Letter To My Creepy Boss



Dear Bob,

It’s okay if I call you Bob, right? After you “accidentally” grabbed my ass today, I feel like all sense of respect really went right out the window. The thing about it is that had this been an isolated incident, I probably wouldn’t have thought too much about it. Maybe his hand slipped? Maybe he really was reaching for the elevator button? Maybe he tripped and needed to catch his balance? Again, had this been a one time thing, or even a some time thing, I might have been able to look past it. But the thing about it, Bob, is that this happens all the time. All. The. Damn. Time. It’s not okay.

And while we’re at it, you know what else is not okay? Calling your female subordinates “sweet cheeks,” or “hot stuff,” or God forbid, and this is by far the worst offender, “momma.” Seriously, Bob, what the hell is wrong with you? You do realize that literally every woman in this office hates you, right? The other day when you asked Meg in accounting how breastfeeding her newborn was going, I’m honestly surprised she didn’t hit you. Or what about that time that you told Anna that a nose job would’ve been a better investment than college? You can’t say things like that, you swine.

How you have yet to be sued is legitimately beyond me. Seriously, it blows my mind. If my parents knew that they paid for four years of a private university for me to end up being groped by a middle aged man who wears white tennis shoes to work, I’m telling you, they’d be pretty pissed. Not only is every female in this office smart, we’re also more educated than you are. Yes, Bob, we’ve noticed the lack of a diploma on your wall.

I’ve spent a good chunk of company time wondering how you even got this job in the first place. Seriously, how did you get this job? And more importantly, how have you kept this job? It seriously baffles me that you’ve been with the company for, what, fifteen years? My God, Bob. Whom exactly are you blowing?

Either way, I hate you. I’ve honestly never seen you work – not even for a minute. You successfully pace around the office, ask new mothers if their breasts are sore, wink at the interns, and then lock yourself in your office, presumably to watch porn. You’re like a creepier version of Michael Scott, except that you have none of the redeeming qualities. Seriously, you’re the worst.

I’m beginning to wonder if you are legitimately this stupid. It’s either that, or you’re just an asshole. I’ll let you decide, Bob. Regardless, if you haven’t figured it out yet, this is my resignation letter. It’s been real, Bob, a learning experience for sure. For example, I learned that sexual harassment is apparently a pretty big deal. I also learned that women in my exact situation have won a lot of money from suing guys just like you, Bob.
So unfortunately, this is where we part. Feel free to stare at my ass as I walk out the door. But don’t miss it too much; you’ll see it in court.

Best wishes.

P.S. You suck.

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Catie Warren

Catie struggles with adulthood and has been celebrating her 21st birthday for the past three years. She attended college in the nation’s capital and to this day is angry that Pit Bull lied to her, as you cannot, in fact, party on The White House lawn. Prior to her success with PGP, Catie was most famous for being featured in her hometown newspaper regarding her 5th grade Science Fair Project for which she did not place. In her spare time, she enjoys attributing famous historical quotes to Marilyn Monroe and getting in fights with thirteen year olds on twitter. Email:

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