String of incidents conjures up the Bosses of Jobs Past

"Dilbert" is my favorite comic strip. I find the "pointy-haired boss" references slightly less entertaining now that I've clawed my way up to middle management, but it's still the best.

An advance peek at today's strip, an offer to address an administrative assistants' group and a mass e-mailing of management tips combined to dredge up memories of the Bosses of Jobs Past.

The comic is on page 10B today. I won't spoil it for you.

I address the group Oct. 15. That is, unless they recover their good senses between now and then.

And the mass e-mail explained how one actually learns more from former bad bosses than good ones. With good bosses, life in the office simply proceeds in a calm and rational manner. With bad ones, you remember specific incidents.

So true. My mandatory string of dumb jobs -- we all must have one as teen-agers and young adults because it's the law -- taught me much about behavior to avoid.

At age 16, as an energetic young file clerk, I learned that signing your employees' paychecks is the single most important thing you can do as a manager. Leaving them unsigned on a Friday afternoon when the banks are about to close and the new Cutting Crew single is about to be released is wrong. Very wrong.

My morale suffered so badly that I decided to spend more time reading juicy case files than filing them. My alphabetizing skills slipped dramatically. That was very wrong, too, as my boss pointed out when he let me go.

At age 17, I learned that forcing your part-time "receptionist" to do your personal grocery shopping, shake out your office rugs and transport your housekeeper is wrong.

At age 18, as a disc jockey, I learned having extended closed-door meetings in your office with your boyfriend makes employees wonder what the heck you're doing in there.

Another boss, without explanation, erected a mobile wall around my cubicle to separate me from my coworkers. Still another boss apparently mistook me for her young child and said: "If you don't have enough to do, I'll find something for you to do."

Amazingly, they got better once I was a better, more long-term employee. My bosses now, for instance, are generous, intelligent, selfless men who only want what's best for me. Did I mention generous?

But I had the Mother of All Bosses when I was 26 and working in Florida. She had the voice of Harvey Firestein, the stature of an Ewok and the demeanor of Judge Judy.

She once threw a corkboard at a reporter because the reporter wasn't moving fast enough. Wadded-up press releases were her favorite missiles.

One time she told me she tried to edit one of my stories, but she "had to go take a NoDoz and then take another whack at it."

The explanation for making me rewrite a story? "It's just stupid."

The woman landed me in an Employee Assistance Program visit. That's where a company-contracted counselor tries to cure your job-related mental health issues in three free visits.

"Let's talk about your father," the counselor said, glancing at the clock over my shoulder.

"Uh, the problem is my boss," I said.

"Oh yeah," the counselor said. "What behavior is she exhibiting?"

"Lunacy," I replied.

"Let me give you a mantra," she said. "Tell yourself, 'I will not let this control me. I will not let this control me.' Find a happy place in your mind and go there when your boss is making you depressed. And let me know if you think medication would help."

"Her or me?" I asked.

"Time's up," she said.

The mantra really did help. But so did scrambling to my feet and stretching to my full height of 6 feet, 3 inches any time I spotted her approaching.

Today, I can admit I had some serious problems with my reporting and writing that she helped me fix. And she definitely toughened me up for the rest of my career. I owe that boss a debt of gratitude and have told her as much.

But I don't think I'm going to find her methods in my management tips newsletter. Maybe in a "Dilbert."

Heidi Hall is managing editor of the Southeast Missourian.