I worked as a psychologist at a methadone clinic from 2002 through 2005. It was a pretty grim environment; not because of the recovering opiate addicts, but because of my mental health colleagues, one more bitter and mean-spirited than the next. I'm sure you're wondering what this has to do with dream jobs, but bear with me.

The worst of the lot was the clinic director, an older Irish woman with ice water, envy, and malice coursing through her veins. Nothing made her happier than making her staff unhappy. The last Christmas season I worked there, I decided to get her goat by being overtly HAPPY.

I hung Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Chinese New Year, et al decorations in the waiting area. The pièce de resistance was my office door, which opened into the waiting room. I made a life size gingerbread man cookie out of copper-colored foil wrapping paper, complete with gumdrop buttons (construction paper, paste, and real sugar), and a bite mark cut out of his midsection. The adult patients loved him! The more decorations I hung, the more dour my boss became until she told the secretary to tell me to stop.

Every holiday party, the director performed a skit, using a funny voice, in which she took potshots at the staff. She thought she was being "funny." Those of us she targeted didn't experience it as such. I was her primary target that year. She actually wore a long, curly red wig- talk about a hostile work environment. I still can't believe she did it.

After New Year's, all the decorations were dismantled except for my gingerbread man door. My boss began to pester the secretary, wanting to know when I planned to tear him down. In a childish act of defiance, not only did I NOT tear down my gingerbread man, I made him seasonal outfits.

I gave him feathered wings, a paper diaper, and a bow and arrows for the month of February. In March, I outfitted him with a leprechaun hat, shillelagh, and a pot of gold. In April, I suited him up in construction paper running shoes, shorts, water bottle, and a Boston Marathon contestant number placard. That summer, he sported Ray-Bans, Hawaiian shorts, and flip flops (I erred on the conservative side by not dressing him in a Brazilian thong).

The patients began to anticipate how I would dress him next; my boss stopped making direct eye contact with my door. Thinking about this still makes me smile.

I left my job at the clinic shortly after summer ended. It was a toxic environment and certainly not my dream job. My gingerbread man was my off the wall, creative attempt at maintaining my sanity in an insane environment. I wasn't about to let them beat me and I certainly wasn't going to join them. Now, I have a terrific job I love that's stimulating, creative, and fun (most days). My experiences at the clinic make me appreciate where I am now. Even when it's tough, it's still my dream job... for now.

Although this experience took place a mere 2 years ago, it feels like a lifetime ago. I can't believe I lasted as long as I did and don't regret my decision to leave the mental health field. The day I left the clinic for the last time, I very carefully untaped my gingerbread man from my door, lovingly rolled him up, brought him home, and hung him on my computer room wall.
Creating paper outfits for a Christmas decoration 9 months after the holiday has passed is a sign things aren't going well at work; neither is using Despair.com demotivators for screensavers.

Work settings are a matter of "fit." My former boss was a controlling micro-manager who employed negative reinforcement. I'm autonomous and like work to be fun, not a source of negativity and punishment. I'm aware of this now and have walked away from jobs I believed weren't a good fit. We spend a significant part of our lives at work. Why can't it be productive, enjoyable, and energizing?