pity – The Frustrated CFO

When I was a little girl, a preteen, a teenager, my parents always teased me, "Why are you crying? Feeling sorry for yourself?" I could've been weeping about some really heart-breaking moment in my life or over a beautiful passage in a book – it didn't matter, their reaction was always the same.

Well, if that was their way of toughening me up, it worked. But discouraging crying? Nah, their badgering wasn't successful - I'm still a crier. Blatant injustices, the disappearance of Earth's beauty, the unfairness of life; but also a goosebumpy music passage, a powerful piece of acting, an especially brilliant bit of storytelling, a rare instance of mesmerizing artistry – all are known to bring quick tears to my eyes.

But all these occasions allow me to cry secretly – in a privacy of my home; in the darkness of a theater; sometimes in the middle of a crowded place, where nobody knows me (which is the same as being alone); or in front of a few people (can count them on one hand), who are so close to me, most of the time we cry about the same things. To the rest of the world, however, I'm known as Marina of Steel, always composed and together. In fact, most people think that I am a gruff bitch. The mother-fuckers would probably have panic attacks if they saw me all snotty and whimpering - the way I get, when I fight with my daughter.

In my entire career there were only a few occasions, when, while in the office, I simply couldn't hold back tears – the ducts just acted on their own accord, the way they do when you get hit on the nose. One time, during a meeting, my CEO threw some reports straight into one of my subordinate's face, and I couldn't do anything about it: couldn't protect the victim, couldn't say anything to the boss – just had to watch it happening. I remember thinking, "God, if somebody else did that in front of me, I would've fucking slapped him. But I have to pretend that I'm paralyzed, because I need my job! It hurts!" And the tears just rolled out involuntary.

Nearly 20 years ago (God! I was still young then!), a different boss, always insecure about his origins and education, got angry with me, because he forgot to request some analysis he urgently needed, yet expected that I would telepathically infer his wishes. I was already a Controller and have accomplished some pretty amazing stuff for the company (for which, truth be told, I was very well compensated). So, I felt pretty secure to simply explain that he never asked for it. To this he retorted: "You're probably lying that you were always a straight A student. No doubt your mother bribed your teachers." There were other people around too, listening… The randomness and the absurdity of the insult hit me like a ton of bricks. I was lost for words and my eyes just swelled with tears. Nothing was to be done or said, of course – my family's well-being was much higher on my list of priorities than my self-esteem.

Just the other day, a business owner, who was my torturer-in-chief at that moment (he is the one who thinks himself a Good Boss), demanded some pretty serious piece of performance analytics to be delivered to him the next day, before his meeting with X. Considering the available resources, this was impossible to accomplish. So, I informed him accordingly. And yes, I'm too fed up with all this bullshit now, so I let a bit of a sarcasm escape me: "How long have you known about this meeting anyway?" I asked him. "Let me explained to you the idiocy (Miriam-Webster: extreme mental retardation) of this question," he replied and then embarked on a long-winded rant about… Well, who cares? And I wasn't listening anymore. I wanted to laugh, but somehow sparse teardrops started falling down instead. Thank God, I cried – at least it stopped his blabbering and he left the room.

Yeah, things like that… So, it's true – I cry because I feel sorry for myself. I'm sorry that my life is nothing what I hoped it would be. I'm sorry that I don't have enough time to do things that I truly love. I'm sorry that I always work harder than anybody else would in my place and the rewards never match my efforts. I'm sorry that I always work for people who are not sophisticated enough to understand my value and appreciate my contribution. I'm sorry that they always turn out to be insecure assholes. I'm sorry that, even though I held them in my hands, I let all the means of my personal security slip away. I'm sorry about so many of my choices that led me to where I am…

…What is that you are saying? A pity party? So what if it is? Nobody else pities me – everyone thinks that I'm some fucking stone.