The Braggart

I remember the Braggart with amusement. He was taller than me and certainly stronger due to his weightlifting. He had close-cropped hair and walked with a military bearing, chest out. Much of what he said was either boastful or designed to make another person look inferior, which is why I came to think of him as the Braggart. He would only smile if another was in distress. Never was he pleased if others were doing well, unless the other was his supervisor. He paid close attention to his supervisor and tried to please him.

With me, he waged psychological warfare. To anything I said, he would have an acid remark. For instance, when I considered donating to the company blood drive, he expressed his hope that the nurse would rip up my veins with the needle. Upon suspecting I was gay, he remarked to a colleague, "homosexuality is sick--what's next, incest and bestiality?" while looking straight into my eyes. I refused to be baited.

Another time, the Braggart planted the seed of suspicion in our supervisor's mind that I had stolen from our supervisor's desk a book. I did not make a denial, because I was not accused outright. The rumor made the rounds, but nothing more came of it. To this day, I am of the opinion that the Braggart stole the book and blamed me for the theft. But no matter. Sometimes, small matters appear large due to their proximity to us.

Another time, the Braggart hid in ambush for me behind a cubicle wall, and as I walked past, he jumped out and barked like a dog, laughing at my surprise. To this, I said in a loud voice, "What are you trying to do, give me a heart attack here?" Others poked their heads above the cubicle walls to look. Embarrassed, the Braggart never tried that particular trick again.

Over time, my general policy of avoidance paid dividends. The Braggart attacked me less and less, because I was not fun sport. He could expect little or no reaction from me. His attacks seemed ineffectual and sometimes earned an admonishment from others. Therefore, he relaxed over time and no longer thought of me as his enemy. Meanwhile, my competence became clearer to others, including our supervisor, as I completed numerous and varied work assignments. As time passed, he came to ask me questions and ask for my advice, which pleased me. I must admit, I was not quite as helpful to him as I could have been, say, with a colleague that I respected. But there were other times that I did come to his rescue, just for the satisfaction of hearing him thank me within earshot of our supervisor.

I knew that, besides being an oaf, the Braggart was a lousy programmer. My competence was like a knife twisting in his side. He could not be happy in this job that we were doing. One day a senior programmer who had been around forever and knew everything about everything exploded in the Braggart's face. He yelled at the Braggart that he was stupid as hell, besides being a damned fool. After the old man had left, the Braggart complained to our supervisor over the harsh words he had been dealt.

The Braggart survived much longer than I expected, thriving upon the sympathy of higher-ups, but he did not out-survive me. My supervisors found one excuse or another to transfer him to another department. He did not perform well in the new position either. Later he left the company. I understand that his marriage fell apart as well due to his marital infidelity, leaving him with a substantial monthly alimony bill.

The moral of the story is that it is not necessary to confront every belligerent. Sometimes, if one steps aside, they will continue on their path until they careen straight over a precipice.