Rude Boss

“I will, Sarah. Thank you.”

She looks at me and says, “And yours will be right out.”

“Okay. Thank y—”

“Why don’t you bring them out at the same time, Sarah, since we’re dining together,” Mr. DePaul offers.

My mouth falls open. Now he’s dictating when I eat.

“Okay. I’ll be right back.”

I say, “Are you kidding me? I’ve been here for ten minutes already. You’re going to make me late getting back to the office.”

He loosens his tie and tells me, “Woman, I pay you double what that position calls for. Do you really think I care about what time you’re back at your desk?”

“I don’t report to you. I report to Greta.”

“And she reports to me. Oh, and by the way, you’re not a peasant. Don’t make those kinds of comments to me about yourself.”

“I was speaking in general.”

“I don’t care how you were speaking. I never want to hear you say anything like that to me again.”

“O-kay…I’m not about to do this with you.” I stand up with my keys in hand.

“Sit down,” he says.

I take my keys from the table and my purse from the chair closest to me and throw the strap up on my shoulder.

“Sit down, Tessie.”

I freeze and look at him. Did I hear him correctly? No one has called me Tessie in quite some time. What on earth would possess him to call me Tessie after all the nicknames one could derive from my name? There’s Quin, my normal nickname, Tess, Tessa and my work nickname, Tez. But Tessie? Did I hear him correctly? Seeking clarification, I ask, “What did you just call me?”

“Sit down, please. You shouldn’t leave because of me.”

“Mr. DePaul, I have to deal with this back-and-forth with you at work. This is my time, and I don’t want to be stressed out by you or anyone else. So—”

“Just sit down. Please.”

I’m still ready to bounce.

He says, “Please.”

I sit down. My purse is on my lap in case I decide to make a quick run for it. Everything in me wants to find another table.

He asks, “What can I do to ensure you won’t go running off.”

“You can watch your mouth, first of all.”

“And what does that entail?”

“I don’t have to tell you. You already know.”

“Perhaps I don’t if I’m asking you.”

I don’t know if he’s trying to get a rise out of me, yet again, or what, but judging by his mannerisms, maybe he’s clueless how he treats people. But how can that be?

I tell him, “You talk to people—me—in a very condescending way. You treat people like they’re beneath you because of who you are. I get it – you’re rich – you have it all—everybody knows that. You don’t have to make us feel less than because we don’t have what you have.”