Empty Suited Demons

René Magritte – The Pilgrim

I had a dream about a man I used to work for. When he first became my manager, at a large quick print company in Boston, we were both in our 20s – me 24, him 27.

George was a high energy guy – he seemed intelligent, interesting and competent. We even had a few beers together. He seemed OK, had done a few intriguing things (like working his way through college by teaching ESL during summers spent in Norway).

It didn’t take long though, for his serious flaws to become painfully apparent. To climb our wee internal ladder, all an employee needed to do was flatter him shamelessly whilst wearing professional garb. Being bright, hard working or particularly adept seemed a few miles beside the point.

René Magritte – Man in a Bowler Hat

Now, despite my ripped, paint flecked clothing and decidedly unsycophantic tendencies, George kept trying to promote me. Why? Beats the fuck outta me. I was industrious and smart with a good head for numbers BUT I was a little too punk by way of chaos demon hippy for the corporate track. All I wanted to do was put in my eight, with as few annoying people around me as possible (unpossible – EVERYone was annoying even/especially me!), and then go home to my easel. Yup, I was a real anti-social/social treat.

To be fair to myself, in my 20s specifically, I was working very hard on my own personal evolution. I needed to process and overcome all the damned serious damage from those pesky slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. I was (and still am) a work in progress, an unfinished canvas.

Time passed. George was promoted to GM of all the satellite locations.This elevated position required way more managerial savvy versus worker bee chops. George’s profound lack of people skills were jumbotron magnified.

René Magritte – The Titanic Days

The men he promoted were generally well dressed, slippery tongued types who, if George wasn’t by their side, reverted to type – Olympic level slackerdom. The women he promoted, best I can recall, were smart and hardworking. None too bright though. Almost all of them were dancing the sweaty horizontal two-step with him. He wasn’t strong-arming them into the sheets. Nope. I imagine most were sure this was an office romance (with the boss! swoon!) that’d lead to a diamond clad walk down the aisle. Were any of them aware that he was just boning his way through the company? Sure, why not? Had to have been one or two.

Eventually he hooked up with one of the company’s new VPs. Sheila didn’t know George’s egregious rep but couldn’t she see? The man was practically a walking billboard for Oleaginous Empty Suit™. Nope, she could not. I really liked Sheila – thought she was smart as all hell, strong, real, admirable. I think she was all those things but, for whatever reason, she fell for this cut-rate Lothario. They even married though she eventually snapped to and divorced his sad sack.

We all rock some damage which can skew our judgment. I wonder what Sheila’s was. I wonder what George’s was. He really was a smart, interesting guy before his demons cannibalized any kind-hearted intelligence he once had.

How did he appear in Dream Land last night? As a tyrannical executron yelling at me, berating me for not working harder. I yelled back I HAVE NEUROFIBROMATOSIS TYPE 2, I’M WORKING AS HARD AS I CAN, MOTHERFUCKER!

Ummmmm, I suspect old George was actually me and, boyhowdy, I gotta cut myself some slack.