Figures of the One Must Go
Page 11
After the intensive dialogue, we again had a pause. My cousin kept the direct look in my eyes, waiting for my reaction.
“Listen, are you from this world? What do you want from these bosses? It’s weird.”
Henry laughed, and suddenly his eyes held a wild gleam. “Let me share with you my secret—what I do with all these bosses-crooks.”
“Oops… yes, you kill them. I am burning to know,” I answered frustrated and confused. “Would you tell me, are you still in the company where I got you hired as the protégé?”
“Yes.”
“Did you bring any shame to my name?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll do bigger projects for them. In recent weeks, they proposed for me to sign a project for five months. They asked me register around forty workers.”
“Okay, what did you do?”
“I hypnotized them,” answered Henry.
“What’s that?” I asked, already vexed.
“Once again, I looked straight at the person and thought special things about him.”
“What things?”
“As I told you, I hate big bosses with all fibers of my soul. Are you interested in what I do?”
“Yes.”
“When he instructs or analyzes our progress, I keep a direct watch on his face, but my eyes radiate on him my list.”
“Which list? What summarizes a job? Brother, are you crazy?”
“No, I’m staring straight in the line of his eyes and glowing, hypnotizing him with words, ‘Whatever you say, I’m looking at the dirtiest pig. Yes, I’m observing a peculiar armadillo. But, you are worse than those poor animals. You whiff… damn. Don’t worry, I’ll do that. I’ll do this only for one reason: on Friday, I need only one thing from you, my working hours paid in full. You’re my ATM, and I don’t want to see such an ugly grimace in the mouth of the abstruse mooncalf. What have you imagined for yourself? Are you the commander of individual fates? You’re not. You are just another parasite on the bodies of hard-working men, a bloodsucker, thief, and a deceiver.’”
“Oh wow, you are a psychopath.”
“Thanks for that, but I guess the big boss is a psycho and sociopath in one head. And do you know what I feel?”
“How?”
“Maybe they now feel how I abhor them and turn their eyes aside.”
“Perhaps it happens.”
In my words, Henry looked abashed and stamped his forehead saying, “What?”
“The smart bosses fire no one. They wait for the well-fixed incident when the worker leaves a position by himself,” I reasoned culturally.
“How do you recognize that?” he asked, chafing. “With stubborn freaks like you, we do similar things. I call such men, not a contractual sort. Are you picturing that? It means as a person, you’ll never win. I discern good bosses read your mind like one, two, three—done.” After saying my short tirade, I waited for a reaction for him. It was again a pause. Henry looked befuddled. I waited more than a minute. He stayed speechless.
“Do you know what, Henry?” I started before he could say anything, “Please don’t tell me you like advocating workers. That trash is not for me.”
“No way,” he replied with worry. “Listen, defender of bosses, I wouldn’t be surprised if you called me a communist or any other crap. But I know a normal chief never demands workers to sweat like a slug while I do my duty. A good boss dislikes subordinates who say, ‘Yes, yes, I am your best do-gooder,’ and a courteous chief never has an overweening ‘do what I told you’ attitude. That is my rule.”
“You are not normal.”
It was our last chat about bosses or jobs. Later, I heard Henry opened a company. It was silly to hear about his misconduct as an oddball. The workers said he paid outlandish overtime but administrated as a screaming chief. And one day, he found himself in a shameful situation. The laborers quit work in the middle of their shift. They disappeared from the job site. Oh boy! It was not surprising when a colleague described how Henry’s reputation lapsed after one adverse circumstance. He could not sustain the mandatory number of workers for the contract. And most unpleasant was the rumor that in Manhattan’s federal building, a project in a restricted area, he let in uncertified workers. The work was canceled, and Henry lost the license for his company.
I would like to ask: Have you met people who, without indisputable masks, like their bosses? I’ve seen a few. It appears sad if a man almost creeps before another man. I hate such disgusting episodes. The wise people consider that good or bad bosses don’t exist, and every boss is an acrobat on a rope, who likes to keep balance. That refers to his craving to exercise control over a “single nail.” For him, it’s necessary to direct the attitudes of workers. And remember, while you are greeting and honoring your chief, it is not appreciation for him that confirms his need for you or you that you are the next to go out. Is that a bitter truth? Yes. Also, your qualities should agree with the present plans. But if you ask about your success, keep this in mind: nobody cares. It’s unpleasant for many of us to hear it. It’s striking that none of us even try to talk about the relations between bosses and subordinates. Again, the reason is, no one will wet-nurse you. You can get fired in a minute. That’s why other workers recommend that you learn how sensitive your big boss is. So never “bark up the wrong tree.” Remember, nobody ever gives you a single chance. Could you make a stamp on the head that larger stakes involve tougher rules? And it’s a law that follows exact orders. That is also imperative to preserve work, without having the boss worry about you. The key to winning is the art of super flexibility. And as unfortunate as it is, you should close your eyes to harassing others. You should zip your mouth as if you don’t have ears and eyes, and only hear about yourself, “He is smartest to deal with and also unique for not objecting.”
Further, if a boss learns something about you, think it normal procedure. Last, but also most important, never forget to add your creative tips for showing how happy you are to work with such an out-and-outer boss!
It’s also not a written claim: if you are a worker, you must know your place. But, if you are in the role of a chief, it's spoken already: set up your rules as mandatory. Make sure you demand compliance without wavering. When you became the leader, keep all functions in iron hands. Do not worry about people’s destiny. They made choices. But, if they realize who the owner is, they are promoted faster. I recall when my friend complained about his manager when the manager told him, “That is your last chance, boy. Start pushing workers like hell or ‘bye-bye,’ man. I’m also under a boss and need no reprimand.” Is that scolding for him? What is that? If it’s a job, we don’t talk about any human relations. Yes, and that is unpleasant to sense. But, what we remember is that our work, earnings, and career depend on somebody permanent to test, push, rate, oppress, and order without thinking
WHY should an INDIVIDUAL OBEY if hired as an inferior?
Even those who perform the hardest physical work do nothing as soon as they become bosses. Yes, I meant that. They pretend busyness and tiredness to keep things under control. But this behavior isn’t compatible with organizing, managing, and teaching subordinates for productive work. That is a spoiled man's nature. Also, those people just like to give orders. It gives them incredible pleasure. But when a real chief shows up on the field, they count the payable hours for the day. Is that the entirety of our time? Yes. Could we agree from deep down that the deepest hatred to the upper bosses is a natural phenomenon? Would you like to answer only for youself?
Why are the personalities of big bosses the moral fibers
of DESPOTS in the MILLENNIUM?
Can you define your boss as one of the best people you ever met or do you declare him as
a CURRENT TYRANT?
Will a concept of
INHUMAN SUBORDINATION ever rest?
Would you like to rethink, if you command another person, what is your presumption about
WHY the INDIVIDUAL should OBEY?
9. Not Ugly?
When I observe how you whine about your inherent ugliness, it inspired me to create the following phrases:
SELF-OPINION,
SONG TO PRAISE YOURSELF,
WINNING WITHOUT A CHANCE,
YOURS TOP-OLYMPUS
as formula-treatments to fight your hesitation toward become a handsome man.
Pivot.
Have you ever stood in a huge hall in front of a large mirror? Would you like to try? Then step ahead of the looking-glass and watch yourself replying:
Why does my inferiority complex devastate my life? How deep are my underside lines?
Have I ever asked my feelings about the self-devouring claim they hold over me?
Did I struggle to stop troubling myself with that eyesore?
How long will I continue to wrack my temper?
Can I vanquish self-guessing about my nasty look?
I hope the answers for such self-questioning help you adjust a well-wishing demand to yourself. And when somebody advocates for you, try to hear this advice as critical:
The habit of charging your own ugliness abases your ego. Watch yourself from different views.
Notice what strengthens your character.
Discover famous majestic masterpieces of art, literature, music, and prove to yourself what elevates your spirit and helps create a positive
SELF-OPINION—chance to change.
Let’s suppose, when I asked you to stand in front of a mirror and answer self-questions, you realized that each of us has the likelihood to turn into an optimist. And I’m sure it worked for you too and in your heart vibrated song of joy. But I believe it’s not a version of common words with an unadorned melody. I presume it is a brassy fanfare of sounds in your soul and it shifts your mood to the sun and stars. Let’s bring your energy to your chest to stir emotions. And don’t blame yourself if it’s the only minute you are able to stay exalted. You’ve been in this condition longer, but soon you will be able to comprehend that optimism today is over expensive. But I’ve charged no one for my friendly outlook. And, with the intention to help you, I want to ask:
What have you done to defeat your self-derogation?
Have you gotten out of tricky trials with brilliant results?
Would you agree your future needs only a warm reception? I hope yes as you understand that also priced to make a sound is the
SONG to PRAISE YOURSELF for your best actions.
But any intense defeat of such a decisive self-ugliness wouldn’t be faithful if it did not bring the proof of its potentiality. I know of a bitter man’s tale that proves it. Jeff was my classmate from the college. He narrated his adventures in fighting his own spitefulness about his look. I expect he will not be offended if I share his story with you. I'll be satisfied if it brings a positive change in your internal self-conflict. And I will be glad if the life episodes of a dignified man have been significant in supporting growth in an individual’s solid confidence. Let’s visualize the story as we’re watching from the sidelines.
For marine Jeff Fort, it was his third year of deployment in Iraq. Already lance corporal, in bloody combat, he had gotten flesh wounds from a bullet in his right arm and right leg. After a few months of recovering at the hospital, he arrived in Brooklyn, New York. He could finish his recovery and get better, with an endorsement, for three months. Brooklyn was his childhood home. He was thankful to live a few months with his dear parents. But, Jeff planned to recover faster than permitted by doctors and return to the army. He had friends there who were like brothers to him. A general plan was a complete contract in the same division.
The area where Jeff’s retired mom and dad lived sounded like the sweetest love of youth for Jeff. It was Marine Park in the Kings County of Brooklyn. In his posting, Jeff had dreamed of his hometown in a hundred dreams and couldn’t wait to see it again. He felt amazing happiness when both legs stepped on the soil of these precious streets. He felt euphoric seeing the junior high school, which he had attended from sixth to eighth grade. There was a jazz orchestra, and he used to play trombone. It was a likable youth, and he still remembered dearest friends Sam, Todd, and Henry and the hot battles in basketball at a small stadium.
This attracted Jeff for an evening walk. He found his neighbor Jennifer had grown into an inimitable sign of attractiveness. His excitement piqued every moment he thought about her. In very hard years overseas, he could not even imagine this girl would alter such magic. As a teen, she was an ugly duck, but now she was a gorgeous, tall blonde with curly, silken hair. She was his favorite. Wow! As a troops specialist, he had a knack for getting any information he needed, and he discovered that she was studying finance at Brooklyn College and had no boyfriend. Sometimes she would go for a run for about thirty minutes in the evening and wear headphones. As a part of the routine, she would jog at a slow pace for four circles around the park’s sports ground. So, Jeff waited for her close to the starting point. He thought he could scamper along with her and talk for a moment, but he knew with his injured right leg, he wouldn’t even be able jog a circle. As an alternative, he intended at least to involve her in conversation. But there was one problem: he considered himself to be a repellent. He admitted that from childhood, his looks had tortured him for years, and he was addicted to self-evaluation. He treated that as a bad habit. If you looked him straight in the eyes, I believe it would not mainatin for more than a minute. He had a broad forehead, eyes that were too wide, a small nose, and an elongated chin placed on a head that was not compatible with an unusual body. He was tall, about six feet, with broad shoulders and enormous arms. His appearance among people always shacked the youths, but scared the girls. That’s why he communicated only with boys, but they preferred to not chat with him. So, as a young fellow, he looked for love and had a lot of girls. Girls liked to hide behind his back to feel protected. He told friends about love affairs, which reminded them of the famous story Beauty and the Beast. But now, it was a different situation. He was excited within seconds due to the unexpected sense of affection.
Thus, during one lovely evening, he asked her out on a date. He thought if she refused, he would just be happy to talk to her. To his surprise, she agreed within a minute and bombarded him with provocative questions. So, in a few days, they went to an exclusive, fancy restaurant. Later, they met a few more times and fell in genuine love. He said it was the hottest passion of his life. Their contacts, messages, and conversations displayed hot interest in each other. When Jeff told me this adorable story, it touched my heart. It sounded like a tale about an elegant, young woman and her monstrous hero. Neither had I observed such a blissful love. Neither had I seen a more heartrending scene when masculine, iron-bound Jeff had cried and whisper the name Jennifer like a mantra. What happened?
He referred to that event as the ugliest situation ever. It was just horrible: Jennifer was killed in a fatal accident on the sidewalk. No, no, not by a brutal shooting (as often occurs today) but by a vehicle collision in their recreational area. Is that banality? Yes, everyone stateed it occurred when one sedan coming at high speed hit a big Jeep and made a turtle turn. That car slammed into Jennifer’s body on the pedestrian walkway. As an investigation reported later, Fillmore Avenue ran many buses on that road. On this stretch to outrace another car, you must catch a gap between two vehicles. In this accident, in the same second that Jennifer approached the park entrance, the sedan met the Jeep. Was it the result of trying to out-drive the red bus? Yes.
She died fast with a large amount of blood flowing from the mouth. But the most terrifying, heartrending part was that Jeff saw it. Awful! From the first second of impact until the moment of her death, he was about sixty feet from Jennifer. He was standing across the road on the opposite side. When he saw the turning car touch Jennifer’s right hand, he jumped toward her like a madman. It all happened so fast, and Jeff had no chance to pull her from the impact. As a final point, Jeff held her in his own hands. She looked numb to her surroundings but repeated, “Jeff, Jeff…�
� He said he didn’t cry out because he didn’t even have the power to utter a single word. He felt paralyzed. But the most painful was her words with her last exhalation, “I love you, Jeff…”
I expect no one knows how tough it must be to be a man who hates the entire world but never considers suicide. He visited her grave all the time. “The ache of the soul could conquer any force,” said a wise gentleman once. That is why Jeff rushed back to the army a lot earlier than planned. Four months after Jennifer’s funeral, he got ambushed under heavy enemy fire, and he helped evacuate several dead and wounded Marines. His courage saved the lives of five of his brothers, he said. By himself, again he got hurt and damaged both his legs and hands. He also had fragments from the rapture of the projectile lodged in his chest. But the biggest problem was that the joints of his right knee were shattered. So, the doctors offered a full prosthesis. As a result, he retired. For his courage and service, he received a high award—the honorable Navy Cross.
When I met him again, it was already eight years after the tragedy with Jennifer. He said he didn’t say a proper farewell to Jennifer and still speaks to her and will never forget her. He also related that even if it brought profound depression, there was no way for him to feel any mental crash or his defeat. I felt admiration for this guy who, with a sweet smile, was talking about his recent newborn twins: a boy, John, and a girl whom he named Jennifer.
Can we call him a striking guy? Yes and multiply that many times. Such a man never does anything for ostentation. His lifestyle is just doing things with an honest heart. Would you agree that, when a man lives by placid attitudes, he never gives up in a hard time to help somebody. When a man becomes a defender, he no longer lives only for self-sake. A valiant person protects anyone—because it predicts the handsomeness of a man destined for