Sandy's Say: Mrs Bagatini
...The store was his kingdom and he marched up and down the aisles, autocratically insisting on respect, rather than quietly earning it. He was secretly despised by his employees but most of them were dependent on him for their jobs so they were obliged to knuckle down and meekly submit to his tirades...
Columnist Sandy James tells the encouraging tale of a bullying man's come-uppance.
For more of Sandy's entertaining words please click on http://www.openwriting.com/archives/sandys_say/
Mr Lipchitz was the tyrannical manager of the clothing store where I once worked in South Africa. He was a bombastic, stocky man with a bristling moustache, bulldog jowls and the tenacity to match. He had latched firmly onto the concept of "store profitability before all else" and he spent most of his time strutting around the shop, striking fear into his employees by nit-picking on the tiniest of lapse details, bellowing at them and belittling them in front of workmates and customers alike.
The store was his kingdom and he marched up and down the aisles, autocratically insisting on respect, rather than quietly earning it. He was secretly despised by his employees but most of them were dependent on him for their jobs so they were obliged to knuckle down and meekly submit to his tirades.
The artistic window dresser used to try and ease the air of potential mutiny by drawing a daily cartoon strip and carefully passing it around underneath the staff canteen table at lunchtimes. He cleverly depicted our dictator as Hitler and called it, "A Day in the Life of Mr Shitlips." It brought many a smile to the tear-stained faces of those who had recently emerged from a verbal bullying in the manager's office.
Amazingly, despite his obnoxious personality, Mr Lipchitz had managed to acquire himself a wife. He used to boast how he had spent several years wearing her down with sheer persistence until she had finally caved in and agreed to marry him. He viewed this as a triumphant conquest and did not see it for the sad, despotic relationship that it had inevitably become. Occasionally his wife would come into the store; a wan, humourless woman with all the joie de vivre drained from her.
Within this same store was a restaurant which was run by a wiry, feisty, Italian woman called Mrs Bagatini. Mrs Bagatini had firsthand experience in coping with dominant men and she had recently plucked up the courage to desert Mr Bagatini, back in Naples, and file for divorce. Now single, in a new country, in her mid-fifties and speaking little English, she was grateful to have found any employment at all.
But, without a man behind her, Mr Lipchitz perceived on Mrs Bagatini to be a vulnerable and easy target. He took malicious joy in picking on her, constantly ridiculing her and patronising her in front of the rest of us, especially when we sat around the conference table at early morning management meetings. He would goad her, hoping for retaliation but she sat there in grim silence, fuming inwardly yet determined not to allow him the victory of obviously upsetting her.
On one particular morning the restaurant's profits were down and when asked why, Mrs Bagatini simply shrugged her shoulders. This enraged Mr Lipchitz who yelled at her, "You should know why. Your very survival depends on it. You should be thinking about it every moment. Take me for example. I positively eat, breathe and sleep around the profitability of this store. I am so passionate about it that sometimes the worry about this store even gets into bed with me and comes between me and my wife!"
With her head still bowed and a small smile twitching at the corner of her mouth Mrs Bagatini replied, "Perhapsa sheeza lucky."
