Meryl Streep nearly got an Academy Award this year for playing a willful, demanding boss who rules her fashion magazine domain with an iron fist in “The Devil Wears Prada.” Many reviewers called her the “boss from Hell” or the “world’s worst boss.” In the movie, she makes employees pick up her dry cleaning and deliver it to her house at 10 p.m. She calls her assistant at night and on weekends. She changes long-set schedules at the last minute. Bad boss? Nightmare boss? Hardly. She’s a cupcake compared to many of the bosses who’ve fired me.

I walked past an editor’s desk years ago while he was screaming into the phone, swearing oath upon oath, his face contorted in rage. I’d been on the receiving end of that phone call more than once and had nothing but pity for the poor miserable victim on the other end of that line. The last thing he screamed before he slammed down the phone was, “If you ever call here again, I’ll come over there and stick my fist down your mouth and pull your heart out through your throat!”

“Who was that?” I whispered to his secretary.

“His Mom,” she whispered back. I went back to my desk and started updating my resume.