I started yesterday’s post with once upon a time. I guess I did that because even today I wish this could have had a happy ending.
But it doesn’t.

So, if you need a happy ending, skip this entry.

I mentioned the US was happy with our work. I was blissfully unaware of how happy.
Phone calls to the Canadian director and producer from the US flew back and forth, the only wind I really got of this was the increasingly sullen mood of our producer. The US wanted me doing the voice work instead of my boss, they wanted more of that kind of content.

I mentioned rules, lots of rules. Personal and company rules.
Sometimes it’s the unspoken rules that trip you up.
Like….don’t bruise someone’s ego. Don’t work so hard you threaten someone’s well being. Be a better team player. Don’t get so wrapped up in trying to prove news people aren’t mean, evil, bad, wicked, and nasty when it isn’t in the job description. Get real. Stay real.

He coped by enforcing rules. I had to show up to staff devotions, which he led most of the time.
Now, my boss knew his bible backwards, forwards and sideways. He had a great singing voice. He could really work the crowd and had a playful, performers side. But those devotions were an awful chore to attend. We had a pleasant demeanor, the boss could praise with the best of them, and preach and pray up a storm. All the right ‘christian’ stuff, and a few hours later he’d be in my office picking and picking and picking, inflicting a verbal and emotional Chinese water torture.

A few times our growing hostility spilled into the hallway. Pleasant people were embarrassed and either turned away, or came up with something ‘christian’ like; “Praise the Lord, you guys are doing a great job,” or I’m praying the Lord will bless you today.”
It was very unhelpful.

The producer, editor and I were miserable.

I coped by working harder. Too hard. I got nine scripts ahead of him.

An international sports event was coming to Canada, and being the blithly foolish idea person I am, I suggested coverage to my boss.
Quite distracted, he told me to call the US exec producer, who was happy to hear from me, loved the idea and passed me to thier sports producer, who also loved the idea.

I wrote a quick proposal, and went to Tim Hortons for a few hours to work on a script about angel encounters.

This sports idea was a big mistake. Too newsy for my boss and in his mind, I’d gone behind his back.

I came back to the office after the support staff were gone.
Four of us were in the building.
The editor was in the suite.
The top Reverend was in his office working his numbers.

I was met by a raging, out of control producer.
He’d snapped.
Like someone on PCP.
Demented and psychotic like, a traumatized, hurt man went primal.
Nuclear.
The dam of damage burst.
Screaming and spitting he shoved me into the small conference room.

The door was open. I got the table between us and went into a form of shock, braced against his waves of rage, words and emotion from past and present.

I’m used to people in crisis. You stay very very calm and try to take deep breaths. There is no defense. You let them go, balance yourself and look for the nearest chair to bop them on the head with if they attack you physically.

He stomped, screamed, hit walls, shoved the table, pounded, kicked chairs. His face was awful to look at. I could see from his eyes, the lights were on but no one was home.

I don’t know how long this went on. Forever? I tried to untangle his speech.

“You stay here! You stay!” he screamed.
“Don’t you dare leave this room!
I have to meet someone and you’d better be here when I get back!”

I looked at his eyes. He was returning to the present as he turned and ran.

Ok.

Excuse me. I’d already put in a full day. I didn’t get paid over time and
I didn’t collect a paycheck to deal with emotional meltdowns.

I left that room of rage and went straight to the head Reverend’s office. He’d been about 30 feet away the whole time. Cowering.

I should have left the building.

“I can quit if that’s what is best,” I blurted out.
“But he can’t fire me without your permission, there has to be some way to work this out.”

A usually pleasant paper pushing Reverend looked up at me startled and frightened as we heard a door slam.
Well. Gee. I never said I was a genuis.
Or an angel.

Huh. I’ll have to post the rest of this sorry little saga tomorrow.