Let's call him Mack

When I was married, working with Mack was a fairly simple affair. We might discuss religion, the vices of homosexuality or even the efficacy of stop work tactics. He loved to make indefensible assertions and though we might easily dismantle his arguments he always came back for more. This was while he was still getting to know me and of course, I was still married.

Mack finds programming for a bank as dull and insidious as any person with a pulse would. To keep himself entertained, he sows discontent, hoards knowledge, thwarts management and harasses bachelors.

During some of my more gullible and down trodden days, he enjoyed trying to convince me that I would be fired or in general replaced. He was also a big proponent of shaming people into learning, when he deigned to educate newbies. His favorite refrain was, "Do you want me to hold your hand? Would you like to sit on my lap?" This phrase was uttered to anyone who started at the firm under his tutelage. Passive aggressive and aggressive responses did not make him capitulate. There was simply no known way to make this thing humble or helpful.

How he was ever allowed to teach any of us anything is beyond me. He regarded knowledge as a weapon. Chaos was preferred, because it offered him job security... Any attempt to extract useful knowledge from him was met with "language barriers" and horrid diagrams, because english was his second language. Improvements were poo-pooed, because the newbies didn't understand the history of preceding decisions... Even if it was irrelevant, he would make the case. Managers were apt to throw their hands up in the air when he spoke, though he lacked confidence and shook like a leaf. A loud thump on table might set him straight again.

During this time a number of new guys were hired, three in fact. Mack was delighted, because none of them were married and 2/3 of them had girlfriends. Around this period, separation was immanent. Mack had his grubby skeletal hands full.

He attached himself to one guy's back, wanting to know about phone sex with. With the other unsuspecting newb, he suggested that his girl wore the pants and he wore a skirt. Any button that could be pushed interested him.

On my way to bachelordom, he insisted that the only moral thing to do was reconcile with my soon to be ex. I suppose he couldn't suggest much else, as a Chinese immigrant enamored with christ. The wagging boney strips protruding from his palms and crooked teeth bounced with glee as he admonished me for fooling around with other women while I was legally married. Mack lives in a stark moral world, you can only be married or single. The concepts of trial separation and lazy ex-es don't enter in to his understanding of the world.

Once the bottom fell out and I told him there would be no reconciliation he became very interested in my comings and goings. On a particularly slow day, I wandered over to his desk, hoping to extract some information from him.

"Is this about work, because every time I help you, I consider that a personal favor. I expect to be paid back," a perverse smile settled on his face.

"Yes, it's about work, but it'll only take a minute."

"Before you ask me, I've got some questions for you."

"Fine, but none of that, 'hold my hand crap.'"

He reached for his morning conversational piece, the New York Post. He pointed to a tiny picture in the lower right corner, a svelte woman in a revealing dress, blonde hair and sun glasses.

"In your expert opinion, do you think those are real?" The question excited him so much he couldn't help but settle his wooden, enameled teeth on his lips and squeal.

"I don't know, Mack and I don't care."

"OK. Did anyone sleep in your bed with you last night?"

"No."

"Did you watch any porn last night?"

"No."

"Did you spank it last night?"

"No."

This man has enraged people to the point that they've told him to find a mistress, buy his wife some flowers or head to Chelsea... So long as any of those options shut him up. I think depression caught up with him and his interests have turned inward, lucky us.

He gets back from vacation on August 6. I have 8 more days working with him. After that, I'll never see his desperate ugly mug again.

A team that should be 7 will be wittled down to 1, plus one kiss ass buffoon who likes to call people, "sir."