Horrible Bosses Quotes

My sincerest gratitude to every ass hole, horrible boss, and worthless piece of shit I've ever met for giving me new and endless material to work with and a way to earn a living exposing you.

I let you sleep, Sam," said Lady Sybil. "You didn't get in this morning until after three." "Everyone's double-shifting, dear," said Sam, daring Carrot and Sally to even think about telling anyone they'd seen the boss wearing a blue shawl covered in ducks. "I've got to set a good example." "I'm sure you intend to, Sam, but you look like a horrible warning," said Sybil.

It is amazing how people that do shitty things to other people always forget— but /Karma never forgets/ these /hidden evil/ people in here. Excerpt: here by Sondra Faye

My boss, Tricia, always said tat we were a family. I should have realised she meant that I would have to put up with constant bullshit.

Depression is like … it’s like when you meticulously scroll up through hundreds of pages in a Word document to find a specific paragraph you need to fix, and then you try to type but it automatically takes you right back down to the bottom because you forgot to place your cursor where you wanted to type. And then you bang your head against the desk because you just totally lost your place and then your boss walks in while you have your head planted on your desk and you see her shoes behind you so you immediately say, “I’m not sleeping. I was just banging my head against the desk because I fucked something up.

I understand this was a stressful shift for you," she said. "Why don't you take the rest of the day off? You've got some PTO saved up, I think.

You cannot protect yourself from all the things that could hurt you. I can pretty much guarantee that you will be hurt again and again. But, you have had horrible break-ups and you survived. Which is a good indicator that you can trust yourself to make it through another one. So, thank your fear for trying his best to take care of you. Tell him you appreciate that he exists, but that he is only one of your many advisers, not your master. Show your fear, every time he shows up, who is boss. Tell your fear that he is welcome to tag along, but to keep his voice down to the faintest of whispers. Listen to that (by now) nearly inaudible whisper saying "Don't love again! We will get hurt!" and shout back "I LIKE HER A LOT! I WANT TO LIKE HER SOME MORE!" and then let your heart set the pace for how quickly you move into loving her. If the choice is fear or love, chose love. Make this choice again and again and again.

A well-meaning team of people can sometimes make horrible decisions that no single individual would make. Groupthink, and an unwillingness to disagree with the bosses, was too often a problem at NASA... None of us is as dumb as all of us.

Garrett had had a wife and four-year-old twins in Halifax, but the last call he’d ever made was to his boss. The last words he’d spoken into a telephone were a bouquet of corporate clichés, seared horribly into memory. “Let’s touch base with Nancy,” he remembered saying, “and then we should reach out to Bob and circle back next week. I’ll shoot Larry an email.

Henry, I know it seems unimaginable, but you are being empowered tonight,” I told him. “You are being given something that is horrible, but is also a life lesson. This will make you stronger. This will make you more determined. You’ll be in your office somewhere, someday, and some pompous asshole will say something to you. And you’ll supposedly be upset, and you’ll supposedly be fearful of your boss’s reaction. But then you’ll think, ‘This is gravy. This is fine. I couldn’t care less about this prick. I’m not upset now. I was upset the night my mother died.

...watch out, work’s a bad thing, he told me. You have to get up early, you have to listen to the boss all the time. If there’s no work you don’t eat, if there is work you have to work hard. Work is never good. Work seems good to you because it will let you to go out for pizza, go dancing, go to the movies. But when you have a family you won’t be going out for pizza, you won’t be going dancing. You’ll have to feed your family and then you’ll see how tough work is. This is why you have to think hard about it. I’m not telling you to go to school or to get a job. I’m only telling you one thing: work is bad, so try to avoid it. I send you to school because I think that’s one way to avoid work. I felt this explanation, that work was a horrible thing, made more sense than what my mother had told me, that I was better. And I began to think that what my friends who’d gone to work in the building sites understood wasn’t true, either: that money equals work, and that therefore work equals happiness. I began to have doubts about my discovery that happiness meant going to work on a building site.

Did I ever tell you about my last phone call?” Garrett asked. “Yes,” Clark said gently. “I believe you did.” Garrett had had a wife and four-year-old twins in Halifax, but the last call he’d ever made was to his boss. The last words he’d spoken into a telephone were a bouquet of corporate clichés, seared horribly into memory.

Specialization gives the people in your civilization the opportunity to go further in any direction of study than any other human has gone before. It unlocks doctors who can devote their entire lives to curing disease, librarians who can devote their entire lives to ensuring the accumulated knowledge of humanity remains safe and accessible, and writers who, fresh out of school, take the first job they find and devote the most productive years of their lives to writing corporate repair manuals for rental-market time machines that their bosses almost certainly don't even read,* ironically for so little money that they can't possibly afford to go back and fix that one horrible, horrible mistake.

How’s your first week so far?” Isabele asks. “Well, let me see,” I begin. “Chloe says my penmanship is shit, and I was only thirty minutes early this morning, which apparently means I’m late, but on the bright side, she thinks her non-fat, half-sweet, no-whip soy latte didn’t taste right and then she told me she’s not paying for it. Other than that, work is just fine.

Bruce Springsteen said you can't start a fire without a spark, but you can start it with a magnifying glass. It ruins the rhyme scheme but at the cost of science. And arson. But maybe it's still a spark even if it starts with a magnifying glass? Maybe the first flame is always a spark? But that's like saying you can't start a fire without a fire. That's just sloppy songwriting. Bruce Springsteen is obviously not the boss of scientific accuracy.

...at Newsweek only girls with college degrees--and we were called "girls" then--were hired to sort and deliver the mail, humbly pushing our carts from door to door in our ladylike frocks and proper high-heeled shoes. If we could manage that, we graduated to "clippers," another female ghetto. Dressed in drab khaki smocks so that ink wouldn't smudge our clothes, we sat at the clip desk, marked up newspapers, tore out releveant articles with razor-edged "rip sticks," and routed the clips to the appropriate departments. "Being a clipper was a horrible job," said writer and director Nora Ephron, who got a job at Newsweek after she graduated from Wellesley in 1962, "and to make matters worse, I was good at it.

What’s this thing?” The boss looked at the package with rolling eyes. “We don’t know. It was left in the bin outside.” “We answered a call on the desk phone and we were told to go look outside in the bin, the voice said.” The boss looked at the shit standing by the chair. “You answering calls now? Thought you two should be working along side Ritterman?” He looked at Ritterman. “I told them to man the phone.” Said Ritterman. “ Ritterman. These two are new detectives who need experience. I said take `em with you, always.” “First they need to learn the basics of handling strange objects.” Ritterman held up his hands. “Don’t do anything without a pair of these.” He waived his hands like a singer on stage. The two shit heads looked embarrassed. “Anyway, what? Who’s gonna open this and find out what’s inside? Ritterman?” Asked the boss. “Boss, maybe we should hand it over to forensic first and they can test it for substance. Before any of us get some horrible shit on our hands.

Ten Questions People Ask About Difficult Conversations 1. It sounds like you’re saying everything is relative. Aren’t some things just true, and can’t someone simply be wrong?   2. What if the other person really does have bad intentions – lying, bullying, or intentionally derailing the conversation to get what they want?   3. What if the other person is genuinely difficult, perhaps even mentally ill?   4. How does this work with someone who has all the power – like my boss?   5. If I’m the boss/parent, why can’t I just tell my subordinates/ children what to do?   6. Isn’t this a very American approach? How does it work in other cultures?   7. What about conversations that aren’t face-to-face? What should I do differently if I’m on the phone or e-mail?   8. Why do you advise people to “bring feelings into the workplace”? I’m not a therapist, and shouldn’t business decisions be made on the merits?   9. Who has time for all this in the real world? 10. My identity conversation keeps getting stuck in either-or: I’m perfect or I’m horrible. I can’t seem to get past that. What can I do?

In the world of mental health, the lowest-functioning clients and the highest-functioning clients receive the worst care. The lowest-functioning clients typically struggle with serious mental illnesses that are maintained more than cured. And, because of downward drift that draws a disproportionate number of such patients into the lower income brackets, these clients often do not have access to top-notch care. The highest-functioning clients, on the other hand, usually have a lot going for them, including family or schools that connect them with private therapists when needed. These high-functioning clients are what therapists call YAVIS—young, attractive, verbal, intelligent, and successful—and these qualities bestow all sorts of social and psychological advantages. Being young means, as a colleague once put it, “that you haven’t completely screwed up your life yet.” Being verbal allows you to easily exchange a common currency with friends and bosses as you parlay being talkative into social status. Intelligence aids achievement and problem-solving, and even leadership. Successful people are generally brimming with confidence. And, as Aristotle said, “beauty is a greater recommendation than any letter of introduction.” So, YAVIS clients are well received nearly everywhere they go, and many therapists light up when one comes walking in the door. Still, there are two paths to being smart and charming when you are young: Life has been good or life has been bad. When life has been good, maybe someone goes to see a therapist for a while because some isolated thing is not currently going well. Most likely, the difficulty will be resolved quickly and the client will be on his way. When life has been bad, someone goes to see a therapist because even though things look pretty on the outside the person feels horrible on the inside, and this is a discrepancy that even many therapists cannot hold. Sometimes it is just too jarring to imagine that someone who seems so perfect has lived a life that has been so imperfect. What results is a therapy where the client’s image gets in the way of the help that he or she needs. The client has come to focus on what has not gone well, but the therapist is blinded by what has. Too often, being successful when you are young is about survival. Some people are good at hiding their troubles. They are good at “falling up.

The devil’s primary goal is to distract us from our mission to win the unsaved to Christ. He will use whatever means he can – sickness, job loss, unsaved family, horrible bosses. Those are just things he uses to distract you.

Imagine spending your days surrounded by books, I thought. Imagine selling books instead of overpriced cakes and expensive buns. I could do that. I know I could. And I'd be good at it too. I would remember the sort of books the customers liked, and I'd find other books they might enjoy too. If someone came in looking for a book for a ten-year-old, I'd tell them to read E. Nesbit, and if they wanted a book for a schoolgirl I'd recommend Jane Eyre. I'd read all sorts of books I haven't even heard of yet. And instead of tea urns, there'd be books, and instead of the sink room, there'd be more books, and instead of horrible Wobbly as my boss, there'd be a nice funny girl who knows what it's like to give up on the future you hoped for but find something else good instead.

Turning my head away from his bourbon-heavy scent, I twisted his cummerbund around and undid the cheap buckle. His breath grew shorter as he cupped and massaged the generous D cups, his touch rudimentary but acceptable. “Tonight?” he gasped hopefully. I considered the request. It had been weeks since we’d last had sex, the quick event occurring after Matt had, from out of nowhere, put an offer on the Atherton house. Granted, it was a horrible home. Ugly and with a choppy floor plan that was badly out of style, but still. For my cheap husband, it was a huge and unexpected step in the right direction for our social standing and my happiness. “Yes.” I moved closer, as if in enjoyment of his touch. Matt had been a sexual disappointment early on, one that required me to take care of my own needs. Most recently, I had done so with the explosive but short-lived Ned Plymouth dalliance. I’d had high hopes for that pairing, and I frowned as I placed the cummerbund on the counter, thinking of the lost potential with my former boss. Matt grunted, his mouth now sucking at my nipples with loud and frantic wet smacks of his lips. I undid his pants and pulled down on the zipper. “Let’s go to the bed.” I injected some husk into my voice, as if I were eager, and not just to get it over with. On my back, with him above me, I thought of William Winthorpe. There was something dark and delicious about him, a temptation that had existed as soon as he’d introduced himself at my interview. William. There had been a tug in his tone, a tightening of the cord between us. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Gruff and sexual.

the truth is we are all horrible bosses at some point and we must dance with that truth with ease and grace and be gentle with ourselves

Toxic bosses do not change and are hard to displace. Even middle-level toxic managers are masterful at massaging the egos at the top of the corporate or leadership ladder and treating the employees under them horribly. That means it can be difficult to get recourse from higher-level leaders.

Why is dating horribly, awfully nerve-wracking for me? Everyone else seems to have a breeze doing it.

...clearly Michael Eisner’s most glaring defect, the one quality more than any other that has caused him to leave behind a trail of deeply embittered former colleagues: his dishonesty. Considering the importance Eisner places on honesty in others—dating at least to the childhood incident in which he believes his mother lied about his bedtime—it is extraordinary that Eisner himself has been so reckless with the truth, in ways both large and small, to a degree that suggests he is at times incapable of distinguishing one from the other. Far more than just a personality quirk, Eisner’s tendency to distort, embellish, or forget the truth had direct and costly business consequences for Disney. More than any other single factor, what Steve Jobs and the Weinstein brothers considered Eisner’s dishonesty accounts for the failure of the important Pixar and Miramax relationships. Katzenberg was so angry and bitter—and willing to sue—because he believed he was lied to and felt betrayed.

The truth is that everyone is undergoing some sort of pain which they won’t talk about. Everybody hates some aspect of their life. The person you may see having a nice time abroad may be going through a real stressful time with his boss humiliating him daily. The person that seems perfectly healthy may have a horrible condition he refuses to talk about. People clicking photographs with their spouses as if they are in heaven maybe facing greatest marital discords. When you realize that truth is not what always what it seems on the surface, you will automatically be able to shift perspective and realize everyone’s life has a little bit of heaven and a little bit of hell. By shifting perspective, you can learn how to deal with jealousy better. It is up to you whether you want to enjoy the heaven or complain about the hell.

I hate it. I hate Michael Eisner,” Frank Wells said. “I can’t go in there anymore and take the shit.

Since my prior requests for office time are routinely ignored, I am now resorting to this: I need officetime everyday! I need officetime everyday! I need office time everyday! I need office time everyday! I need office time everyday! I need officetime everyday! I need officetime everyday! I need officetime everyday! I need officetime everyday! I need office time everyday! I need office time everyday! I need office time everyday! I need officetime everyday! I need officetime everyday! I need officetime everyday! I need officetime everyday! Not just once a week or some days, everyday! Not just once a week or some days, everyday! Not just once a week or some days, everyday! Not just once a week or some days, everyday! Not just once a week or some days, everyday! Not just once a week or some days, everyday! Not just once a week or some days, everyday! Not just once a week or some days, everyday! Not just once a week or some days, everyday! Not just once a week or some days, everyday! Breaks or transition times between meetings are not office time. Breaks or transition times between meetings are not office time. Breaks or transition times between meetings are not office time. Breaks or transition times between meetings are not office time. Breaks or transition times between meetings are not office time. Breaks or transition times between meetings are not office time. Breaksor transition times between meetings are not officetime. If this doesn't change immediately, I will just start unilaterally cancelling things every day. If this doesn't change immediately, I will just start unilaterally cancelling things every day. If this doesn't change immediately, I will just start unilaterally cancelling things every day. If this doesn't change immediately, I will just start unilaterally cancelling things every day. If this doesn't change immediately, I will just start unilaterally cancelling things every day. Have I made myself clear, finally?! Have I made myself clear, finally?! Have I made myself clear, finally?! Have I made myself clear, finally?! Have I made myself clear, finally?! Have I made myself clear, finally?! Have I made myself clear, finally?! Have I made myself clear, finally?! Have I made myself clear, finally?! Have I made myself clear, finally?! Have I made myself clear, finally?! Have I made myself clear, finally?! Have I made myself clear, finally?! Have I made myself clear, finally?! Have I made myself clear, finally?! Have I made myself clear, finally?! Have I made myself clear, finally?! Have I made myself clear, finally?!

Orders come from customers, not from leaders.

Until I saw what happened to Mongo, I thought that getting canceled was the worst thing that could happen. Wrong. Being dead and not knowing it is much, much worse.

Halfway through the day, Megan started dicking around on the internet. She made her browser window as small as she could, paused for a second, and then looked up “Carrie Wilkins.” She found Carrie’s website, and on it, this bio: Hi, my name’s Carrie. I’m 26. I make things. I paint and I write, but mostly I design. I like to make things beautiful, or creative. I make my own food and I’m trying to grow my own beets. A lot of people around me seem unhappy and I don’t understand why. I freelance because I know I’d go insane if I couldn’t make my own schedule—I believe variety is the zest of life. I know I want a dog someday soon, and sometimes I make lunch at 3 a.m. I believe in the power of collaboration, and I’d love to work with you! What a total asshole. What does she have, some kind of a pact with Satan? The picture next to Carrie’s bio had some kind of heavy filter on it that made it look vintage, and she had a friendly but aloof look on her face. She was flanked on both sides by plants and was wearing an oxford shirt with fancy shorts and had a cool necklace. It was an outfit, for sure, like all of Carrie’s clothes were outfits, which Megan always thought of as outdated or something only children did. The website linked to a blog, which was mostly photos of Carrie doing different things. It didn’t take too long to find the picture of her with the llama with a caption about how she and her boss got it from a homeless guy. And then just products. Pictures and pictures of products, and then little captions about how the products inspired her. Motherfucker, thought Megan. She doesn’t get it at all. It was like looking at an ad for deodorant or laundry soap that made you feel smelly and like you’d been doing something wrong that the person in the ad had already figured out, but since it was an ad, there was no real way to smell the person and judge for yourself whether or not the person stank, and that was what she hated, hated, hated most of all. I make things, gee-wow. You think you’re an artist? Do you really thing this blog is a representation of art, that great universalizer? That great transmigrator? This isolating schlock that makes me feel like I have to buy into you and your formula for happiness? Work as a freelance designer, grow beets, travel, have lots of people who like you, and above all have funsies! “Everything okay?” asked Jillian. “Yeah, what?” “Breathing kind of heavy over there, just making sure you were okay and everything.” “Oh, uh-huh, I’m fine,” said Megan. “It’s not . . . something I’m doing, is it?” “What? No. No, I’m fine,” said Megan. How could someone not understand that other people could be unhappy? What kind of callous, horrible bullshit was that to say to a bunch of twenty-yearolds, particularly, when this was the time in life when things were even more acutely painful than they were in high school, that nightmare fuck, because now there were actual stakes and everyone was coming to grips with the fact that they’re going to die and that life might be empty and unrewarding. Why even bring it up? Why even make it part of your mini-bio?

Cops are idealists wrapped in a shell of cynicism. The nature of the work requires self-protection: gallows humor in the face of horrible things; mistrust in the face of lies from suspects and even victims on the one side, and sometimes, they feel, from the bosses on the other.

Expecting less from your boss can lead to being pleasantly surprised instead of horribly disappointed. Once you stop seeing him or her as an all-knowing supervisor who should be mentoring and supporting you without criticism, you can accept them better for who they are — as fallible, human and petty as everyone else, prone to bad judgment and hamstrung by the limitations of their education, experience and ego.

Meet the New Boss What?! Mr. Klutz was fired? It couldn’t be true! We were all shocked. I thought it was one of those times when something really horrible happens and then it turns out just to be a dream. I saw that in a movie once. But the next morning while we were putting our backpacks away, everybody was talking about what happened. “Dr. Carbles can’t fire Mr. Klutz!” said Michael. “Well, he did,” said Ryan. “But Mr. Klutz is the best principal in the world!” said Neil the nude kid. Neil was right. Everybody loved Mr. Klutz. I was sad. Some kids were crying. Teachers were hugging each other in the hallway and dabbing their eyes with tissues. It was like Mr. Klutz had died. After we pledged the allegiance, our teacher, Miss Daisy, said we should remember the good times we had with Mr. Klutz. “Remember when he got his foot caught at the top of the flagpole and was hanging upside down?” said Ryan. “Remember when he dressed like Santa in the holiday pageant, and he was hanging upside down from his sleigh?” said Michael. “Once I got called to his office, and he was hanging upside down from the ceiling,” I told everybody. “Mr. Klutz sure hangs upside down a lot,” said Emily, who is a big crybaby. It was hard to concentrate on reading and math that morning. We were all thinking about the good old days with Mr. Klutz. When it was time to go to the vomitorium for lunch, we were still talking about him. “They’ll have to get us a new principal,” said Andrea, who

Why can't you tell Brad you don't want to work on Sundays?" It would be nice if he and I could watch a movie or do some other relaxing activity together when we get home. "Nobody would admit that to their boss. It would mean we weren't team players and that our personal lives are more important." I wrinkle my head in confusion. "Aren't they?" "Of course they are, but we can't admit it." "I don't understand this at all, and I don't think it has anything to do with the way my brain works." Jonathan laughs. "It's corporate culture. No one has to understand it as long as we play by the rules." "It sounds horrible." "It's just the way it is." "What if you decided you didn't want to do it anymore? What else could you be?" "I don't know. I've never thought about it. What would you do if you decided you didn't want to work in a library anymore?" "I would write plays. All day long, just"- I mimic pounding on the keys. "But I can't imagine ever leaving the library. I love it too much." "You're lucky," he says. I shrug. "I just know I couldn't spend my life doing something that doesn't make me happy.

An A’s failure to respond in the appropriate time can leave them horribly exposed. The PA’s job is to know when to intervene and with what intelligence. Fleur, now executive assistant to the chief executive of News International, never allows her boss to get caught on the hop: ‘I’ve got lots of specific alerts set up on my phone, ready for news, and I check my phone like a mad woman, which I shouldn’t do, probably, but I do.