It was a family-run business, but you always had this vague impression that each and every family’s member would have preferred to be somewhere else.
When I first went to work there, rules and roles in the company weren’t any clear.
You had people that were being named managers but didn’t have anything or anyone to manage, you had people who didn’t know who their manager was, you had people who’d say they were responsible for something they weren’t, and – at the same time – you never knew who was responsible for all that mess.
When they showed me my desk and chair, I didn’t think for a second it was anything privileged.
After all, I am 5’10” tall, I need more space than the average office girl.
I got this fancy, big, comfortable black office chair that someone had probably put at my desk by accident.
After more than a year
wasting time working there, when things started to go from bad to worse and the owner’s spoiled kid introduced more and more pathetic rules and everyone was planning to leave, they suddenly got rid of my chair.
They didn’t even tell me.
One morning, I realised that my throne had been replaced with an insignificant blue office seat.
They said that my chair was now upstairs in the boardroom and that no one could get upstairs in the boardroom without permission.
They announced that black chairs were now meant for managers only.
They said that I looked like Big Bang Theory’s Sheldon Cooper when he doesn’t want anyone else to take his spot on the couch – and that I needed to stop complaining.
I stopped complaining, I went upstairs, I entered the boardroom where the senior owner was having a meeting and, without asking permission, I got the damn piece of furniture back.
But what I finally got from that day on, wasn’t only a chair.
It was respect.