Dear To The Two-Faced Bitch Boss
In the mornings I get up at a very silly time just so that I can catch the only bus from FlatHickTown that will get me to the town, in which the place where I work is located, at a sensibly on-time time. Usually this bus gets me to the town, in which the place where I work is located, just in time to catch a bus that then goes directly past the place where I work in the town in which it is located. When this happens I am in work by nine, my official start time.
However, there are times when my first bus gets in too late and I have to wait for the next bus. The next bus is at nine. This gets me to work at ten past. Nobody cares. You certainly don’t, or you never have before. I always put the correct time on the signing-in-to-work sheet [that you use to check up on us, nothing else]. I’m always in time to be in the classroom before the Nutters come in after having their morning fag.
I always leave work later than I should. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve left work at four [my official end-of-day time] since the beginning of the academic year. I tend not to leave till quarter to five, and I work constantly between four, when I should leave, and that time. Also, I don’t smoke, so I don’t have the three or four fag breaks that others indulge in. My half hour break that I’m entitled to each day [since I officially only get paid for six and a half hours]? I’m sorry, but if you saw me sitting around for half an hour every afternoon you would go bonkers. So I work instead. You knew I couldn’t drive when you employed me. You wanted me so much that it didn’t matter. I don’t reap the same benefits as the other TAs. My days are spent in the classroom constantly. I don’t have the enjoyment of taking kids to golf, driving or guitar lessons and drinking tea whilst someone else teaches them.
Yesterday my first bus got in on time for me to get the nine o’clock bus. The nine o’clock bus was late. It was beyond my control. It was not my fault. I had absolutely no say in the matter. So I was late. As soon as I knew I wouldn’t be in till after nine fifteen I phoned up and told reception. You happened to be in my tutor base when I arrived. The first time I’ve ever been that late, ever.
You didn’t say anything then, and you could have done. Instead you chose to email Ms Hippy, my line manager and ask her to have a word with me. You told her that people had been grumbling about me being in late. Once! Once was I so late that it could have been a problem. I know who grumbled. And she’s a bitch too. She’s like you. She craves control.
You’re both incredibly petty. Incredibly. You’re also both bullies. Oh, and isn’t there something, somewhere, that categorically states that you should not employ members of your own family without them going through the whole application and interview procedure in the correct manner? Let’s see … son, cousin, son’s girlfriend, son’s girlfriend’s brother, best friend … Hmmmm.
God, I wish I was going to Hell so I could see you burn baby, burn.
[we had a meeting too about levels but that’s a whole other post sometime in the distant future. all in all, i ended up with a splitting headache. and i am fuming. absolutely fuming. i’m going out now. i need to forget about this day … thanks for listening]
please God bless the buses xxx Elsabeth