10 Ways to Deal with an Office Jerk

For 8 months I worked in an office with someone who refused to talk to me.  On the rare occasions in which she did decide to speak, her sentences were curt and her tone was loaded. Her desk faced the wall, and whenever anyone asked her anything, she didn’t even turn around. She gave one-word answers to questions that required explanations, and gave almost everyone the silent treatment in the office. Once, I wrote her an email, politely letting her know about something. Her response?

DO NOT LECTURE ME

No punctuation. No “Dear X”. No context. No “Not now, I’m totally stressed.”

And this went on for way too long to remember. So, I nicknamed her Little Miss Sunshine because every time I say that, it brings a little giggle to my face. And I prefer to laugh at life than to punch someone because violent outbursts are not good for humanity. (Repeat: Violent outbursts are not good for humanity.)

Being the sensitive and sometimes overly introspective person that I am, managed to drive myself crazy trying to figure out how to appease this toxic person. But at a certain point, a number of other people began to have the same complaints and frustrations about this same co-worker. Projects that would normally take a short amount of time were taking days, sometimes weeks or months because before implementing any step, employees would have to map out a way to circumvent this person to avoid her involvement.

Clearly, it was extremely relieving and validating when I discovered that I was not alone. My colleagues, too, felt sucked into this other person's insane reality; manipulated into a psycho’s drama. What a blessing it was to know that I wasn't at fault, and that others unfortunately felt similarly. This person was sick; almost to the point of pathological; insecure, ridiculously passive-aggressive (when she wasn’t outright aggressive) and controlling.

As I dealt with this, I discovered that there many books and blogs written about dealing with toxic people, control-freaks, maniacal colleagues and jerk managers. One book helped me in particular:  The No Asshole Rule by Bob Sutton. Based on an academic article in the Harvard Business Review, this book handles these infuriating scenarios in rational level-headed management terms (and some snarkiness too). It is fresh air for the cubicle! Why didn’t they ever teach “dealing with assholes” in in high school or college? It’s like you’re thrown to the wolves as soon as you graduate, just when the principal or dean's office is off-limits to you.

Based on my cursory research and my own processing, there are a lot of practical tips I've come up with that help others dealing with office politics, a maniacal co-worker; the downright office bitch. (THEY ARE EVERYWHERE, I TELL YOU!)  

Without further ado, here are 10 practical ways to deal with an office jerk: 

(1) Surprisingly, the number one piece of advice offered is, after wholehearted, practical attempts to rectify the situation, if you see no end in sight, the #1 suggestion is to get the hell away from the person. Sometimes that means leaving a job; other times that means switching departments. 

(2) Make sure to document as much as possible, whether it’s in email or by submitting complaints to HR. (We did not have a formal HR nor a manager who seemed to care much so I was left to fend for myself…)

(3) Start doing something outside of work as your own outlet; something to release the negative energy. Do something creative, go walking, running, join a drama club. Don’t just go out with friends to vent about work; the energy will just stay inside your mind and body, consuming you. You’ll start to have trouble sleeping and it will ultimately affect your health (mental and physical). It's just not worth it. Do something for yourself to feel creative and healthy.   

(4) Come up with a nickname for them that reminds you of a similar character from a movie or TV show. Use the nickname a) in your head, b) at home, c) NOT IN THE WORKPLACE. Though it’s immature, it will at least give you a dose of laughter, and lighten the situation. (Note: I don’t think the Harvard Business Review suggested that one.)

(5) On a similar note, find a playlist of what I call “Angry Girl Music”. Listen to it after an altercation of some sort. (Anything from Avril Lavigne, Pink to AC/DC will work.) It will help you realize that everyone at some point in their lives, has encountered irritating, toxic people. Take Lilly Allen for example. Her profound and evocative work, Fuck You will hit the spot on a particularly irritating day:

(6) See this difficult person as if you’d see and deal with a sick person. Take their ‘complaints’ lightly, brush them off, see that their anger is very likely from another source in their life (Spouse? Annoying kids? Abusive childhood?) REMEMBER: IT’S NOT YOU.

(7) ...but at the same time, be honest with yourself. If there are things that you do that are irritating, or if you incite the person, respond in a spiteful or passive-aggressive manner, take ownership of that. Take responsibility for your part and stop.

(8) Sometimes we are blind to our own flaws, so you might want to show a sample email correspondence to a trustworthy and honest friend (not someone from work) who can pinpoint which parts of the communication are unhealthy, biting, charged, and which parts are your contribution to that. Remember: IT TAKES TWO TO TANGO.

(9) Pray. Yes, seriously. Take a few minutes to pray sincerely. To ask for guidance with your thoughts, your words, your mindset. Pray for Little Miss Sunshine’s mental well-being because whatever the heck is going on in her life, she’s taking it out on you (me, that is). So pray that it is resolved and that you’ll get back to a healthy dynamic.

Yes, similar behavior is antithetical to a healthy work environment (or any civil environment for that matter). However, it’s important to remember there will always be difficult people in life, and unfortunately, we can’t always escape them so easily. Figure out a way to release your stress, outsmart them, and respond neutrally to the person.  

(10) Last tip: Wait at least 5 minutes before responding to an email. Otherwise you will respond on impulse and you will likely convey a charged emotion. Waiting (and maybe get up out of your chair to process or cool down) will help you respond with your head instead of your heart.

These are things that I incorporated into my life – thanks to lots of reading, processing, therapy and good friends. And thank G-d, little by little, things got slightly better. Eventually the person left me alone and we began to have very little interaction. The dynamic between us became minimal and strictly functional. Sort of like a cold peace between Soviet Russia and the US; Gaza and Israel. Sounds promising, eh?!

My new college course @ The University of Life: Life Politics 101
Rating: The Most Frustrating (but worthwhile!) Class Ever.

My Russian Learning Exchange in Jerusalem

I’ve always had a knack for languages. Maybe it was my mom’s initiative in sending me to a French-English preschool that got my linguistic wheels going. Maybe it was my father’s knowledge of random curse words in multiple languages that kept me curious. I can’t pinpoint the exact source of being a linguaphile, but suffice to say that I love having the ability to meet and communicate with different people in their languages.

Tonight was the beginning of my second stint studying Russian.  The first time I studied the language, I was a junior in high school. SUNY Stony Brook had offered after-school foreign language courses for excelling students, and I had a thirst to expand my horizons while taking advantage of my junior license and new car. I loved studying in a university setting, and soaked up the Russian by listening to tapes and reading books.

Fifteen years later, here I am living in Jerusalem, still with a burning desire to communicate with Russian people and learn more about their culture. Given my self-proclaimed status of ‘eternal student’ and ‘language nerd’ (חנונית לשפות in Hebrew), I felt that I needed another linguistic challenge in my life now that I am fluent in Hebrew. I figured I’d give this Russian class a try to see how much I remembered from high school and perhaps make progress with my comprehension and conversational skills.

I find that I learn best in group settings, so the class at Berlitz got me very excited. After the trial class, I am pleased to report that my reading and comprehension skills in Russian are actually still quite good, which I think is due to a combination of frequent eavesdropping on random Russian conversations while traveling on public transportation throughout Israel, and reading every single sign in Russian that my eyes land upon.  I would say that my visit to Moscow also plays a part in my language retention, but my trip was eight years ago, so I don’t think it’s a contributing factor anymore.

The other students in my class intrigue me more than the language study itself. Talk about an "Only in Israel" moment – their backgrounds are testimonies to the authentic diversity in Jerusalem as a city. Just hearing a small snippet of their biographies made my own narrative seem mundane and lackluster. I’ve only met these young adults twice thus far, but I am looking forward to starting an enriching encounter with a different face of Jerusalem.

Take V., for example, a twenty-something Armenian Jerusalemite. He lives in the Old City, and works in his family jewelry business, which has stores in the Armenian Quarter of the Old City and one of the fancy hotels on Road #1 (the busy thoroughfare which serves as the border between “Western” and “Eastern” Jerusalem).  He speaks four languages fluently, and already knew how to say in perfect Russian, “Friend, for you, I give you a discount!” 

Then there’s A., a young twenty-something Arab guy with strawberry-blonde hair and bright blue eyes. He is finishing his degree in Mechanical Engineering. A. is from Abu-Gosh (I think that means he’s a Christian Arab), and went to school in Neve Shalom – the cooperative peace village near Latrun that I've been reading about for years. This came up in conversation because I assumed he had to translate the Russian exercises into Hebrew and then into Arabic, but he informed us that he’s been in an all-Hebrew learning environment since elementary school.  Hearing that he studied at Neve Shalom was a particularly exciting discovery for me since I’ve been following their work for many years, when I was researching bi-cultural peace education in areas of conflict. It also turns out that David Broza’s grandfather was one of the founding fathers of Neve Shalom –so many connecting pieces for me!  A. has the lowest level of Russian, but I think if he starts watching Russian TV, he’ll improve quickly.

K. comes from the FSU Republic of Georgia. He’s been here since he’s about 10, and works as a lecturer in Physics and Mathematics at ORT. He also studied German, plus he’s fluent in English, Georgian and Hebrew.  I don’t know how his Russian is so good, but he has little patience for A. and steals the spotlight. There’s always one know-it-all in every class!

Then there’s C, who is a sweet Charedi girl who was born to American parents in Jerusalem. It turns out that she volunteered with the same organization that brought me to Russia eight years ago, and spent three winters teaching Judaism to Russian students. She is kind, gentle and speaks Russian on a basic level. She reminds me of myself when I was young, more frum and more naïve.

The process of studying a foreign language in a foreign language is a fascinating process. There aren’t enough words to fully express how excited I am to refresh my Russian skills, but the added element of learning it in my third foreign language (Hebrew; Spanish is my second language) is going to be very challenging.  For me, the mental gymnastics is enjoyable. I love the cerebral challenge of translating back and forth, but I thought I would be the only one doing so in the classroom. I'm definitely not alone here.

Jerusalem’s colorful cultural tapestry is once again showing its face. Each one of us is learning Russian in a foreign language, yet most of the students (besides K. and I) were born in this very city! This “Only in Israel” moment is one that I have never encountered before. 

Today's cultural experience once again shows me how much similarity there can be between individuals who otherwise seem to have little in common. Each person has a narrative, and each person is fascinating in his/her own right. Even the aggressive, sketchy merchants in the Old City have families and children who wish to help develop their families' businesses! I find that when you encounter different people from various walks of life, you develop an appreciation for and curiosity about everyone.

Oh, I am a student of life, and every day in Jerusalem is my classroom!

Things Israelis Say On a Date

On a first or second date, there is a fine line between getting to know the person who sits before you, and crossing into the 'too-personal zone'. I find that Israeli men tend to live to the reputation of 'dugri' even when it comes to dating. However, many times, especially from an American perspective, such direct talk can be jarring, stifling, tactless and very much over the boundaries of first date small-talk.

I've come up with a short list, which I hope will be a work in progress (actually, no I definitely do not want to continue facing such questions). I'd appreciate hearing any feedback on appropriate responses.

1. Do you rent your apartment or own?
2. How religious are you? What length are the skirts you wear?
3. How much do you pay in rent?
4. Which kupat holim do you have?
5.(Upon learning my parents are divorced): Who do you live with? Are you in touch with your father/mother? Why did they get divorced?

Ok I'm done for now. Thanks for listening.

On Grandma's 100th Birthday

I still remember walking into my grandmother’s modest house in Elmont, New York. We would always enter through the door in the backyard because she had turned the front of the house into a second-level apartment which she rented. I would walk in the door, which immediately had us standing in her kitchen, and I’d reach for the refrigerator door because I knew that’s where the kept her stash of M&Ms. She would stop me in my tracks, welcome me, and then quickly look at my hands. “You have to stop biting your nails, J.,” she constantly reprimanded me. Even at the age of six or seven, I had already developed a habit that continues to this very day. “Oy vey, your nails are so short,” she whined in her raspy voice, “it’s so bad for you!” “Ok, ok, ok, I’ll stop,” I would tell her over and over again. I’m now thirty-two, and sometimes my fingers still hurt from biting them. Oops, sorry Gram!

We were always pretty diligent about visiting my grandma. My mom had an exceptionally close relationship with her, and I believe both she and I take after my grandma in many ways. And so, today, what would have been her 100^th birthday, I would like to reminisce about my grandma, Ann S., and maybe try to shed some light on who she was.

Ann (Anna) S. was born on Stanton Street on the Lower East Side on August 12, 1912 to Molly (Malka) and Hymie (Chaim) W's. As far as I know, the W's had many children, but only four girls survived beyond infancy: Sarah, Gussie, Dora and Anna.  At a certain point, they moved to the Bronx, then seen as moving up the socio-economic ladder. Even back in the 30s and 40s, my grandmother was already challenging societal roles: she became a working woman, and became the main breadwinner of her family. I don’t know what her parents did for a living, but they were immigrants from Poland, presumably limited professionally and linguistically. "Anna", as they called her, was a first-generation American, worked as a bookkeeper in New York City, and helped finance her family. When she wasn’t working in the office, she worked hard at home.  I believe they were Orthodox Jews growing up, but once she had her own family, she chucked frumkeit and Yiddish. She chose a more cultural-Jewish route, making the world's best matzah ball soup for yuntifs, chopped liver, and went to the Elmont Jewish Center a couple of times a year. During her early adult life, she dedicated her life to helping her parents, and also helped her sisters raise their children.

Her older sister Dora, was widowed when her two sons were about two and five years old. My grandma helped raise Dora’s two sons, H. and R., and encouraged them both to stay in school and empower themselves.H. went on to get his PhD, and is still active in local politics. He has become a role model for me, and I love getting together with him on the rare occasions that I go to the U.S. R., too, has developed his own career, and still lives in the Bronx. My grandma used to tell us stories about their childhood friend from the Bronx, Al Pacino, who of course, went on to become one of the most famous movie stars of all time. I wonder if there's a chance that he remembers "Aunt Anna"?!

I would like to think that I get my ambition and drive from my mother, who I believe, got it from my grandma. She was a tough lady, didn’t let anyone stop her when she wanted to do something, and spoke her mind…She grew to hate my father, and made no secret of that. She also, did not like the fact that we became more observant religiously. She felt that this lifestyle was better left in the shtetl, and said, “We’re in America now! Who needs this?!” Yet, we continued in our ways. And, for some reason that I still do not understand, she wasn’t so fond of my sister Rachel, who was a cute little rolly-polly blonde baby, yet she would tease her and trip her with her cane when she started to walk. I still don’t understand why!

 

Surprisingly, my grandma didn’t get married until she was about thirty-nine years old! She gave birth to my mom at forty, and to my aunt at forty-one!  To start a marriage and have kids at that age in the 1950s was unheard of! To thicken the plot, her husband, Harry, my grandfather, was about six years younger than her. Just consider that for a moment to get an idea of how unconventional my grandma must have been. Of course these are details that I only became aware of as I got older, but now that I have some awareness of societal norms in a historical perspective, I am so curious to uncover the mystery of my grandma.  It sounds like she was so busy in her professional and family life, but to put off starting her own family, when everyone around her was presumably starting their own families at such young ages, either she just didn’t care (very likely) or it was difficult for her to handle. Most likely it was a combination of both.

My mom, M. was born in 1952 in the Bronx, and my aunt R. was born in 1953. My grandparents then moved out to the suburbs of Long Island for a better life, and so both my mom and aunt were raised in Elmont, NY. To this day, my mom’s two claims to fame are: 1) Billy Joel played at her high school prom with his then- garage-band; and 2) she is a proud participant of the original Woodstock, to which her very own father drove her for hours, while getting stuck in traffic from Long Island all the way to Saugerties, New York.

Once into adulthood, my mom and dad stayed on the North Shore, while my mom developed a successful career as an English teacher, and my aunt and uncle struggled their way their whole lives, moving around the South Shore with my cousin Brian.

Even though I was already an adult when my grandma passed away (she died in May 2002), I didn’t have the opportunity to get to know her life story. She had dementia for the last few years of her life, and just at the time in my life when I developed a curiosity to get to know her and ask her about her life, she was not lucid anymore. Yet, what always made an impact on me was how well my mother took care of my grandma. Just like my grandma dedicated her life to helping her own parents for so long (presumably until they died), my own mother bent over backwards to make sure my grandma had the best of the best care as she became elderly.

After she moved out to the Assisted Living Center, she had a stroke which left her blind. My mom spent months researching the best options for her, and chose to hire a companion nurse for her to help her with her everyday living. She specifically chose this option, I think, because she knew that she wasn’t ready for a nursing home. It would have been degrading for a woman who was used to balancing her checkbook to the penny to move into a nursing home just because she couldn’t see anymore. At the time, she was still “with-it” mentally; she was blind and needed help around the house. So my mom hired Genevieve, a kind woman with a slight southern twang, was in her late 50s and lived nearby. My mom trusted her with my grandma, and had her do help with her shopping, cooking  and light chores. My grandma, called her “Genovese” like the pharmacy, because she just couldn’t hear her name right. She stayed with my grandma for a while until her situation deteriorated, necessitating the care of a nursing home. My mom then found her the most palatial nursing home in the area: the Gurwin Jewish Geriatric Center, where we spent a lot of time. I was already in college by then, but my mom took my little sister and visited her nearly every single day.  As a divorced mom of three spoiled, high-maintenance children who had held down a full-time career for her entire adult life, I honestly don’t know how my mother found the time to juggle everything and still take care of my grandma. She knew that my grandma always made sure to have her hair permed and set once a week; this didn’t stop once she was in the nursing home. She made sure she had everything she needed, that she was comfortable and lived in dignity. 

I can go on and on, but here is a short list of things I believe I learned from my grandma:

·         Don’t be afraid to speak your mind.

·         Dedicate one room in the house for the kids to ruin. ( I say this because I have distinct memories of seeing the spray-painted graffiti from the 60s and 70s that my mom and her friends must have sprayed on my grandma’s basement walls!)

·         Sprite tastes better when it’s cold and flat.

·         Don’t bit your nails. (still do, sorry Gram!)

·         Never leave the house with hair looking bad.

·         A woman should never rely on a man to be the sole breadwinner in the family.

·         No matter how much you disagree with them, family comes first.

·         It’s ok to marry a younger man (if it was ok in 1949, it's certainly ok now!)

So I guess now you get a sense of the female role models in my family, and perhaps this sheds light on some of my own character traits. For those of you who remember my grandma, you’ll agree that she was one, feisty old lady!

I miss you Gram, you are always in my mind.

5 Reasons Why I Love Being Lighter

5 Reasons Why I Love Being Lighter

I am celebrating 52 lbs gone, gotten rid of, goodbye, don't want to ever see you again. GONE! I didn't "lose 52 lbs" because "lost" implies I am looking to find them, which I am not. I don't ever, ever want to see that weight again.

I've taken on a this attempt at getting rid of my weight, but I had no idea how much better I'd feel about myself. Thank G-d, I am in a much more positive place in my life, but I cannot take it as a given. Every day is a blessing, every pound I lose is a blessing, and I cannot take it for granted!

So, here is a short list of things I love about being 52 lbs lighter. I hope it serves as a reminder to me if I ever think of stopping with my program or going back to the way I was.

1. I love that when I look in the mirror these days, I actually like what I see. In 31 years, this hardly ever happened.
2. I love that there is hardly any chub sticking out on my back anymore.
3. I love that I can wear those cute platform and wedge shoes comfortably. Last year, I tried to put them on and almost tipped over. My knees hurt me after 5 minutes on putting them on in the house.
4. I love that I feel comfortable looking at people. I wasn't comfortable looking people in the eyes before because I was embarrassed of how I looked.

There are so many more things I love about being lighter, but this is a preliminary list. I'd like to write up these lists every now and then, to inspire myself and others. We are worth investing in ourselves because our value increases everyday! (you can quote me on that last part!)