The Curious Incident of the Yacht in the Afternoon

For your reading pleasure, I present  a short morality tale about the humiliation of underlings via yacht-torture. (As I wrote this post my current lack of a career seemed ever-so-much-more pleasant...)

Any resemblance to individuals living or dead in this account is purely because it's true.

Also, feel free to use the comments space recounting your most humiliating on-the-job moment. For the record, this isn't actually my worst moment ever, but a girl needs some dignity.

Once upon a time there was a young Junior Account Executive called Kate, in her very first job out of uni. Kate was a country girl and bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, but she had the misfortune of falling in with a small company run by a complete and utter psychopath.

The Boss was such a bastard that staff who lasted longer than three months were the veterans of the office, and through a process of rapid attrition Kate went from the lowest of the low to holding the senior accounts, all within four months of starting work at this awful, tightarse company.  She was also given a pay rise, and went from earning $26 000 to $28 000! A year!

Meanwhile Mr Psychopath and the other business partners bought apartments on the North Shore and went for holidays to mountain health retreats, while their staff had to record stamp and envelope usage in a little red book.

Despite her rapid ascension to key accounts person, Mr Psychopath's customary 9.05am dressing down did not abate (whatever she had done wrong the day before was addressed, in great detail. Common infractions included forgetting to sign out of the 'lunch book', arriving at work a minute or two late, 'looking bored in meetings' and often, falling into traps Mr Psychopath would set for his staff, such as forgetting to tell them about important meetings and then dressing them down in front of clients when they weren't prepared.) 

Kate continued to cry in the toilets every morning, and most of Sunday nights. She also developed a persistent and mysterious stomach-ache that lasted all the time she was at work. She was threatened with being fired quite regularly, including when she asked for a day off so she could go to her university graduation.

Kate's most important client was A Very Big Important Credit Card Company who were very demanding and she worked back many evenings to meet the demands. Mr Psychopath insisted on giving her lots of other clients as well, including Friendly but Small Company That Made Sheds. The boss at Shed-making Company -- who was at least 50 years old -- took a bit of a shine to 21-year-old Kate, and Mr Psychopath used to make all sorts of lewd jokes about it. It made Kate very very uncomfortable, but she was becoming quite used to being the butt of Mr Psychopath's jokes.

Anyway, Mr Shed-maker had a yacht and he used to go sailing around Pittwater. Kate had only lived in Sydney for a little over eight months by this point, and didn't even know where Pittwater was. Mr Shed-maker invited Kate and Mr Psychopath out for an afternoon sailing. As it happened, this clashed with Big Important Deadline for Big Important Credit Card Company, but
Mr Psychopath made Kate and the other staff work back even more so they could go sailing. At the last minute, Big Important Company rep called up the office and asked Kate to come into a meeting but Mr Psychopath made her call up and say she had another job on and could she come in the next day instead? Big company wasn't impressed but they agreed. This turned out to be a problem later on, but is a story best saved for another day, probably one where pigs fly and corporate machinations turn out to be interesting.

Yacht day dawned bright and sunny, a pleasant late-October day, and Kate dressed in casual gear as her boss had suggested. In fact, his exact words were 'Dress comfortably'. And that was it. The weather report said there was a threat of a storm in the evening, so Kate put her favourite black hoody in her bag too. In her mind, she pictured the afternoon: puttering about the bay, some cheese and bikkies and a glass of wine, putting up with Mr Psychopath's excoriating attempts at humour, and then hopefully coming home again in time to watch Secret Life of Us.

Kate and Mr Psychopath headed off to Pittwater after lunch in his Saab, and arrived at the Prince Alfred Yacht club (I think anyway, it was a while ago) mid-afternoon. Kate, having grown up inland where the only boat they ever went on was her dad's fishing dinghy, was surprised at the sleek lines of the yacht they approached. She was even more surprised to see that everyone was wearing raincoats. And rainpants. And rainhats.

"Did you bring a jacket?" Mr Shed-maker asked as he approached in his plastic-bib-and-braces pants.

Kate said she had and so they all climbed aboard the yacht. There were no bikkies, no cheese, and definitely no wine. In fact, she learned, it was a racing afternoon! She was positioned up the back of the yacht by Mr Shed-maker and told to 'do what everyone else did'. She was also given a life-jacket, which she dutifully donned.

Soon they moved out of the docks, and it was very, very cold and dark clouds threatened. Kate looked at everyone else's raincoats and fished her own hoody from her bag. It didn't do much against the wind. It also didn't take long for the yacht to spring to action, and she was in the way, and trying not to do anything stupid, and water kept splashing up, and the yacht screamed through the water towards a bouy... and then around the bouy, and everything went sideways, and Mr Shed-maker yelled 'tack!' and they all threw themselves the other way, except Kate, who was too busy clinging to something, whatever she could find. And then it began to rain, and there was yelling and jumping and tacking, and everyone in rainsuits (that is, everyone but Kate) looked like they were having the time of their lives. Her only saving grace was that she did not get seasick.

It went on for a long time until it got dark and Kate was drenched and cold, and exhausted from leaping from side to side and clutching on things to avoid falling into the dark water. Finally the boat headed back to the jetty and everyone went off for a congratulatory drink at the yacht club. Except for Kate, who was so wet and cold and miserable and teeth-chattering that Mr Psychopath did the only nice thing he'd ever done, possibly in his entire life, and took her home rather than inflicting her sodden wetness on the Upper-Crust patrons of the club.

Of course, Mr Psychopath did make her sit on a grotty old towel so as not to damage his leather seats, and he also berated her the whole way back for not bringing a change of clothes or a proper rainjacket and looking like a bit of an idiot in front of Mr Shed-maker and his friends.

"Don't you know anything?" he finally said.

Kate was very embarrassed because she did not, in fact, know anything about sailing at all. In fact, as she pointed out through her chattering teeth, she grew up 400 km from the ocean, and called anything that went on the water a boat. Her boss then launched into a long tirade about the stupidity of country people and the time he went to Dubbo and nearly died of the isolation. The drive home seemed to last as long as the yacht experience.

She then got a dreadful cold and spent the rest of the week in bed, which caused even more problems, but she won't go into that now.

Postscript: It took me another seven months to get out of that particular hell-hole, but get out I did. And I haven't been back on a yacht since.

Comments

[Liam]

What, not even a bit of public vomiting? Actually, this is a pretty impressive description of evil bosses everywhere. This fella'd get along very well with the one that I had when I worked for a certain famous phone company (cough *one.tel* cough) who used to coke it up in the toilet every single day at morning tea and then get annoyed with *us* if we had a beer at lunchtime.

"Liam, I'm not telling you to lie or be dishonest, when you ring people up about their unpaid bills. I'm not telling you to pretend to be someone else, and trick their friends and family into giving you their contact details. I'm not telling you to abuse their phone records and credit history. That'd be unethical.
It's just that the people who do make that bit of extra effort go a lot further with this company".

We never got any yachting, either.

[Zoe]

YOU CAN'T SAY THERE'S A MORE HUMILIATING STORY AND THEN EXPECT US TO JUST COP IT!!! And besides, you did nothing to feel humilated about, and in general come over as a very sweet thing.

I, otoh, had to be taken to A&E by a colleague to get stitches and a wocking great bandage on my chin after the mid year work party. Yes, not even Christmas. I cleverly decided to avoid humiliation by owning up to drunken stupidity from the outset. Particularly since I worked with a bunch of cops at the time, who were used to that sort of thing.

[Kate]

This boss used to introduce me at meetings as "This is Kate Moment. She's from the country." As if that explained everything!

Anyway, of course I've had awfully humiliating moments involving Christmas parties and alcohol, but I was thinking more 'on-the-job' evil boss type ritual torture of the underlings type stuff.

[ampersandduck]

When I was younger my dad used to take me out on his boat because I was prone to seasickness. He called me the 'burley girl', and joked that I was an essential part of the fishing team, there to provide the bait. I think that's pretty demeaning. You did good.

[Fyodor]

WTFF? That's IT? You dressed "inappropriately" for a yacht outing and got wet?

Goddamnit, lady, I was expecting something a bit more risque than inability to plan for wet weather.

What about the usual stuff you get on these yachting adventures? You know: impromtu piracy, illegal gambling, gratuitous "crew" nudity and yer keelhauling of landlubber flunkeys, all thoroughly lubricated with various alcoholic and other substances on a boat you can't get off until you finish the THREE HOUR TOUR?

When you mentioned your boss saying the line "dress comfortably", I was hoping for a tawdry and bawdy tale involving you having to kit-off for the client and/or boss, or a titillating variant on same. But no: you got wet in your sensible hoodie. Jaysus.

[Kate]

Is it my fault you extrapolated needlessly?

Frankly I found the whole yacht experience pretty dreadful, and honestly, if there were any titillation to be had with this particular boss, I would not be here writing this blog because I would have killed myself.

[Fyodor]

"Is it my fault you extrapolated needlessly?"

Yes. It most certainly is - that story was WAAAY over-built.

Didn't anyprick in corporateland ever tell you about "managing expectations"?

I think the really embarassing story is now required. If it's any good I'll tell you my second-most embarassing story, which is okayish.

[Kate]

The thing is, I'm a pretty boring person, so I'm not sure if any of my humiliation stories would live up to your exceedingly high and probably really perverted expectations.

[Liam]

Belay that thought thar!
Workplace-related suicide be against the Articles o' War, and she whosoever kills herself on the basis of somesuch yachting wettening shall be sentenced to a hundred lashes o' the cat.
Captain Fyodor O'Frontbottom, that be far too much information about yonder imaginings---far too much information, indeed, and a bottle of rum.

[Fyodor]

"The thing is, I'm a pretty boring person, so I'm not sure if any of my humiliation stories would live up to your exceedingly high and probably really perverted expectations."

That definitely sounds like a cop-out & a half. And it won't wash: "pretty boring person" doesn't describe you, I'm afraid. I suspect you're just not trying hard enough to satisfy my "probably* really perverted expectations", and we won't know until you give it a lash.

* I find it terribly endearing that you aren't entirely certain I'm a caddish reprobate.

[Kate]

Unfortunately, most of my stories don't have much of 'reveal'. [Drunk stories edited out for my own dignity. Really, all drunk stories are the same, aren't they?]

The most humiliating work moment for me was actually incredibly boring, and basically involved Mr Psychopath arranging a surprise meeting between me, my major client and her secretary (and Mr Evil Boss of course) and then they all sat there and bagged me out for the course of an hour. Finally, after that, Mr Psychopath munficently decided he would not fire me, major client benevolently declared she would not ask for my sacking, and client's secretary sat there looking smug. I did my darndest not to burst into tears. Then a memo got sent around the the other staff in our company about my performance review and how we'd all work together to make me a better employee or some shit.

I would not say I was without fault in this situation -- but I was 21, it was my first job, and I had no idea what I was doing. However, Mr Psychopath liked to train his staff by setting them up to fail then lecturing them on their deficiencies, and in the major client he had found a Ms. Psychopath who's evil attitude to her staff I only heard about later.

So that was it. Boring and to this day the thought of it makes me feel like vomiting.

[Fyodor]

Oh, that's much better. Actually, given you'd already described the sadist's MO, the public humiliation part of it was somewhat predictable. What a disgustingly demotivating example of toxic management. Would it be too much to ask for you to email me his name so that I can add him to my Shitlist? It's growing all the time, but I assure you I'll give the fucker a really high ranking.

[Kate]

And I haven't even told you about the young lass they hired as an apprentice print production person -- who thus got paid apprentice wages of $14k a year -- but who actually spent all her time working on reception!

Ahhaha fun times.

[Jennifer Cascadia]

Sadomasochism --not your experience of it-- is so lame. What is certain is that neither those who position themselves as sadists (the boss class and generally also males) nor those who are positioned as masochists (the working class and generally all females) are in any way human beings. They are, indeed Half human beings, being able to relate to the world through the lens of masochism, or being compelled to see themselves as dominating through their sadism. Yet neither approach to the world is actually human, since there is no possiblity for a spontaneous orientation towards the world once either of these half-human positions become habitual.

[Liam]

For someone who knocks ess an' emm, Jennifer, you really turn a good line in fascism. Half human? Oh, look what you've done. The Marquis is crying now. You've upset him. Aren't you ashamed?
...
That *is* a pretty impressive bad boss story, Kate, and I have a feeling F's list might be even worse than a Sydney real estate agent's tenant blacklist. Alas, for sharing purposes, most of my stories don't have bosses in them, they're bad employee stories, starring... me.

[Fyodor]

Oh, do tell, Haiku...

[Liam]

Like the time I got fired from the market research company for eating toast?
Man, I shoulda known not to eat the management white tip-top in the freezer. Also, I probably should have done some market research, the job they paid me for.
You can't beat the man.

[Fyodor]

You've done the frozen bread before, dude. Got anything fresh?

[Liam]

Well, it doesn't really involve *me*, but do you want to hear the one about my coworker telling the Arab joke in front of my boss's semi-legitimate businessmen Jordanian clients? Laugh? I nearly fell off my camel.
...
Fresh? I'm working on it now, or rather, not.

[Liam]

Well, it doesn't really involve *me*, but do you want to hear the one about my coworker telling the Arab joke in front of my boss's semi-legitimate businessmen Jordanian clients? Laugh? I nearly fell off my camel.
...
Fresh? I'm working on it now, or rather, not.

[Fyodor]

Yes, so long as it wasn't the one about the "ship of the desert".

[Mike B)]

Kate, you have my sympathies. But this is what the modern workplace is about--individuals with little or no power confronting individuals with the power to control others' ability to make a living. We've come so far toward individual choice that we've put ourselves in a general pickle. A politician like John Howard would call this the wave of the future. As you indicate, your boss was a psychopath, but as Jennifer C indicates, isn't this the normal dynamic between employer and employee--kind of S&M lite or sometimes even serious leather?

Once upon a time, when we weren't so modern (praise be to Howard), some of us decided that the bosses had more power than we did as individuals and we combined to form unions to collectively bargain so that we could be on a more equal footing with our employers. That sort of thinking injected a bit of sanity into what is inherently a mentally disturbing relation between human beings, one which can bring out the psychopath in the job giver and the masochist in the employed. Here's hoping that you and those employees, who may think of themselves as classless and free, will see that the way to ameliorate this dictatorial relation is to democratize it through unionization, collective bargaining and negotiation as to what proper workplace relations should be.

[Laura]

A piece of the roof fell on me one evening when I was pulling down the rollerdoor of the shop I managed, cutting my head, shoulder, arm and hand. The company did nothing - legally they weren't obliged to do more than pay my medical expenses but since I got treatment free in the public system anyway, they did nothing, didn't even send a get well card. I actually got reprimanded for failing to set the store alarm that night. This pissed me off rather so I decided, at the Christmas party as it happened, to complain directly and vociferously to the state manager. Unfortunately I was painted silver and dressed as a Venusian robot woman at the time and was also incredibly drunk. I marched up to where the guy and his cronies were sitting in a dark corner of the bar and began my tale of woe but the wild gestures used in acting out the backstory caused me to fall off my platforms onto my arse, and it was back to the chiropractor the next morning.

Revenge was had two weeks later when the boy in the candle shop next door went home without putting out all the candles and all the stock in my shop was ruined by water and smoke, hooray!

[Ariel]

I went to a Christmas party for my old work tonight. (I quit my present job when Old Work told me they wanted me back. After I quit they told me they couldn't, in fact, fire the person doing my old job badly, after all. Oops, sorry!) At the party, I got very depressed because everyone started asking me what I was doing now, to which I said: 'going to Mexico and then being unemployed', using variations of embellishment/optimism for new freelance life, based on trust. I ended up crying out the back of the venue, feeling stupid. So: a bad boss is the one who wants you back and encourages you to leave your job, then takes it back after you quit current job and someone else is appointed. (Though yes, your story here sounds much worse.) Arrgh! Warning: alcohol affected. I'm sure I'll feel less sorry for myself in the morning.

[Ariel]

I went to a Christmas party for my old work tonight. (I quit my present job when Old Work told me they wanted me back. After I quit they told me they couldn't, in fact, fire the person doing my old job badly, after all. Oops, sorry!) At the party, I got very depressed because everyone started asking me what I was doing now, to which I said: 'going to Mexico and then being unemployed', using variations of embellishment/optimism for new freelance life, based on trust. I ended up crying out the back of the venue, feeling stupid. So: a bad boss is the one who wants you back and encourages you to leave your job, then takes it back after you quit current job and someone else is appointed. (Though yes, your story here sounds much worse.) Arrgh! Warning: alcohol affected. I'm sure I'll feel less sorry for myself in the morning.