Memories of Magma

Whenever he was angry, which was often, my colleague Paul became a human volcano. His head would visibly vibrate as red mist filled Paul's infuriated mind and fiery streams of lava poured from flared nostrils. We joked that his bulging eyeballs were visible from space and that he needed a therapist who was also a gifted seismologist. Meanwhile, the targets of Paul's temper were burned into ash figurines like those on display at Pompeii. Everyone in the office knew when Paul was pissed off. He was a Krakatoa amongst the cubicles and we could see the red mist rising from seven desks away.

The tiniest transgression of Paul's unwritten laws could provoke an eruption. An intern named Janice was once guilty of carelessly leaving an empty coffee cup on the conference room table; a terrible crime resulting in plumes of red mist and knee-deep pools of steaming lava followed by a thirty minute harangue. Such over-reactions to trivial offenses led to a culture of fear and employees would take extreme measures to escape the all pervading wrath of Paul. Nobody wants to be browbeaten, intimidated, and harassed first thing in the morning. It was easier to avoid him, which created chronic productivity problems since Paul was unfortunately one of the biggest cogs in our operating wheel. He was certainly the noisiest, which just made everything ten times more difficult than it already was. Compared to Paul's hot red mist, my own anger was merely a brief exhalation of breath on a window pane, quickly wiped away with a wave of the hand. Consequently, Paul's assistants would confess their errors to me rather than risk instant immolation by him. Should Paul ever discover these errors, I would attempt to appease the volcano God with a sacrificial offering of buying him lunch. A small price to pay for preventing destruction of our entire office by a rain of burning rock and Paul's skull collapsing into a caldera.

Of course, in our world of modern HR, Paul was long gone before you could say 'Lawsuit.' He was sent away for endless diversity training and anger management courses, never to return. The volcano was no doubt made dormant, possibly by prescribing antidepressants be tossed into its crater on a regular basis. That's probably all for the best. Nine to five were the most miserable hours of the day thanks to Paul. I suppose he was the quintessential Angry White Male we hear so much about these days. Whatever the socio-politics of the situation, I must admit we are better off without him. It's like Spring around the office now. Our little acre still doesn't bear that much fruit, but the weather is pleasant and the young people working at their desks are no longer afraid. They call me 'The Dinosaur' behind my back, although it is said with a smile rather than a sneer because they know I'm a nice old Barney and not a wannabe Tyrannosaurus Rex.

Comments

[Tatyana]

W/o Paul your office is a desert of sanctimonious cowards, and you are their PC Barney. What if Paul was black? And once, mid-eruption, decided to transition into a one-breasted Amazon? Would you dare to use the same colorful expressions and risk to be labelled an ableist racist misogynist-transfob? Maybe you did - and now writing this flaming polemics from the same circle of HR re-education camps as Paul. That's probably your only chance of redemption.

[Stephenesque]

Paul was just a pain. So are the youngsters, but in a different, more productive, way. Me? These days I just want to get my work done and go home. I have no sympathy for colleagues who make
my days work harder than it needs to be just because they’re angry at the world.

[Tatyana]

You should know by now: appeasement never works.