I’ve always said, and you can quote me on this, that bosses are the source of 95 percent of the world’s misery. Just walk down the street and listen to the talk. Yeah, ok, you hear about a few marriages from hell or a flooded basement. But for the most part, people are ranting and raving because their boss doesn’t understand them.
I had one like that. A professor wannabe, thick eyeglasses, not much older than me. He’d sneer and stroke his goatee. Watched how many times you went to the john. When he wasn’t yelling at you he was on a computer playing solitaire. He resembled the queen in Alice in Wonderland, “Paint the roses white, no, paint the roses red. You already painted them white? Whatsamatter, you can’t hear right?”
You know the type.Mostly I wanted to kill him, but how? Poisen or strangulation? Pierce his spleen or get a little too close while he’s waiting for a Metro train? I discussed this with my co-worker, Sherman. He suggested we arrange a game of chicken going the wrong way on East-West Highway.
“Too obvious,” I said.
“How about we bring him double expressos every afternoon from the Barnes and Noble Starbucks and give him a heart attack?” said Sherman.
“Nah, that would take too long.”
“Attack bats in the Capital Crescent Trail underpass?”
“Too costly,” I said. “Think simple, elegant.”
“I’ve got it,” Sherman said with a gleam. “Push him out of a 16th floor window. In fact I know just the place. Unity Woods Yoga Center on Cordell Avenue.”
“Perfect, no one would suspect a yoga student of a violent crime.”
In order to case the joint I had to sign up for classes.
“If they chant I’m outta here,” I muttered under my breath.
So there I was, standing on a sticky mat in my high school gym shorts doing Dog pose with a bunch of ladies who looked like they’d been ballet dancers since they were seven. For eleven weeks the teacher barks at me to lift my kneecaps and pay attention. Well, don’t you know I start to feel better. All of a sudden I’m no longer thinking about pushing my boss through a thick floor-to-ceiling window or what scenic Del Ray Avenue would look like with a stiff on it. In fact, I can’t even remember the insult my boss hurled at me this morning. I’m too busy balancing on one leg pretending to be a tree and watching the clouds roll across the tops of the NIH buildings. The sunset is turning a gorgeous vermillion.
Aha! I don’t have to kill my boss. Not worth it. I’ll turn my life around and do what the rest of my countrymen and women are doing: quit my job and become a yoga teacher. Maybe I’ll even invent my own pose. Anyone care to join me in a One-Leg-Upside-Down-Twisted-Face-Boss pose?