Work comes first!” my boss snapped when I asked for time off to visit my dying grandmother. Little did he know, that would become his biggest mistake.
I’d worked for this man—let’s call him “Mean Boss”—for nearly five years. It didn’t take long to learn his one golden rule: vacations didn’t exist.
“Vacations?” he scoffed in meetings. “Unnecessary luxury. You get weekends; that’s your personal time.”
No matter how burnt out, sick, or faced with a personal emergency you were, your life took a backseat as long as the company was running.
One time, a coworker named Jake came to work with a nasty flu. Mean Boss glanced at him and said, “Unless you’re on your deathbed, you’re working.” Jake ended up passing out at his desk that afternoon, but did Mean Boss care? Not at all. He told us to prop Jake up so clients wouldn’t notice.
At first, I tried to rationalize his behavior—maybe it was just bad timing. But after years of watching my coworkers pushed to their limits, I realized it wasn’t about timing; it was about control.
Mean Boss thrived on micromanagement, joking about how vacations were “for people without important jobs.” It was exhausting.
I had never really asked him for time off before, but when my extended family planned a reunion—the first in over a decade—I knew I had to go. My grandmother, Daisy, was in poor health, and this might be our last chance to see each other.
So, I did what any responsible employee would do: I submitted my vacation request six months in advance. Surely, that gave him enough time to adjust, right?
Wrong.
The next day, Mean Boss called me into his office. His scowl indicated that this wouldn’t be a pleasant conversation.
“We can’t afford to lose you for a week, Mindy,” he said without looking up from his computer. “This is our busiest time.”
I took a deep breath. “I understand, but this is important. It’s a family reunion. I haven’t seen some of these relatives in over a decade, and my grandmother… she’s very sick. This might be my last chance—”
He waved me off. “Family reunions can be rescheduled. Work comes first! You’re too valuable to take time off whenever you feel like it.”
My anger flared. “But I gave six months’ notice. That should be enough—”
“Enough!” He finally met my gaze, his eyes icy. “The answer is no. End of discussion.”
Fuming, I stormed out of his office.
That night, I sat on my couch, dreading how to break the news to my family. I called my mom.
“Mom… I don’t think I can make it to the reunion,” I said quietly. “My boss won’t approve the time off.”
There was a pause before she replied, “What? Your grandmother keeps asking when you’re coming. Doesn’t he understand?”
“Apparently not,” I sighed. “He said work comes first.”
My mom’s voice turned firm. “There has to be something you can do.”
Suddenly, an idea clicked. I could take a stand.
The next morning, I walked into the office with my resignation letter. I knocked on Mean Boss’s door, and he barely looked up.
“What is it, Mindy?”
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