In my office, there is also another woman. My other subordinate. Our third team member. Why have I not mentioned her? Because it was not her time. Now it is.

She is Natasha. She is 37. Older than me. She has worked in the company for 10 years. She has had many bosses. But I’m so far the best. That’s what she has said. She really likes my ideas. Says that very few managers in the whole St. Petersburg could have such ideas. I, of course, know this myself. She does not need to say this to me. But Russians always say what’s on their minds. We don’t have a filter. Our emotions guide our lives. If we feel sad, mobile phones fly. If we feel happy, kisses for everyone.

Natasha is sick today. She has the flu. Again. She has the flu at least once a month. But because she is a patriotic Russian woman, she asks for sick leave only every second time. It’s the least she can do. I approve every second application. It’s not suitable to be sick that often. And the application process is also quite strict. I have made it properly organized. There is a form that has a place for a stamp. Only I have the stamp. The form is very simple, only seven items. But every time they bring it to me, I inspect it very thoroughly. I take 2 minutes. They stand in silence. Waiting. Staring at the wall or at their hands. They are nervous. They don’t know what I will do. Sometimes I ask: “Why are you sick again? I don’t need sick people here, I need good workers, and you are sick all the time.” At that moment, they usually start to shake a little bit. Their eyes start to puff up with pending tears. I feel strong. I feel manly. I get tingling in my stomach. The girls need to know who is the boss. I rarely listen to their response. I look at them in the face, I periodically check their bodies. They always dress very thickly, lots of clothes on, but I still like to see. And it really is my duty to analyze their form and figure. I check whether they are really sick or not.

I’m always sitting behind my desk when the application for sick leave is given forth. They often keep standing in front of my desk, even though a chair is available. It is more respectful that way. I like it. I could invite them to sit down, but it’s better for them to be standing. Just to know who is their boss. Yesterday, Natasha was putting in her sick leave application. I read the form slowly:

Family, First, Patronymic name: Petrovna Natalia Ivanovna

Age: 37

Position: Manager for Media Relations

Reason for sick leave: My throat hurts and I my nose is runny

The length of days of absence: 3

Number of sick days this year so far: 21

Urgent work tasks during the sick leave: Proofreading copywriter texts, approving stock photos, coordinating the M23 account

I read the lines over and over again, to fill the two minutes of silence. We are in my office alone, Maria has left one hour early today. She has a dentist appointment. Good for her, teeth are important. Natasha is still standing, as she should be.

“Natasha, Natasha... What is this again? Why?”

Natasha: “Petr, I’m sick. I have the flu. I want to work, but I cannot. My head is full of ruckus. My brain does not work. It’s awful. I must go home. I do very good work, but I cannot now. It’s terrible…”

She would go on for another 10 minutes, but I interrupt with a strict shout: “Last time! Do you understand? This will be your last sick leave this year! I cannot have an employee who is not here. I need a team. I need output. Not this. Come on, Natasha.”

She wants to answer, but I immediately get up, and she does not know what to say. I grab my coat in my hand and start moving towards the door. Right after I pass her, I turn around. Her upper body turns partially towards me. I breathe deeply several times without saying anything. She looks into my eyes, slightly in despair. “Natasha, you know that I’m a good boss,” I say this quietly. “I will give you this sick leave, but your work must be super high quality from this point forward.”

Natasha: “Yes, Petr, of course. I will do everything excellently. Thank you!” She is relieved. She wants to hug me, but I stop her initiative by saying: “Give me my stamp, it’s on my desk.” She turns around and leans over my desk. The curvature of her body is at a right angle, her brown wool dress is pressed tight against her butt and hips. She reaches for the stamp and gets back up. I take it from her hand without saying anything. I stamp the paper against the wall and give it back to her. She thanks me several more times. I leave. This is how a good boss acts. You can’t let employees go easily. They need to work for it. Natasha did a good job. I will reward her one day.

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