I can't work with Insolent Bob, it's come down to him or me. I want out, I want to transfer, I want him gone. Whatever. They're not going to fire him, he's good at the job and been here fifteen years.
Doesn't matter. He goes, or I go, and it really wouldn't break my heart to leave.
So I asked my manager, Sandra, for a meeting. "I can't take it anymore," I said. And she knew I meant it.
"Since starting work here six months ago I've experienced nothing but confusion and frustration. I'd like a transfer."
She said: "Oh." and she paused, and said, "Um, where?"
I said: "Anywhere."
I laid it all out. I can't work with Insolent Bob any more. He can't speak or write. He can't teach. I don't know what I'm doing. I hate everyone.
She said, "I just got back from a meeting with the VP. He said they're rearranging the groups, look at this-"
"Does this, does this help the situation?" she asked.
Well, it's certainly a step in the right direction.
"I'm glad you came to me with these concerns," she said, "instead of just walking into my cubicle one day and quitting on the spot with no notice."
No worries there. I never would have planned on something like that.
-t
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