I see that you may want to ask, why is this Dima such a shit head. I will tell you. I will tell it to you like it is. And then you make a decision on why this “kind person” should not be breathing air.
Dima is a Director of Office Management. He tells everyone about it. That he is a director. But why is that? Because he has only tits on his mind. He is like a dog that is running after a bone. Where there is a bone, there is Dima. Except that instead of a bone, it’s tits. It doesn’t matter what kind.
Director Dima shows up to my office with a bunch of papers in his hand. He takes his time. He is a director. He often reminds people of his title: “As a director, I say we do THIS.” Yes, Dima, as a director, you can go suck my balls. Director of what? Was it that you are a Director of Office Management. What is that? Like a secretary position? You make sure the cleaning lady is on time? Very nice. How hard of a job is that? Do you manage? Do you need help? Can I help? To get you the fuck out of my office?
Of course, I don’ tell him that. That’s just in my head. It’s 09:05. I have a pryanik in my mouth. A thick Russian cookie-like delicacy, glazed with sugar. It’s delicious, but I cannot enjoy it. Dima is waving his hands because the office electricity bill is too expensive. He wants everyone to understand how important it is to save electricity. My eyes are half-dimmed. I could not care less. Maria is not looking up. She does not want to. If she makes eye contact with Dima, that could encourage him to make new advances on Maria. Dima’s suaveness is on level of Jabba the Hut. Which means that while he is talking to me, he constantly takes glimpses at Maria’s tits. She is 21. Of course. The only problem is that Dima’s glimpses are overly lengthy and blatantly obvious. He is like a dim-witted circus bear.
Because I’m only a manager, I have to listen to Dima. He is a director. It does not matter if he is a director of Cheburashkas. He is very important. According to himself. And to ensure that everyone knows this, he has created a dreadful reporting practice which every manager has to fill out.
- “Is the number of trash cans adequate in your office?”
- “How do you keep track of office supplies?”
- “How many printer copies does your team make per month. Why?”
- “Are your team members correctly using ergonomics in their work?”
These are examples of what he asks. There are 37 more. I fill this survey every month. It takes me 45 minutes. And for that whole time, I just think of how much I hate Dima.
Dima: “As a DIRECTOR, I say we do THIS!”
He says the same thing again but emphasizes his title with the volume of his voice. “Okey, okey, Dima, I understand that we must unplug phone charges when not in use.” That’s his topic for this morning. It’s clearly very important.
Dima: “No, you don’t understand. Electricity is expensive. Look, look!”
He sees that Maria’s phone is charging. He grabs it with his hands. The phone has a pink cover, with small bunny ears and lots of glimmering stickers of hearts. Maria looks up. She does not want Dima touching her phone. Neither would I.
Dima: “Look, Petr! This phone is using the company’s electricity. It’s morning, and it already needs to be charged. Maria, why is your phone charging in the morning?”
He turns fully into Maria’s direction. He puts his hands on his hips, even though he’s still gripping the phone in his right hand and papers in his left hand. He is into the power play. Authority. Superiority. It’s a fast lane to sex. That’s what going on through Dima’s mind.
Maria: “I’m… well, the battery was down and I’m charging it…”
Dima: “Down? What work have you done this morning that the battery is already down? You use your phone all night. You chat with your girlfriends on Telegram. It has no battery. And you come to the office in the morning and use the company's electricity to charge it? This is clearly a violation.”
Dima’s hands are waving as he talks and his voice get sterner. Maria’s face starts to get red as she is blushing. Her pulse quickens and veins on her neck begin to enlarge. Even though she is wearing a black turtleneck sweater, she feels vulnerable. She takes a glance at me, flabbergasted.
“Dima, nobody is stealing the company’s electricity. Relax.” I say that to Dima. He does not turn. He keeps staring at Maria. He keeps looking at her neck, where here alertness can be seen. He enjoys this. The power he has as an office manager is his heroine. He is addicted to it. He is a son of a bitch. “Dima!” I say again, now with annoyance. He still doesn’t say anything. But he puts Maria’s pink phone back down.
Dima: “Here’s the survey.”
He drops the papers that he had in his hands at my desk without looking. His eyes are still fixed on Maria.
Dima: “There’s also a survey for your team. Fill it by noon and bring to my office.”
He looks at me, finally. I don’t say anything.
Dima: “Good.”
And he leaves the office. Triumphantly.
Chapter 3: On Circus Bears, Tits and Surveys