March 9th, 1982

The Scene: late afternoon at the office. Leslie has put a panel on an order form together incorrectly. She feels she has not received proper information from Alfred and me. She is angry and yells and shoves papers on her desk. Her outburst angers me. I respond by yelling angrily, pounding my fist on the countertop and tossing the mechanical across the counter. I put my coat on and leave without any further conversation.

▢ Jesus! You asswhole (note this misspelling) I hope you’re pleased with yourself. What a stupid little display of temper. I suppose you feel a certain smugness at “getting in touch with your anger”. However you choose to view it— it was a dumb— irrational outburst.

▢ ▢ Look— I am sick and tired of feeling intimidated by Leslie’s moods and temper tantrums. They’re totally inappropriate. She is all the time having a little outbursts over mistakes that are not deliberate. Does she think I deliberately neglected to give her the right information?

▢ Two wrongs do not make a right.

▢ ▢ You’re afraid of asserting yourself in any way in that office. You walk around timidly— quietly— meekly— some boss.