Of course her name was Diane. The more I think about getting fired from my last job, the more I wish I had a good lawyer, to sue the fuck outta them. (Who? The nonprofit, of course).
But their punishment will be the closure of their program. I’d have to get in a line to sue them. I wish I could see my supervisor’s face when they tell her even though she tried to save the school, (“I was hired to SAVE the school!” And we can become one of the BEST schools—red flag, unrealistic), it will still get shut down.
Diane was a dumb ass bitch—but nothing unusual. To say it without cuss words, an unevolved, immature, cocky white woman with white women’s weaknesses. (see: all administration in every single school).
I’m a white woman, but I’m direct. I don’t play political games. I apologize when I fuck up. I don’t need sympathy. I don’t cry when I’m asked to take responsibility for shit. I’ll get mad, but I’ll process it. I know I get mad. I’m not in denial about it. I like confrontations and smile just writing the word. I hate passive aggression. I hate entitlement. Mid-wealthy people who toot their own horns. So, I hated her. So fake and always lying. And i never got to tell her, so sad.
So Diane, here you go: I hate you. Not in a way that you’re more important than other teachers who become supervisors because kids don’t like them. But in an average, horribly boring way. Like how the first question you asked me, when you took me out to STARBUCKS (i would never go to starbucks, but you’re the boss), was, So what do you love about your job?
I should’ve said NOT HAVING A SUPERVISOR. Going under the radar. Doing what’s right. Not having to talk to Starbucks Moms like you.