In 2008, I signed on with a commercial landscape company out of Hudson, Massachusetts. Basically upon arrival, I was handed a cell phone, two gas cards, a GPS and the keys to a truck purchased that very day with a whooping 7 miles on the odometer. Within a week my superiors had established a list of contacts and sites for me to manage, nine of which were located in East Bum, Connecticut and the others sprinkled all over the state of Massachusetts. Touring my sites in a single day was physically impossible no matter how fast I pushed that little truck to go and it was of favorable measure to make a stop at each at least one time per week. I could really earn brownie points if I showed up unexpectedly, "snuck in" and surprised the crews at work, potentially catching them slacking off, cutting corners or breaking rules. This sneakiness, I would later learn, is key to successfully managing commercial landscape sites.
When a particular foreman (Janio) was rehired by one of the partners (Brady), my hiring manager (Marc), went wild with fury. After gathering composure from his uncontrolled explosive response to the phoned-in news, Marc wasted little time apologizing to my shocked expression and then moved to explain the reason for his juvenile outburst. An ongoing battle between Marc and Janio had transpired years prior, and it was Brady's bold move to bring him back after a particularly ugly showdown, that brought Marc's blood to a boil.
Marc, as well as the other two managers on my team, (Mike and Wagner), felt it was their comrade duty to fill me in on the juicy details of Janio's existence. It quickly became evident that this "bully" of a man, clearly wasn't somebody that anybody wanted to work with, past or present. He had single-handedly bullied, cussed, or silently ignored and ultimately drove crazy twelve different laborers to the point of resignation. Even more unbelievably still would be the image branded into my mind of these grown men quitting under the most pride-crushing circumstance I can think of: in tears.
At this point, my heart has increased its rate, and I'm left with the overwhelming feeling of anxious anticipation to meet this thug and maybe have my own name added to the ranks of defeat. As quickly as I developed the fear of meeting Janio, my three fellow managers transitioned the conversation over to whom Janio would work for and which sites would suit him best.
You guessed it. I drew the shortest straw.
Collectively they determined that I should have the pleasure of an attempt at managing Janio, and hey, why not try it right? After all, I'm a woman, why wouldn't he listen to a woman? *coughs, clears throat. raises eyebrows and blinks a few times. thinks, "are you fucking kidding me right now? great idea guys, really."
So it's the morning we are set to meet for the first time, sometime early in April of '08 approximately 4:30 AM. Apparently he's been informed of the location to which he's going this morning, the tools necessary to accomplish the job (basic tools, simple spring clean up), oh yeah and the one minor detail that he's to meet his new manager at the shop and follow "her" to the site.
I roll into the parking lot at work and slowly drive around the large, brown, aluminum sided building that housed our office and shop space. To the back parking lot sat the fleet of trucks and equipment parked in a long row awaiting the hustle and bustle of crews showing up for a long lucrative work day. The hue of the crisp spring air around me was that dark shade of gray, having yet to give way to an ounce of morning sunlight. From one lone truck, a steady stream of warm exhaust billowed from the tail pipe, the running lights lit against the dark and the low hum of its diesel engine cut the silence.
Two men sat rigid inside the cab, dark skin and barely visible. At the front cab corner, silhouetted against the headlight stood a tall, solid and stern man. His six plus feet would tower over my small frame and he radiated intimidation. His bare arms were folded across his chest in a manner of authority (as if it wasn't a chilly 35 degrees that morning) and as my visual came into focus, the detail that jumped out at me was the impenetrable black sunglasses wrapped around his eyes, sitting square on top of his long and perfectly straight nose. Those sunglasses hit me so hard, he may just as well have bent and picked up a stone and thrown it square at my gut. I didn't know whether I wanted to laugh or cry. I stopped my truck a few feet from where he stood and without a hesitant thought, climbed out of my safety zone. I walked the few steps over to him and all I could muster was, "ready?"
He nodded, turned on his heel, and in one fell swoop he opened the door and swung himself up into the truck.
There was no name confirmation. No hi, how are you, good morning. Are you the bully that makes grown men cry? Are you going to crush me with one mighty fist? Are you laughing at me right now under that shitty smirk you've got plastered across your face? Do you think my existence in this company is some kind of lame joke? These thoughts and more swirled and stewed in my mind for the entire, lengthy, two-hour trip to Connecticut.
The single thought that couldn't be any further from my mind at the time was that I would take this man's last name.
Marc, as well as the other two managers on my team, (Mike and Wagner), felt it was their comrade duty to fill me in on the juicy details of Janio's existence. It quickly became evident that this "bully" of a man, clearly wasn't somebody that anybody wanted to work with, past or present. He had single-handedly bullied, cussed, or silently ignored and ultimately drove crazy twelve different laborers to the point of resignation. Even more unbelievably still would be the image branded into my mind of these grown men quitting under the most pride-crushing circumstance I can think of: in tears.
At this point, my heart has increased its rate, and I'm left with the overwhelming feeling of anxious anticipation to meet this thug and maybe have my own name added to the ranks of defeat. As quickly as I developed the fear of meeting Janio, my three fellow managers transitioned the conversation over to whom Janio would work for and which sites would suit him best.
You guessed it. I drew the shortest straw.
Collectively they determined that I should have the pleasure of an attempt at managing Janio, and hey, why not try it right? After all, I'm a woman, why wouldn't he listen to a woman? *coughs, clears throat. raises eyebrows and blinks a few times. thinks, "are you fucking kidding me right now? great idea guys, really."
So it's the morning we are set to meet for the first time, sometime early in April of '08 approximately 4:30 AM. Apparently he's been informed of the location to which he's going this morning, the tools necessary to accomplish the job (basic tools, simple spring clean up), oh yeah and the one minor detail that he's to meet his new manager at the shop and follow "her" to the site.
I roll into the parking lot at work and slowly drive around the large, brown, aluminum sided building that housed our office and shop space. To the back parking lot sat the fleet of trucks and equipment parked in a long row awaiting the hustle and bustle of crews showing up for a long lucrative work day. The hue of the crisp spring air around me was that dark shade of gray, having yet to give way to an ounce of morning sunlight. From one lone truck, a steady stream of warm exhaust billowed from the tail pipe, the running lights lit against the dark and the low hum of its diesel engine cut the silence.
Two men sat rigid inside the cab, dark skin and barely visible. At the front cab corner, silhouetted against the headlight stood a tall, solid and stern man. His six plus feet would tower over my small frame and he radiated intimidation. His bare arms were folded across his chest in a manner of authority (as if it wasn't a chilly 35 degrees that morning) and as my visual came into focus, the detail that jumped out at me was the impenetrable black sunglasses wrapped around his eyes, sitting square on top of his long and perfectly straight nose. Those sunglasses hit me so hard, he may just as well have bent and picked up a stone and thrown it square at my gut. I didn't know whether I wanted to laugh or cry. I stopped my truck a few feet from where he stood and without a hesitant thought, climbed out of my safety zone. I walked the few steps over to him and all I could muster was, "ready?"
He nodded, turned on his heel, and in one fell swoop he opened the door and swung himself up into the truck.
There was no name confirmation. No hi, how are you, good morning. Are you the bully that makes grown men cry? Are you going to crush me with one mighty fist? Are you laughing at me right now under that shitty smirk you've got plastered across your face? Do you think my existence in this company is some kind of lame joke? These thoughts and more swirled and stewed in my mind for the entire, lengthy, two-hour trip to Connecticut.
The single thought that couldn't be any further from my mind at the time was that I would take this man's last name.
