Bosley sent me a friend request on Facebook.
Most of you should know, either because you followed me over from my old blog or because you found me after TLo blogged about me, that I didn’t work for a glamorous private investigators firm. You know that I worked for a law firm. But, because this is a brand new blog and for the sake of continuity, I will continue to use the old-new code names for everyone.
To refresh your memory, Bosley used to be my boss.
And I used to consider him a friend.
Okay, so now you know that I worked for a law firm, but you may not know what I did. I worked in the firm’s marketing department. How did I get such a fine gig? Bosley was a fan of my old blog.
Yes, the very same blog he would one day ask me to stop writing.
See, before I worked for Bosley, I worked for Old-boss as his assistant. Old-boss was an administrative partner at a firm here in Philadelphia and as his assistant, I got to see the shady (and sometimes funny) side of the legal industry. And because I always wanted to grow up and be a writer, I started writing a column (and eventually a blog) for the legal newspaper. This is how Bosley found me. He thought I was funny and talented and hired me away from Old-boss to be a writer in Bosley’s marketing department.
Then, one day, I wrote a blog about a bunch of male lawyers that worked for us that stood out from the pack because of their attention to grooming. Somehow, this group of PYTs figured out I was talking about them and were pissed. They cried to their boss, their boss screamed at Charlie and Charlie called me in for a teta-a-tete during which he told me not to call anyone pretty ever again.
I remember having lunch with Old-boss right around this time and telling him about the uproar I caused. He laughed so hard he snorted margarita through his nose. See, when I worked for him I used to write about our revolving-door policy with new associates, how I pimped out a summer associate to one of our partners and one time when a partner asked me to rearrange his office so he didn’t have to look at his secretary. I even quoted Old-boss in one blog saying “we already have enough assholes working here.” In other words, things an administrative partner wouldn’t want anyone to know about his law firm. I think Old-boss would have celebrated a blog about how good looking our associates were.
But back to Bosley. After my face-to-face with Charlie, Bosley asked me to stop by. I told him about my conversation with Charlie and my concern about the big fat target that was now on my back. I figured, at the minimum, he would tell me not to worry about it, that he and Charlie had my back and as long as I didn’t poke or feed the metrosexuals, I would be fine.
But that’s not what happened. Instead, Bosley pointed out that Charlie really went to bat for me and that it would be nice if in turn I just stopped writing the blog. After all, he said, “You have to grow up some day.”
Wow. I had no idea blogging was something only children did. Which is what I am sure my face expressed. That or, “how dare you?” Either way, Bosley went on to tell me a story about a guy that worked at a factory in Dallas who was fired during the NFL playoffs when he wore an opposing team’s jersey to work. His point? Maybe they wouldn’t fire me for writing my blog. Maybe they would fire me for having Peyton Manning’s photo framed and on my desk because they could.
So, I decided to stop writing my blog. However, the very freakin’ week I was preparing to publish my big good-bye, Philebrity wrote a blog naming me their blog crush. I almost cried at the timing of it all and, thinking Boz was still my friend, I walked into his office with a print out of the blurb so we could both laugh and curse stupid eyeliner-wearing attorneys with no senses of humor.
The thing is, Bosley didn’t laugh or cry or even commiserate. Instead he looked up at me and asked, “What? Did you write this?”
Now, in my life I have made a couple of people cry, though almost always unintentionally. At that moment, though, I wanted to make Bosley cry. I wanted to punch him in his throat or spit in his stupid face or call him every mean and nasty name I could. Instead, I clenched my fists, opened my eyes real wide, snatched the page from his grubby grasp and said, “No, I didn’t.” I stared to leave but turned back, “You know, some people think I’m a talented writer. You used to be one of them.”
I also decided to punish Bosley the best way I knew how -- by taking away my friendship.
So when I got Bosley’s friend request, I shouldn’t have been torn. I should have hit ignore and laughed and laughed and then continue writing my novel. Bu the thing is, back in the day, when I was a columnist and blogger, I warned my readers about burning bridges. Which is why part of me thinks I should just let bygones be bygones and accept his friend request. After all, I’m not really “friends” with every one of my Facebook friends.
However, the other two-thirds of me is screaming -- ignore. You don’t get to hurt me, not apologize for it and remain in my life. Even if it is just my online life.