I know job dread is nothing new; we’ve all been there. But I dread my job for a different reason than you might suspect. It’s not that I never get my reports done on time. It’s not the Dragon Lady boss. It’s not utter boredom. The fuel in the fire of my dread is this: All of my co-workers are men.

They aren’t just men. They are salesmen. They aren’t just salesmen. They are salesmen in the construction industry. Are you keeping up with the descent down Darwin’s scale?

Now before any guy reading this rolls his eyes and huffs, please believe me when I say this is not just another male-bashing session. I like guys. Just not these guys. I can’t deal with them. They make me feel vulnerable and small. I turn into a quivering child around them. The sign on the entrance to work might as well say, Leave your self-respect at the door. I’m partly to blame for the abuse. I have no experience dealing with macho men. My dad is a British intellect. I don’t have brothers. I have had guy friends my whole life. And I’m attracted to effeminate geeks, not tough guys. I had no ammo going into this! And I get shot down every damn day.

At first I thought I could prove myself and quickly gain their respect. Instead, they despise me. They do not see my contribution, only my imposition. They do not appreciate my ideas and hard work; they disregard what comes out of my mouth as something they could have so obviously done better. She’s the new girl. How dare she just move in and do things different than the way they’ve always been done? God forbid change.

An interesting note here is that guys always say girls are too sensitive. Obviously they’ve never worked with salesmen. Did you know that the chemical make-up of a salesman is equal parts testosterone, equal parts moody bitch? They are angry and short-tempered. Their egos are HUGE. They are quick to dodge blame and even quicker to put it on others. They talk about each other behind their backs. They never put in a full day’s work. They sulk, stutter and whine incessantly.

They belittle me with their quips about keeping the paper tray in the fax machine filled up, ordering their lunch on time, picking up and discarding the paper towel that they drop on the bathroom floor instead of into the garbage can; and yet they claim I must be tired when I don’t laugh at their stupid jokes. Oh, I’m sorry! I forgot we were pals.

I strongly believe that they are driven to humiliate and psychologically abuse me because I intimidate them. And how does one overcome fear? By bullying others. Yes. I threaten the good ol’ boys’ way of doing things and they hate me for it. To them, I am their mother, their wife and their brat kid sister all rolled in to one. I walked in and ruined their macho fun.

I am in fact the executive assistant to the owner, and they are jealous. They hate the fact that there is someone literally standing between them and the boss man, making them work for what has been handed to them on a silver platter heretofore.

I now do the boss’ dirty work. I expect things of them. I make them follow policy. I ask for explanations when they do not fulfill their sales goals. They have to keep track of their own orders and follow-up on customer complaints. Something a primadonna salesman should never have to do is give a shit about their customers after they sign the dotted line, don’t you know. You can imagine the backlash.

Nope, I don’t think I’ll last much longer in this job. Like I said, I dread it every morning. I dream about it every night. I have imaginary arguments with my co-workers in the shower. This damn job is consuming me. And for what? A bunch of cocko attitude thrown up on me everyday and a measly paycheck every other week.

The painful truth of the matter is this: Strong men are heroes; they are respected and they are leaders. Strong women are bitches. Something about that just ain’t right.