(October 20, 2014 at 10:21 pm)Jenny A Wrote: I'm with you here as to what deserves respect. But I was in an office in which one partner threw his phone at the window in the middle of yelling at opposing council.Sign of weakness as far as I'm concerned
Quote: Awe and a sort of respect was the result. A female of counsel yelled at opposing counsel on the phone the same day with rather more justification and the office comment was PMS.Still a sign of weakness.
Quote:Without the details I can make nothing of that except that I prefer to work for men. I typically know where I am with a man. With a woman I can get blindsided. If I guy doesn't like what I'm doing I typically know. With a women, I find out too late.Interestingly enough the dailymail seems to agree with me http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/articl...moody.html
Not all women make bad managers, but the 2 i was referring too were terrible. 1 position was at a gas station. She decided I was weird so she maxed out everyone else's hours and gave me maybe 18 a week, and everytime I asked for more hours or tried to take anouther employees shift I was denied, and one day she even freaked out in the middle of the store because I didn't dust the oil containers to her standard, after she had called another employee into work early because she wanted to go to the gym on her scheduled shift.
The other one would write you up if you looked the wrong way and kept trying to have sex with a taken male employee.
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
