Manolo says, it is Monday and you are back at your desk working feverishly to complete the latest onerous task placed upon you by your supervisor, Mr. Rummelkin, The Official Boss From Hell, the micro-managing, 5’3″ tall, churlishly malignant, tooth ache of the man.
Yes, you are the big girl, you know that relations between management and labor are not always easy, and indeed you have had other bosses in the past who were less than pleasant to work for: The Shouter, The Underminer, and The Ditherer, individuals who had risen to their Peter Principle level of incompetency, and from which they exercised their flawed authority.
And, yet, Mr. Rummelkin puts them all to shame in terms of pure evil. He is the smoothly manipulative master of manufactured rumor and artificial chaos, ruling his domain like the Ottoman vizier, through subterfuge, misdirection, and calculated verbal brutality. He runs the very deep, very complicated game.
Of the course, what makes his reign of terror all the more galling is that he is completely competent, earning nothing but accolades from the higher ups, even as those who work for him are cowed into submission by his malevolence.
You would have quit his dominion many weeks ago, when it first became obvious that Mr. Rummelkin did not care for you. But, it is the same old story, you need the money, and the job pays well, and you’re good at it, even if your boss fails to acknowledge that. And you like and respect the other peoples your office, especially Jane, the English Girl, who never fails to make you laugh with her wry observations and offhand EastEnder witticisms.
“Oy, look a ’em, Rumplestiltskining about, like he go’ a secret spinning wheel in his office,” is now your all-time favorite saying in the entire world.
Rumplestiltskining about! Genius!
So, here it is Monday afternoon, and Mr. Rummelkin has set you to yet another impossible task, spinning straw into gold, or some such, and you look up from your desk and at the end of the hall is the giant commotion.
It is Jane, running toward you as fast as her chubby legs can go, and she is smiling like the mad woman.
“Love, such wonderful news! They’ve given Rumpy the sack. Caugh’ him putting his naughty bits into the overnight charwoman, they did!!!”
And when you pass that preposterous statement through your English-to-English translator you realize that those many, many novenas were not said in vain.
Time to celebrate! With beautiful boots, like The Romy from Elie Tahari.