While in the midst of the Cat 5 maelstrom, I remember gripping large chunks of hair at either side of my head and applying significant amounts of downward pressure – while crying – and listening to one of her previous staff members tell me that Cat 5 was bad, but is she really this bad? Staff member had forgotten the pain. She remembered pain, but how much pain had there really been?

Lots. It was bad. I know this. But now I can’t really remember just how bad it was, myself. There is still shock and awe in the voices of colleagues who learn that I worked for her for 3 whole months. Something of a record. And yet how bad can she really be? People ask me this now and I have to tell them that she’s actually a pretty nice person, she’s just horrible to work for. I can’t remember any specifics. It’s all one huge repressed memory.

That said, I remember just enough to never not ever never never ever be tempted to ever work for her ever again. Ever.

Old staff member is totally going back to Cat 5. Old staff member has clearly gone senile.

I found out through the grapevine today that OSM received a huge promotion and was excited for her. “Yeah,” said my colleague, “I’m taking her old seat, and she’s moving on to work for *Cat 5*”. The room reeled. But…ok.

Knowing the two parties in question, one can see how the scenario played out. OSM’s boss recently re-located to the UK and has staff out there, the remaining department was quartered and I’d been wondering what was going to happen to OSM. Cat 5 happened to her. Some moon and stars were thrown in to the job offer to sweeten the deal & who doesn’t enjoy the moon and stars. They’re difficult to appreciate when you’re dancing around, trying to avoid a swinging baseball bat, but hey. To each their own. It’s not like my job is devoid of aggravation.

My glorious new boss and I had an enjoyable ride back from a hard day/night of being wined and dined by clients. I can’t remember the pain of Cat 5 because the sun doth shine too brightly. Fairly certain that this man hired me because I share his appreciation for a good argument and have an interesting shoe collection, but his failure to conduct due diligence is not my problem. The high degree of enjoyment that he seems to derive from torturing me is my problem.

“So you’ve been to Prague before, yeah?” He asks me as we drive back to town.

“Favorite city of-all-time, would live there in a heartbeathappilyforever – yes.”

“Ah, good. I don’t have to figure out how to get you over there while we’re in Bratislava then. Not if you’ve already been.”

What a terrible thing to say. A rather spirited discussion ensued, the volume of which hopefully masked the whimpering, gurgling sound of my soul dying.

A very pleasant kind of pain, all told. And especially when weighted against a Cat 5.


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