workingfortheman.com

Like all middle managers, Mike would show up at our office unexpectedly. That was part of his job - to make surprise visits and check up on us when we weren't expecting to be reviewed. He'd always act like he was just "in the area," and that he "just wanted to say hello," but we knew he was taking mental notes and then filling in some kind of chart back at his office after the visit, recording his managerial perceptions of how we were doing, for upper management, of course.

Unfortunately, Mike was into feelings - that new-agey, how do you feel, how do you really FEEL kind of thing. Simple, polite banter was excruciatingly difficult because even the most basic small talk questions would drag on and linger. You couldn't just say "fine" or "great." He'd pause just long enough to let you say more, using piercing, interested eyes to draw out more of a response.

This makes it seem like he was a good listener, and he was, but only to pick up on things you were saying so that he could incorporate them into the long, pointless speech he would no doubt give as soon as you were able to stop talking. This fucker liked to hear himself talk.

Occasionally, he'd want to hold a short meeting with our small staff to take advantage of his "happenstance" visit. Usually he'd start the meeting with a round the table "how are things going" question and answer period. It was always very awkward, everyone half revealing a shit-eating grin and taking part in the sharing of an unspoken, collective "this guy is a fucking joke" thought. We'd ramble on, trying to drop in "I'm for the company," "the company is great," and "I really like my job" sentiments into our responses.

Now Mike had one hell of a nose, huge and cavernous, and it was disfigured like that of a retired tackle from the days when the goal posts were at the front of the touchdown area, and the helmets were about as safe as the kind fast food restaurants give away in a kid's meal. Mike's nose was so big that he probably went through a long stretch of his life wishing it was smaller. But those days were well over. I know this because he did the ultimate, most unguarded nose pick that I have ever seen. It was during one of the meetings he had called. While he was talking, I repeat, while he was talking, he lifted his right hand up to his nose and nudged up the tip, like he was giving some obscure hand signal. Then, swiftly, his left hand quickly rose to the nose, his index finger poised for penetration. A couple of quick, jerky, hooking digs and he was out of there in two seconds flat, but the image was indelibly lingering. In fact, it wouldn't go away. Mike didn't skip a beat, but all of us sitting there were beside ourselves with disgust at the sight we had just witnessed.

If he had asked us how we were feeling, really, really feeling, surely we would have had to admit we were feeling slightly queasy, while at the same time holding back some nervous, out-loud laughter.

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