When my boss denied my request for time off to visit my ailing grandmother, insisting that “work comes first,” I knew it was time to take a stand.
For nearly five years, I had worked under a man I’ll refer to as “Mean Boss,” who didn’t believe in taking time off. He made it clear that personal time was a luxury we couldn’t afford.
“Vacations?” he’d scoff. “You have weekends for a reason. That’s all you need.”
It didn’t matter if someone was sick or had a significant family event; work always came first. I remember when my coworker Jake came in one day with the flu. Mean Boss merely glanced at him and said, “Unless you’re dead, you’re working.” Jake ended up passing out at his desk, but instead of showing concern, Mean Boss ordered us to prop him up so clients wouldn’t notice.
At first, I thought these were isolated incidents. However, it soon became apparent that Mean Boss thrived on control, relishing the notion that the company would collapse without his micromanagement.
When I learned that my family was organizing our first reunion in over a decade, I knew I had to be there. My grandmother’s health was declining, and we didn’t know how much time she had left.
I submitted my vacation request six months in advance, believing there was no way it could be denied. I was mistaken.
The next day, Mean Boss called me into his office. “We can’t afford to lose you for a week, Mindy. This is our busiest season.”
I tried to remain calm. “I understand, but this is really important. My grandmother is very sick, and this might be my last chance to see her.”
He didn’t even glance up from his computer. “Family reunions can be rescheduled. Work comes first. You’re too valuable to take time off whenever you want.”
Frustration bubbled up inside me. “With all due respect, sir, I provided six months’ notice. That’s ample time to plan—”
“Enough,” he interrupted. “The answer is no. Now get back to work.”
Furious, I left his office. My coworker Jen noticed my distress and asked what happened. When I explained, she was taken aback. “What are you going to do?”
I didn’t have an answer yet, but I refused to miss that reunion. I texted Mean Boss that evening, hoping he’d reconsider, but he only repeated his excuses. The more I thought about it, the angrier I became.
That night, I called my mom. “How’s Grandma?” I asked, dreading the answer.
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