nothing to do with it, despite having approved all the content and complimenting me on it the day before. Worse still, he then continued this pretence throughout the remainder of the conference, directing snide comments at me during meetings and avoiding being seen with me during the networking sessions.
And after this unpleasant event, did The Turncoat try to make amends? Did he buggery. What he did was turn to me and say, "Well, you didn't handle that very well, did you?"
It was a wince-inducing flashback to Year Five when my friends stopped speaking to me because Jane, the hardest girl in the school, called me 'square' for wearing Start-Rite black patent t-bar shoes. I was left to pick miserably at my packed lunch in the corner of the playground, salty tears dripping down on to my ham-and-salad sandwich, while the rest of the girls shared their crisps on the gym steps. It lasted a whole week, a long time when you're nine years old.
I guess I was naive to think seasoned businessmen should be past the bitchy tween stage by the time they near retirement. Guess I was wrong.
My inner child may be shouting "Not fair! Not fair!", but my inner bitch is snarling, "You just wait, you nasty little shit... one day, sweet revenge will be mine..."
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