Catholic Office Politics

I have worked in several dysfunctional offices. Most of my office jobs were mismanaged by a community college drop out who listened to Tony Robbins CDs. College just wasn’t for them. They wanted to make real money. They were ignorant, ruthless assholes that wanted to die with the most toys and win! Those were my bosses. My coworkers were the passive aggressive minions of these tyrants. I was the guy who used to laugh at it all. I got fired a lot.

I offer this mini history to emphasize my point: I have never worked in an environment as schizophrenic as this Catholic church. Case in point: my boss. He is several different people all wrapped into one person. One day he’s the world-weary sage. He offers stories about his life like little parables. He is raw and rational, has common sense and is practical.  He has his hands on knowledge he wants to share. The next day, he throws temper tantrums like a child. He barks aggression over imagined indiscretions. Why are you trying to fuck me over? On day three, he’s my buddy! Hey buddy! What’s going on? He tells funny stories, and we laugh. He talks to me about smoking pot. Fifteen minutes later, he’s screaming at me for closing a door too hard, or for asking him what to do next, or for not asking him what to do next, or for leaving at 2:30 when I was scheduled until 3:00, or for staying until 3:00 when he clearly told me to leave at 2:30. Actually, he never remembers telling me to leave early. The very next day:

Why did you leave a half hour early yesterday?

You told me to.

No, I did not.

Ok, then.

For the first week, I took this very seriously. I was offended. I considered quitting the job. This was an abusive environment. Then I noticed the pattern—one day of mania, one for anger and depression. Whee! Back and forth he goes. It’s like watching a sideshow attraction. Lean forward when he’s harmless; retreat when he turns vicious. Note: it helps to remind oneself that there is no real danger from a broken sixty-year-old man. He’s just barking. I don’t have to take him seriously. And once the threat of physical violence is rationalized away, the temper tantrums become amusing. At first, it’s like a four-hour show. After two weeks though, it’s just sad to watch a grown man being emotionally whacked around by life. I feel compassion. I’m grateful I’m not like him.

Then there’s my boss’s woman. The fresh-off-the-boat Sicilian that knows Catholicism is the truth. You can’t get a divorce. You’ll go to hell. There is no debating. She’s right. You’re wrong. Because God says so.

She does the laundry and the grocery shopping. She smiles when she judges me. It’s very sweet and condescending. She always wants to feed me.

The other two women—in the rectory office—are polar opposites. The first, the secretary, Hope, swings like an awkward pendulum. Sometimes she’s cheery and tells some crazy story about the history of the town she was born and plans to die in. Other times, she’s dismissive and cold.

Oh, hello, Hope.

Yeah, hello.

The other woman, Bev, is a genuinely nice person. I haven’t had a negative experience with her yet. She sits in the back office by herself all day. She smiles when she sees me and says hello. [Note: Don’t necessarily trust the friendly religious people. They tend to be trying to save you.]

That’s the entire staff. It’s me, my boss, and the woman of my boss, Rose, the secretaries—Hope and Bev—the Monsignor, and Father Max. That’s eight total people working in one house. That sounds tense enough, but consider this: my boss is at least three people—maybe more. His woman has at least two sides—probably more. The one secretary has two sides.  And the Monsignor is just plain shady.  Bev seems friendly but with an agenda, and Father Max is hiding something. I just know it.

More about that later.

For now, I just want to set the stage and present all the characters. Thank karma for the weekends so I can get my head together and shake off the dust of stale dogma. The expectation to Love Jesus hangs heavy in the house.

Stay tuned.

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