Ladies and Gentle man...
Old and Young
Welcome to the Rumble in the concrete Jungle.(boxing announcer voice)
On my left weighing in at 51kgs, standing at 1,68 metres tall, the under dog 'Kiss my ass- Nkanyezi!!! ( There is a roar from the crowd like when Oprah says-"studio audiance look under your seats")
And on my right, weighing in at 70+ Kgs, standing at 1,73 metres tall. The feared and undisputed, heavy weight of "belittling, overworking, under paying and abusing champion of this office park- "The Boss Lady"(BOOOOOOOH)
But truth be told, how many of us have had the boss from hell and still have one till this day?I think there might be a specific gene that can turn an otherwise lovely black woman in to a hellish, stingy re-incarnation of chucky's bride.
I sometimes day dream about lacing her tea with arsenic or kidnapping and leaving her in the middle of Iraq with an "I love USA" t-shirt super glued to her body. Infact, just last night I dreamt of getting a potion that would cause her to switch bodies with the cleaning lady that she belittles so much, who knows it might give her a fresh perspective.
I sometimes wonder if the ridiculously rich breathe a different more expensive synthetic version of oxygen? Do they look at us as meer mortals and themselves as demi-gods? Recently she(the boss lady) gave me simple instructions and I followed them to a T. Later she says that she said no such thing, that I should write down every single word she says because I can't listen and obviously suffer from the mental illness called "stupid". Now I have always thought I was of above intelligent but for a few seconds my mind was still... Just silent. My brain was fighting my bodies impulse to to grab her by her Chanel Suit and push her to the floor. Grab her Prada heels and stab her to death with them and then throw her from our floor onto the conrete paving!!!
But alas, my brain won. I quickly said "yes mam, my mistake. Before I forget, the bank called- something about your credit card bill not being paid". I smiled and walked to my office and practised some yoga breathing exercises.
It doesn't bother me that she goes around the world on a monthly basis just for sh*ts and giggles, that she treats me like my degree and certificates are drawings of stick men by grade 0's, or that she treats me like I have a mental deffect. It doesn't even bother me that she's a complete cow or that she has the warmth of Cruella De Ville and the compassion of Jaws(the shark). It is the fact ladies and gentleman, that it doesn't for one split second cross her mind that maybe, just maybe she could possibly be wrong about something, anything.
She shouts at older men and woman like she caught them stealing from the cookie jar. She pays hard working woman from R1,200 per month, and she has the audacity- nay the balls to call herself a good strong black woman that young girlies like me should look up to.( wait while I vomit...........vomit..........ngiquleke, ngiphinde ngivuke..... and vomit some more)
I don't hate her though, she just makes me want to commit murder.
But sometimes try to put myself in her shoes. Life must be "hard" in Millionaires Avenue...
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