The Office Bullies
Clueless in the workplace
Barry walked from his office and proceeded along the green carpeted hallway. Halfway down the corridor, Mr Monk, his boss, lurched from a side room and slammed to the ground. Even though separated by ten meters or more, Barry noticed the wild look in his boss’s eyes. “Help,” the old man rasped. His unsteady hands grasped his neck. “I can’t breathe.”
“What is this? What is this?” Mr Monk was having some sort of medical episode. Barry’s heart palpitated, and his hands clenched into fists. For a second, he squeezed his eyes shut, hoping to erase the scene playing out before him. When he opened them again again, however, Mr Monk still lay there. Barry gave himself a shake then ran forwards for closer investigation.
“Oh no, Mr Monk,” Barry stared down at him. A blue tinge had formed around his boss’s lips, and he kept making a squeaky sound as though he was trying to breathe, but couldn’t. Golly, he was choking. Barry wiped his sweaty brow and staggered back a step.
Six months ago, Mr Monk had arranged for a Red Cross Instructor to come to the office and train all employees in First Aid. Barry, who had other commitments, missed it. Now he wished he’d attended the make-up session. Poor Mr Monk might die, and without a boss to run the show, what would happen to the business?
Barry had worked at Monk’s Accounting for over ten years. He joined the firm after completing his business degree. On his first day, Mr Monk had taken him aside and said, “Welcome to the team son, you’ll do well here if you put your mind to it.”
On a mission to prove himself, Barry had labored long hours, worked diligently and connected with clients. Other employees noticed and sought his advice, even begged his attendance at social events. That was how it started. Then, for reasons unknown, his fellow employees began to distance themselves from him.
Yes, things had been bad, but they became toxic when Jenny Ascroft returned to the firm after taking maternity leave.
She had it in for him from the first. Every time they conversed, she attacked him. No Barry, you’re wrong. Oh Barry, why haven’t you done this? Why haven’t you done that, and blah, blah, blah? She rolled her eyes at him, too. She did it to be funny, to put him down, to make anyone in the vicinity laugh.
Another thing that annoyed him about Jenny was that everyone loved her. Never did a day pass without an employee buying her a coffee or inviting her out for lunch. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, she sucked up to Mr Monk. Yes, Mr Monk, no Mr Monk, three bags full, Mr Monk. She was a regular, pleasing machine.
Barry supposed he could have handled Jenny better if Irritating Guy hadn’t arrived on the scene. Irritating Guy’s real name was Marcus. Straight out of university, he strutted into Monk’s Accounting like a proud peacock. Here’s trouble, Barry had thought, and he wasn’t wrong.
Irritating Guy caused Barry’s skin to squirm. Although fresh, he walked the hallways with a swagger and blurted out condescending comments faster than a firing machine gun. Five years younger than Barry, and not nearly as experienced, he ordered him about, as though he was the boss. Even more irksome, he chummed up with Jenny and joined in with her eye rolling antics.
Barry remembered the day when they pushed him too far. One Tuesday on his way out to lunch, he spied the two of them, standing by the photocopier, whispering into their hands. Later, when he returned to work, he discovered his office chair missing.
He went on the hunt and found it in a storeroom cupboard, with a sign attached to the seat saying, LOOKING FOR A NEW OWNER. As he wheeled the chair down the hallway, back to his office, he passed Jenny and Irritating Guy in the kitchen. The two of them were bent over double, laughing. He had to shove his hands in his trouser pockets to stop himself from going in there and slamming their heads together.
That afternoon, he hotfooted off to Mr Monk’s office and made a formal complaint. Mr Monk only shrugged his shoulders. Barry continued his verbal grievances, and after ten minutes, Mr Monk said he’d talk to them.
Although they apologized the following day, the pair had continued with the eye rolling. Barry knew Mr Monk wasn’t a daft man. He knew he was aware of their disrespectful behaviour. Why then had he never told them to stop it? Stupid old bugger.
Now it seemed the stupid old bugger might choke to death in the hallway, unless, of course, he, Barry, intervened. The hero who saved his boss’s life, it had a nice ring to it. What would Jenny and Irritating Guy say about that?
He dropped to his knees and opened Mr Monk’s mouth. A chunk of apple, brown and soggy with saliva, was wedged in his throat. Barry reached in, clasped the apple in-between his finger and thumb, and pulled. His fingers slipped off, and he swore. He reached in a second time.
Out of nowhere, two hands joggled his shoulders, and he toppled sideways, banging his skull against the wall.
Ker thump, holy hell. Barry lay there a while, somewhat dizzy. Not from the head knock; more from the surprise. He’d been trying to help Mr Monk, and had been pushed out of the way. He sat up and rubbed his head.
Irritating Guy had Mr Monk in the sitting position. Leaning him slightly forward, he kept slapping his back, bam, bam, bam. Jenny stood nearby, mobile in hand, barking out an address. Barry assumed she was speaking to someone at the ambulance call center. Bam, Irritating Guy struck Mr Monk again and a huge wedge of apple flew from his mouth and landed splat on the carpet.
Barry gasped.
“Place him in the recovery position,” Jenny yelped. “An ambulance is on its way.”
By this stage, many of the employees were sticking their heads out of their offices, wondering what the fuss was about. Others had gathered in the hallway, asking if they could do anything to help. The passageway soon became clogged, and in bossy mode, Jenny ordered everyone back to work.
Barry returned to his office and removed a bottle of whiskey and a glass from his top desk drawer. “What a terrible thing,” he muttered. He sank to the couch and with shaky hands, poured himself a drink. Poor Mr Monk, gosh, he could have died. A vision of his boss in a casket flashed before his eyes.
Barry shuddered, then tilted his back and drank the entirety of whiskey. It did nothing to calm his nerves, so he poured another.
A slosh of water hit his face. “Wake-up you useless lump of lard,” a female voice said.
Barry sat up with a start. Jenny and Irritating Guy stood parallel to his desk. Jenny had an empty glass in her hand and he imagined it was she who tossed the water.
“In case you’re wondering,” Irritating Guy’s voice dripped with sarcasm, “the old man is okay. The doctors are keeping him in hospital for observation, but he should be home by tomorrow.”
Barry puffed out a breath of air. “Phew,” he said, “what a close call.” He smiled at them both, “looks like we were worried about nothing.” Neither returned his smile. He shifted his gaze to the floor. Near his foot, he spied the now empty bottle of whisky. Using his toes, he began dragging it towards the couch. If Jenny and Irritating Guy caught sight of it, they’d be pissed.
Goody-two-shoes types like themselves wouldn’t understand his need for a drink in the middle of the afternoon. But that’s what happened when someone almost dropped dead before your eyes. You drank to soothe your nerves, then you slept because the alcohol made you sleepy. Not that he’d drunk that much, only one or two glasses, three at the most, perhaps four. The bottle had almost been empty before he started.
Too late, Jenny spotted him and gritted her teeth. “So, will you come with us tonight to see him?”
Barry scratched his head. “Why would I? My guess is he wants to be left alone. Besides, I can’t tonight. I have a meeting with a client.”
“Who,” Irritating Guy asked. He shook his finger at him “And don’t say Vanessa Barton?”
“Of course not,” Barry’s eyebrows shot up, “someone else.” He placed a hand over his mouth to hide a smile.
Twenty-two-years-old, Vanessa had the face and body of a supermodel. Last week, at a scheduled appointment, he’d invited her for dinner at a snazzy restaurant where he hoped to offer her some free financial advice. Mr Monk was always saying that he wanted his staff to form trusting relationships with their clients. And that’s what Barry was trying to do, develop trust between himself and Vanessa. Somehow, though, he didn’t think Jenny and Irritating Guy would see it that way. Better to lie. “Oh, boy,” he glanced at his watch, “I need to move it or I’ll be late.”
“But what about dad?” Jenny whined.
Barry stared at his brother and sister. “You two are panic monsters,” he said. “Dad will be fine. People choke on food every day of the week. Stop stressing.” He stood up, took a step, caught his foot on the rug, and almost stumbled. Gee, maybe he was wrong about his whiskey consumption. Seems he’d knocked back more than he thought. He righted himself and made for the door.
As he disappeared from his office, he glanced back, and dammed if he didn’t see Jenny and Irritating Guy roll their eyes. God, there was nothing worse than workplace bullying.
