I was in a Toxic Relationship, with my Workplace

“You got that?” My ex yelled. His hands were balled into fists at his side. At six foot three, he towered over me. A normal person would have been afraid, but I looked up a video of George Lopez repeatedly saying, “I got this,” and showed it to him. I had grown used to this treatment, so much so that I didn’t blink when he ripped the phone from my hand and threw it across the room.

I hadn’t thought of my abusive ex in years, but I was suddenly finding myself flooded with memories of times better forgotten. Why was I thinking about him? The only explanation I could think of was that I had landed in another relationship like the one I’d been in with him. That relationship wasn’t with a person, but with my job.

Like all toxic relationships, my relationship with my job started off well. I had an amazing store manager, who cared and put effort into growing the cosmetics counter. We had events and were encouraged to think outside the box to attract guests. We were always rewarded for our efforts, and she often showed us how much she appreciated us.

Unfortunately, I’ve found that good things rarely last in the workplace. The amazing store manager decided to leave and was replaced by someone I’ll refer to as George (because his hairline will soon resemble that of George Jefferson). George was the opposite of the manager we’d had prior. He didn’t care about anything but numbers.

George was also rude. He didn’t treat others well, especially women. There were also rumors of his lingering eyes.

George was forcing us to do things that hadn’t been expected of us before, like start our shifts hours before the store opened to clean up. Clothing go-backs were now the responsibility of the cosmetics team. Customers became like Pokémon; we were forced to catch them all.

I was a human bobble head, constantly looking in every direction to make sure I didn’t miss any guests. Every ‘wrong’ move resulted in more yelling. I was missing my commission-based sales to scan a never-ending amount of clothing. When I noticed a drastic decrease in pay, I told George. He stated that he didn’t care, and if I wanted to make money, I should convert the clothing sales into cosmetics sales.

He loved to call meetings outside of our standard worktimes. He yelled at me for not looking at him during one of his impromptu meetings. I apologized and explained that I had ADHD, which made it harder for me to pay attention. He berated me and told me that I was too intelligent to have ADHD, so I wasn’t allowed to use that as an excuse. I didn’t bother to explain to him that ADHD didn’t work that way.

His cruel demeanor wasn’t reserved for me; he was an equal opportunity hater. As a result, people were quitting like they were evacuating a burning building. To most people (myself included), a paycheck wasn’t worth the abuse.

I felt myself growing depressed. I knew I had to leave, but it was difficult to find another job while working full-time. My social battery was also draining at a rapid pace, and people annoyed me so much that I even dreaded the grocery store. My workplace was turning me into an antisocial monster.

After he’d forced the entire Clinique team out twice, he’d stationed me in Clinique for their presale. I’d expressed interest in permanently staying on the Clinique team, but was given the excuse that it would be too difficult to replace me at the other counter. Clinique became number one in the district, and when I brought it up to George, he replied, “I don’t care. You care about that, I don’t.”

I can still remember the rush of joy I felt when I saw George’s job listed on Indeed. I’d survived another narcissist, or so I thought. His last day was going to be a Tuesday, or “termination Tuesday” as I’d nicknamed it because of the high turnover. I started feeling sick, as if something awful was about to happen.

On Tuesday, a coworker texted me. She was excited that we’d get to work together. I felt the same way because I liked the majority of my coworkers. I still couldn’t shake the feeling that something terrible was about to happen, and that feeling only grew stronger once I entered the building.

My binder, which contained three years' worth of customer information, sat on the counter, completely empty. I told my coworker that I was going to call George and ask what was going on. If he was going to fire me, I wanted him to do it early so I wouldn’t have to deal with him or the overly demanding guests.

He called me into his office and said he was terminating me due to a lack of credit accounts. I had failed to get credit apps because I’d taken PTO and wasn’t there the previous week. He told me to sign a paper, but I got up and left instead, calmly gathering my stuff and leaving. I thought that I would feel sad after leaving a job I’d been at for three years, but I felt numb.

I met some amazing people during my three years at that job, but the job wasn’t meeting my needs. I’m disappointed that my employment ended the way it did, but it was time to move on to something better.