Since discovering that I need a hip replacement. I feel like the red headed step-child at work. I’m the senior therapist. Which apparently means nothing.
We have had so much turnover that the next, longest running therapist has been there for not quite a year. We have 2 therapists who are fresh out of school. The owner used to have a standard of hiring people with at least 2 years of experience. I have had several, long running clients complain about the lack of good therapists and they only want to come to me. I have told them to please, tell the owner. She needs to hear this from a client. My word has no weight with the boss. Too bad I don’t have a penis.
We have a new, nut free cream that we use for lubricant. I hate it. It stinks and feels tacky. I have to use more and, did I mention that it stinks? My boss laughed at me when I told her this. “Well, I like it and hope you learn to love it.” Not going to happen. Why did we get a new cream? Well, the newest therapists is apparently allergic to FUCKING EVERYTHING! She was and probably, still is, using the jojoba oil, that is very expensive and fucks the sheets up.
No one else will say anything about it!! At least, not to the owner’s face. Oh, now I get it. My boss is a very, narcissistic personality and the newbies have their noses up her ass, and she loves it. Patricia is an ego buster. I speak my mind and yes, I can come off as a harsh bitch, sometimes. Truth is not always kind.
We had a business meeting recently. It was scheduled during one of my regular, weekly client visits. Coincidence? It doesn’t feel like it. The minutes usually take up just one page. But we have a new office bunny who is so fucking extra! She needs constant validation. So, the minutes were 4 pages long. The meeting, which usually runs over an hour, took just an hour. As long as my treatment. Wow! I didn’t get in on anything but the food. When I finally got to read what they talked about, I damned near had a fit. Most of it was praising the front desk chic for all her awesome web marketing and other, assorted bullshit. What riled me was the part about my “total hip replacement that will happen in the summer so we need another therapist.” WTF!? I’m still trying to get my state’s medicaid so I can see a doctor and then schedule something. I don’t appreciate people making plans for me without consulting me, or knowing what the hell is going on. My boss has been harassing me to tell my clients to see other therapists. I can’t recommend anyone! I used to be able to say, “We’re all good here.” Not true anymore. All the other, good therapists have either left to start their own practice or have been fired. Some, for petty shit. Don’t you dare, inconvenience the boss.
Now, I’ve been suffering from this chronic, hip shit for years. I can stand a few more months, but I get weary a little more easy now. Does the boss cut me any slack? Fuck no! I’m booked solid and she will wedge a client into my schedule, even if she has to trim my breaks. Not cool. I know she’s in business to make money, but I feel like an over worked draft horse. Deep tissue clients are sent to me. Special needs clients are sent to me. It’s like she doesn’t trust her new therapists to keep clients coming back. I’ll be out for 6 weeks when I get my surgery. I wonder if she’ll make me quit, like the therapist who went out on maternity leave? She never came back.
I can be a bit paranoid, sometimes. But, being at this studio and working for this.. person who acts all kind and helpful, but is anything but. I feel like she wants me to quit and vanish into the either. That way, she has all these new, adoring therapists to feed her ego and the office bunny who is a marketing genius. At least that’s what she keeps telling me, between blathering on about her boyfriend, her and her kid’s horrible syndrome…Did I mention that this woman needs CONSTANT validation? She corrects everything I say too. She has to be the authority on EVERYTHING! I can let a lot slide, but I’m ready to check this bitch. I don’t care that she’s bounced from abusive man to abusive man. Having children with them along the way and passing on her shit genes. She just reminds me why I never want to work with survivors of domestic abuse. Your pain can never be as bad as theirs. She asks me how I’m doing. I mutter. “It’s a bad pain day.” It means, I’m going to be moving slow so be patient. Suddenly, it’s a fucking competition. Oh, I’m in pain? She begins to tell me about all the meds she needs to take just to function. How DARE I say I’m in pain. Her’s is more substantial and she’s handling it better than I am so anything that I’m feeling is irrelevant. Great, work is now as bad as my home environment.
Nothing I say has merit. Nothing I feel is valid. Just shut up and shovel the coal.