Mrs. Diamond was a bully. She was also a control freak and extremely vain, but mainly she was a bully. In her early 60’s, she was a beautiful woman who prided herself on looking years younger than she actually was; she was one of those corporate types who kept getting promoted mainly on the basis of her haircut and her wardrobe, both of which were impeccable, as well as her ability to cozy up to the right men in the Executive Offices. Anyone who has ever worked in Corporate America has known a Mrs. Diamond.
Mrs. Diamond’s weapon of choice was the cruel, verbal put-down, always delivered in a soft Southern accent with a wide, toothy smile. If one of her subordinates was foolish enough to protest, or to retaliate, Mrs. Diamond’s smile would grow wider. “I’m sure I didn’t mean to upset you, Honey,” she would say, “I think you misunderstood me.” After that, the foolish employee’s days were numbered.
I never understood what pleasure she gained from this game; whether it was because she enjoyed hurting people, or to assert her own superiority, or just because she could, but knowing that Mrs. Diamond had total control, people eventually stopped fighting back, so her cruelty was unchecked. “I think you’d be much better looking if you grew a beard,” Mrs. Diamond told me one day; “it will hide how large your nose is.” Not long after, we were having a party in the break room because our shift supervisor was celebrating losing 100 pounds. “Congratulations, Honey!” said Mrs. Diamond. “Now your next goal should be to stop walking like a fat girl.”
Not convinced? How about the time one of the Techs, Raj, got engaged and brought in a picture of his fiancée. “She looks very sweet,” said Mrs. Diamond. “You’re smart not to marry a pretty girl. They’re more trouble than they’re worth.”
And I’ll always remember one year at the Christmas Party, held at Mrs. Diamond’s spectacular home on the River, when she gave my coworker Dorothy a big hug. “What a pretty dress,” said Mrs. Diamond. “It’s amazing how they can make polyester feel almost like real silk.”
Mrs. Diamond’s put downs were so consistent, and so brilliant in their originality, that I actually started writing them down, like when a coworker and his wife, ecstatic, had just closed on their first house. “What a charming bungalow,” said Mrs. Diamond. “I’m sure that neighborhood will improve in time. Did you install an alarm system?”
But bullies always have their nemesis. I had a front row seat the day Mrs. Diamond was taking her new boss, the Executive VP, on a tour of the Operations Center. Mrs. Diamond’s new boss, Jasmine, was young and beautiful and brilliant. As they walked through the Center, Tanya, who was on maternity leave, came for a visit to show us her new baby. “Congratulations, Honey” said Mrs. Diamond, within earshot of Jasmine. “And don’t worry; everyone knows that ugly babies grow into beautiful children.” Jasmine, open-mouthed just stared, first at the embarrassed Tanya then at Mrs. Diamond’s cold, cruel smile.
Several minutes later Jasmine and Mrs. Diamond were near my cubicle when I heard Jasmine say conversationally, “I hear you’ve worked here for a long time.”
Mrs. Diamond chuckled. “I know it’s hard to believe, but I’ve been here over 40 years.”
“That’s not hard to believe at all,” said Jasmine. “I’d believe it if you had said 50 years.”
Mrs. Diamond looked like she had been sucker punched. “Most people think I look really good for my age,” she said, a trifle defensively.
“You do look great!” said Jasmine sweetly, adding, “I’ll bet you were lovely when you were young!”
“I’m not that old,” said Mrs. Diamond, stung, asking, unwisely, “How old do I look?”
“I’m not good at guessing ages,” said Jasmine. “I don’t know, 68? 70?”
Mrs. Diamond deflated like a balloon. “I’m only 62,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.
Jasmine did not bat an eyelash. “Well, you certainly don’t look it!” she said.