My boss, more affectionately known as my work husband was a rock. A father to three awesome little boys, we spent the majority of my job interview discussing the merits of breast feeding, how annoying it is when babies poop in the bath water and our favourite techniques for getting kids to fall asleep. In our hour-long interview I think we spoke about the actual job for all of 10 minutes. He was more interested in what I was like as a person and whether or not we’d be a good fit than my experience in previous roles, though I did have it! That made me warm to him instantly. He was and still is a good egg. My role was a temp one which was meant to last all of six months tops, yet I ended up staying for three years, as much out of loyalty to him as for the actual salary, which although good, was below the market average for our industry. Just goes to show, Jessie J is right, it’s not all about the money. My child will be very proud that I managed to sneak that pop reference into an opening paragraph..
I had a work husband and a work boyfriend. All very scandalous, perhaps greedy if you look at it from a distance, but totally warranted in order to get through a long day in an often high stress environment filled with egos, excess testosterone and general bitchiness. Having people on your side to share the burden, and take out the theoretical trash made things run smoother and keep the day enjoyable. You helped with each other’s workload, shared a beer at lunch after particularly shitty meetings and saved the best stationery for each other, no questions asked. I’m all for equality in the work partner field, I had work wives as well. They too shared the knowing looks, knew when to bitch along and when to just listen when you needed a rant. We went out to drinks now and then. One of my work wives is also the Godmother to my daughter.
My boss though. He was one in a million. I bring this up now because I’m ticking off the finishing touches to my Christmas list and I am reminded fondly of how he used to get his Christmas gifts sent to my house and I’d trek on the crowded tube train to get it into work. It’s not like where I am working now, there was no way of getting post sent to work, security threat you see. It would hold up the x-ray machines and risk the super important legal documents from getting sent up to the building tenants on time, all because we sent a few ASOS packages in. Seems small fry, but multiply it by three thousand employees, you can see how it would be a problem!
I remember being particularly sleep deprived and feeling as if I’d drunk all night and then gone ten rounds with Tyson in the morning just for the heck of it. I was floundering, suffering from sleep deprivation and no use to anyone. He sent me home, no questions asked. He also used to let one of my colleagues hide out under his desk and catch 40 winks. He was cool like that. Caring, protective, swore like a sailor and had a great sense of humour. That’s a fact. I accidentally uploaded my Gina Yashere comedy playlist to his iPod when I was adding some songs. He listened to it all then made super inappropriate jokes about black people, which made me laugh out loud at my desk because this pale skinned Scandinavian bloke was totally unaware as to why him repeating the jokes of a Nigerian English-born comedian may be taken out of context when said out of his mouth. Ahh, my work husband was never known for his diplomatic skills.
My work husband provided me with jokes, support, endless triple shot coffees and trust that I would do any job he set me well. Because he did these things, I didn’t disappoint. I happily went above and beyond for him in a way that I didn’t do with his successor, a man who didn’t acknowledge his team and was above small talk of any type, let alone sharing a much-needed brew. I don’t think you need to have a near marital existence with your direct reports in order to work well but does it help? Hell yes. But oh, do keep it non- sexual. That’s just messy.
