Oh, Just Leave Me And My Shit Alone

You know, giving me tea is OK, especially if it's sweet as the lemon-flavored one Father's given me a couple times over the past couple weeks.  But he gave the tea to me because he thought I was coughing too much.  The first time yes, the second time no.

And yes, I have thought from time to time that I could use a light cord in my closet so I could actually look through my clothing.  I didn't ask My Fucking Father for one.  Now I know that he went through my closet.  Why the fuck would he be going through my closet?  He would not know at all that I can't light the light in my closet without opening it and going through my shit.  So that scares the fucking daylights out of me.  I can't shove my cum towel in there anymore because one day, he'll see fit to look through my closet just because he has fuck all to do and see my cum towel.

All these two motherfuckers have done is break every boundary I have and done things within my circle of privacy that is up to me alone.  This goes beyond meaning well.  This is them thinking they can do whatever they want with me and my stuff because they have no respect for me.  I guess I could punch them, but they'll be leaving soon, so maybe I'll just say good riddance to their meddling asses.

(And yes, I take back all the good things I said about them in this blog post.  For now.)

The Pains Of Being A Leader

So I organize a Game-watching event for my alma mater's football team.  For the past decade or so, we have, for the most part, congregated at this bar in downtown Minneapolis.  I think things could be better, but for the most part, I like it there.  It's centrally located and, I have to admit, many of the servers there are total babes.  Besides, someone else found this place, and I decided we would just keep going there because we have built so much familiarity and trust.  Well, that or inertia.  Possibly both.

I think we have been treated well by this place over the years.  That's why our group keeps coming back.  Of that group, we have about half a dozen or so who are diehards, those who have been to most of my Game-watching events going back many, many years.  I love them because I get to see them throughout the fall.  I would have no reason to do this if they didn't continue to show up.  So, if and when they have a concern, it would be my duty to listen and consider their grievances.

So, a couple weeks ago our alma mater's Game was on a Saturday night.  It was getting busy, but we found a table.  One of my regulars -- and seriously, this has been the group's A1 from day one -- comes in.  He's been under the weather lately, but he still managed to show up to root not only for our alma mater by also for The Los Angeles Dodgers, of whom he has been a lifelong fan.

Like I said, it got busy.  Not a big deal for a Saturday night, at least in my estimation.  After about five minutes my friend leans into me and says, "You know, I think I'm going to be leaving soon because the waitress is pissing me off."  Whoa.  He's never said that before.  Maybe things were going to blow over because we found a table closer to a TV that would show our Game, but after we scrambled to that table, he decided to leave.  He had a Dodgers hat on; he was planning on staying several hours to watch our football team and the Dodgers.  But he left maybe 15 minutes after he came.

Later that evening, after both the Dodgers and our football team won, I texted him.  I apologized if him leaving early was my fault.  It wasn't, he said, but it was the servers, two of them.  First, and one of the other regulars noticed this when I kind of brushed it off: One of the waitresses told my friend he should not be using a high chair he took from another table because a low one was available at our first table, but my friend's health issues get exacerbated when sitting too low.  There might have been an issue regarding the possibility that this low chair was underneath our first table, so maybe the server didn't know my friend couldn't see it.  Second, another waitress wanted us to wait to get onto this second table until she cleared all the dishes and glasses and wiped it down.  I think that's fine; in fact, I think that is what servers are supposed to do.  But the way my friend put it in his text to me, that was the final straw.  He felt disrespected twice, and so he split.

He was planning not to join us for our team's previous Game because that was on a Friday.  But they're back on Saturdays now, and so I would expect him to come.  But will he?  I wanted to ask him earlier in the week, but I got so busy ... well, to be honest, I have been thinking up the right words to say.  Look, I have left restaurants and bars before because I felt disrespected.  If you feel that way, go up and leave.  You should.  The problem is is that if you feel that way, you never go back to that place.  But that would mean, for me, that my good, good friend, and he's a real good guy, is never joining us for these Game-watching events ever again -- unless I change the venue.  And I am loathe to change our venue.  Sure, it would be nice to have the sound on.  There is a school with a bigger alumni group that literally takes over the bar when their Game is on, forcing us to one table or even to another place.  And maybe going downtown is a deterrent.  But it is such a pain in the you-know-what to patronize a brand-new bar that won't push us aside for a bigger alumni group.  As many disadvantages we've had to put up with, the equity we have built over the years is, to me, still worth staying at this place.  And, finally, I would like to think the slights my friend felt are not so serious enough to not go back.  But that's my perspective, not his, and as a leader, I feel like I have to take his considerations into account seriously.

So, what to do?  I need to text him to ask if he's coming.  Hopefully he'll say he'll give the place another chance.  But if he doesn't want to come back ... well, I don't want to change the place just because he's no longer comfortable going there.  Sure, you can call it laziness, but I don't have the energy to find another sports bar, I just don't.  Does that make me a bad leader if I make the decision to stay?  Maybe, but I can't see myself doing anything else.  So it's my friend or the bar.  And I can't decide.

Sucks being a leader.

A Tribute To The WNBA As It Is (Until This Evening)

So The Golden State Valkyries will have life breathed into it with The WNBA Expansion Draft tonight/Friday not, where the team will have the opportunity to pluck one player from each of the 12 existing teams (although the Valks won't have to).  That's great, seriously; I am really happy that women's basketball has reached a new plateau of popularity to the point that another professional b-ball franchise will be born and, presumably, will flourish.

In fact, it's about time.  Did you know that there has been a dozen, and only a dozen, Women's National Basketball Association teams since charter franchise The Sacramento Monarchs went out of business before the 2010 season?  Between then and the just-completed 2024 season, women's pro basketball in the country -- and, because America remains the best country for basketball players, the world -- has been survived with only 12 franchises.  Now, two of them were taken from cities during this period (and ironically, both The Las Vegas Aces and The Dallas Wings were taken from the second city both franchises have technically been in -- San Antonio and Tulsa, respectively), but for 15 Years (a majority of the 28 Years of the WNBA itself, by the way), it's been The Dozen.

I think, as a general rule, league expansion is overblown.  It's just a money grab, and a somewhat insecure nod to the notion that if you're not growing, you're dying.  The Big Three North American Sports Leagues have had the same number of teams for a while, and they seem to be doing just fine.  But I have to confess that I felt the WNBA was different because it was breaking ground in professionalizing women's sports.  An embryonic league needs to prove that it is growing in order to survive.  Besides, the WNBA tried an early explosion of expansion, adding two teams to the original eight in the league's second, third (this is when The Minnesota Lynx was born), and fourth seasons, then added four more in its fifth.  But three years after that, two teams in The Class Of 2000 (Portland and Miami) died.  The next year, original franchise Cleveland closed up shop.  The WNBA then yo-yoed between 14 and 13 teams in a pair of de facto trades: Chicago was born in 2006, but charter club Charlotte died at the end of that Year; Atlanta rose and the dynasty Houston Comets set in the 2008 season.  The Monarchs were done the Year after that ... and the league just stayed there, at twelve.

After all the risky expansion and potentially-fatal contraction, the WNBA at this point was just, you know, there.  It wasn't growing, but it wasn't shrinking, either.  It was, however, stable, and maybe that is exactly what the league, and women's sports, needed then.  To be honest, the American sports world considered the WNBA at the time to be a boutique sport at best, an afterthought at worst, even though a generation of world-class female athletes left their marks on the league.  They didn't make as much money as their NBA counterparts, of course, and they still don't.  They had to share practice facilities with commoners working out at the gym.  Up until last Year, most teams had to take commercial flights to get to Games.  But yet, those dozen franchises just kept soldiering on, putting out a damn good product too few people appreciated.

And that's why I feel compelled to blog post about this.  Beyond the misogynistic ridicule that was heaped on it (and, let's be honest, is still being heaped on it), the WNBA probably had to face numerous obstacles that threatened to bankrupt and end the league, issues that won't be disclosed until memoirs are published decades from now.  But these twelve teams held it down, showcasing as much and as well as they could the best female athletes in the world until the world woke up and realized what was under its nose the whole time.  And now, with Golden State coming in in 2025 and Toronto and a rekindled Portland (going back to a once-failed market, I think, is a sure sign of growth) coming in 2026, I am very happy to see the WNBA expand, and I think this time, the going will be sustainable.

So just before the WNBA welcomes its 13th team, I want to give praise and thanks to The Dozen, the ones that kept the flame of pro women's b-ball in the United States alive despite inattention and disrespect.  There would be no Golden State without the twelve mothers that are, through its players, essentially birthing this new team.  May the league go and grow onward!

How Disrespected Should I Feel?

So I was at my bar for the Game last night.  Probably because it started so late -- but possibly because I would be a little later in getting there because of the concert -- there was one other guy who showed up.  And he left at halftime.  So I did too.  Hey, at least my team won.

But I noticed something, dammit.  We have our alma mater's flag finally hung up on the ceiling of the bar.  But last/Friday night, I looked up and saw that it was covered up by another flag -- a flag for The Edmonton Oilers.  What the fuck???  I don't get the team -- is there an Edmonton Oilers fan club in the Twin Cities?? -- but what really, really bothers me is that it looks as though this flag was intentionally hung right in front of ours.  It's a ceiling; that flag could be hung feet away.  But it was hung on the same ... uh, it's either a pipe or wood, whatever ... that our flag is hung on.

Why?  Somebody wants to troll me?  I have no goddamn beef with The Edmonton Oilers.  So what's the deal with this?  And obviously bar management had to at least give the OK for this cover-up.  How and why did they let this happen?  Or did they want this to happen?

The manager was there last/Friday night, but it was so damn busy that I thought it better to talk to him Tuesday.  I hope there's a good reason for this.  Otherwise, this disrespect is a line too far -- maybe.

Addendum To: Like Herding Cats (Alternate Title: Wow, Haven't Been Undermined In A Long Time)

OK, so I didn't get an answer from anybody as of Thursday morning as to where everybody else wanted to go, so I stuck to my guns and said we're going to St. Paul.  Thought that everyone's silence meant complicity, and while that isn't total buy-in, I'll take it.

But then today, one of the group ... well, frankly, started bitching about it.  This was the place whose kitchen closes way early, much too early for her liking.  So she kept coming back to her complaint today over texts.  I thought that we understood that but we're OK with it, but she didn't drop it; she texted that she called and they said the kitchen closed at an obscene hour.  I didn't think that was true, so I went there after work today to make sure of the time the kitchen closed ... and, well, it closed a little earlier than even I remembered it closing the last time we were there, but it was later than what she said.  I texted her that, and even though she seemed disappointed (you can never tell tone through texts, dammit), she said she come.  She'll just come and order early.

But then, coming off the top rope, is our friend who said she's just watching from a place close by her house.  She was the one who kind of threw a spanner in the works after I said we had to look for a different place.  I was kind of waiting for her to tell us which of several spots she said she has gone to she would be going to Saturday.  I didn't hear from her all week, and I have a duty to tell everyone where to go, so I made my decision that we're headed to St. Paul.  Well, fuckin' A, she texted everyone this evening that she decided on a place, and the one who was bitching about the time the kitchen at this place in St. Paul closes just says, "OK, I'm going with you!"  And I'm all, "Have fun!"

I have never seen a group of people in this alumni group ... well, undermine me like this.  We have never had this much ... well, arguing over where to go.  See, our main bar is in Minneapolis, and even though it's downtown and many people don't like to go downtown (supposedly because of the crime even though that's totally overblown), any inveighing over that choice has pretty much stopped.  Anyone who doesn't want to come downtown doesn't bitch about it anymore; they just don't come.  Now, we frequently have to go somewhere else.  Sometimes it's because the network our football team is on that week isn't carried by this Minneapolis bar.  We have had to find different places for years to find this network, and for the past couple we settled on this place in St. Paul.  This is our back-up bar, and we have been there, I now think, five times this season (if you include tomorrow/Saturday).  This time our team's on a network every bar has, but our main bar is hosting its monthly UFC pay-per-view event at the same damn time as our game.  It's a pain-in-the-ass to go to a back-up bar, but I feel as though people in our group have accepted this, too.

I thought that was going to be the case this week.  I mean, our football team isn't going to do anything special this year (even though we thought they would), and there are only two games left.  In short, I didn't think it'd be a big deal that we would go to St. Paul for a fifth time, even when I wasn't able to foresee until it was a bit late that our main bar was hosting a UFC PPV.  But suddenly it is a big deal.  What hurts even more is that the people I'm talking to are people who come to these events the most often.  I ask for their input because their opinions mean a lot to me.  What blindsided me is that they came up with all these new places I hadn't even heard of.  It's almost the end of the season; why can't we just go to a place we've been to before?  If they're so damn worried about finding a new place, we'll talk about it in the summer, or even the spring.  But you want to go to a new place now?

And I still don't know if any of them are committed to my decision to go to St. Paul.  It looks like two of them aren't coming: The one who gave me the silent treatment went to events last year but not this year, and the other who has been a mainstay the past few years, so her bailing like this also kind of hurts.  The other two?  I don't know.  The address of the place these two women are going to are closer to the residences of the other two than they are to St. Paul.  So if they go with them ... goddammit, I might be watching by myself in St. Paul.  And that would be fucking embarrassing.

Again, I don't mind going to a new place -- well, not as a main bar; this place in downtown Minneapolis has been a mainstay for us for a decade now, and I don't want to give that up.  But let's not go to a new place now.  It feels, however, as though all the regulars of the club -- of my club -- have decided that my decision sucks.  I feel disrespected, tbh.  Undermined, too.

If they won't understand my decision, what do I do now?

I Should Look At License Plates More

So on my way to work yesterday I decided to take it slow and drive slowly behind some car in the right lane because I was about to take the exit.  As happens way too often, some car was zipping down the entrance ramp to my right, and if I didn't slow down, that car would hit me.  So like I was taught to do, I slowed down even further to let that car in.

And then he (I'm assuming the driver is male, and I think there's a 98% chance I'm right) turned on his right blinker.  He was going off the same ramp I was.  Well, I just let you in front of me -- the least you could do is drive somewhere I'm not going!  But this asshole didn't.

And then he had the balls to start accelerating.  I can accelerate, too!  And I was late for work!  So I decided I was going to try and pass him by getting on the left lane and zooming past the slow (slow being driving under 65) cars.  But this motherfucker (he was driving an SUV, I think it was an Audi) hit the gas and never let up.  My exit was coming up and I was going to have to fight through traffic, so I gave up.

It was around that time that I thought a thought I have had a lot when this red mist descends on me as I am driving: Why in the hell did I not look at the license plate of that motherfucking asshole?  I could remember it (even though I'm bad at remembering things), write it down, and then ... well, I would have it, that's the important thing.  I have rationalized not ever getting the plates of these cars that have "disrespected" me by saying that I had to keep my eyes on the road.  If I'm intent on looking at the characters on the license plate, how soon could I react if that prick car suddenly puts on the brakes, or if another car wants to slide inbetween me and that car?

Look, this car did ... little wrong.  I admit that.  I still think that I should be getting license plate numbers more often whenever a car does something wrong to me.  I've thought for some time about getting an on-car camera, but it's expensive, I don't know how much elbow grease I would have to expend in order to set it up, and I'm afraid it'll get stolen ... or it'll make me a target for road ragers.

Still, I should look at license plates more often.

Another Deceptively Bad Day At Work, Part 3 (AKA I Get To Watch Home Vikings Games This Season ... From Home!)

Unless I recollect something else that happened to work, I'll close with the worst thing that happened at work on Friday, which has nothing to do with work, just that it happened while I was at work.

So I blog posted before about not working as many Vikings Games this season as before because of the coronavirus, even though there was an outside chance I could have worked them all but I didn't because I was too late in replying to the crewer's e-mail.  I was upset that I would not be able to work all of them, but I got over it by forgetting that I felt that way.

In the afternoon (and this was after my boss' boss surprised me by coming into our department while I was not working) work actually did taper off, and so I took the time to go through my personal e-mail -- you know, just in case something cropped up.  I am still getting inundated with political fundraising appeals which I had time at work to clean out.  And there was another e-mail that had to do with this ongoing issue I and others have with the college and the alumni association that I replied to.  But there was an important e-mail dropped into my inbox -- someone from the network e-mailed me about Vikings Games ... specifically this Sunday's Game against Green Bay.  "Something came up in the last minute and I need someone to run for the Game.  Can you do it?  Reply to me ASAP!!!"  It was dated 12:54.

I had to have seen it at 1 o'clock because I replied, "Yes, I can!" and sent it with a timestamp of 1:01.  Serendipity brought me face-to-face with that e-mail so soon after she sent it.  And I learned my lesson back in the summer (even though there was no lesson to learn), so I pounced on that chance.

And she replied that same minute, 1:01, with, "Oops, just filled it!  I'll keep you in the loop for Games later in the season if I need you!"  To which I replied back with, "OK."  Like a cuck.

By the way, I instinctively checked my phone to see if she also texted her request for someone to work the Game, like she did before.  She did text -- at 12:53, a minute before she e-mailed me.  So I guess it took me eight minutes to reply to her.  And apparently when she reached out to me, she reached out to everybody because she was desperate.  And although I tried replying to her ASAP (after I e-mailed her back I texted her back, and in turn she got back to me via both e-mail and text), the wide net she cast reeled in someone damn quick, quicker than yours truly.  And I was stewing in my own fucking juices the rest of the damn day.

Please, don't give me the "early bird gets the worm" bullshit.  First of all, it took me only seven or eight minutes this time around to reply to a last-minute request to fill a job.  More importantly, I don't see this rejection as a failure (or worse, a, ick, "life lesson") to jump on an opportunity to work.  Her spewing this cry for help to everyone, then making a game of it by only rewarding the quickest to reply to her, is instead something more like tossing a piece of cheese onto the floor and getting off on seeing all the rats chase that piece and push each other around just so they can get a nibble of it.

Or, try on this analogy from my life.  Back when I returned from college, when I was just starting to realize I now needed to work to make a living, I decided I didn't know what I wanted to do but I wanted to keep my options open, so I began working as a temp.  Well, I didn't have a cellphone when I started to strike out in The Real World, so I would call in from time to time to ask if they have a lead on a job.  And then I would go out, leaving Grandmother to take any messages any temp agencies might leave for me.  When she told me that someone from this number called, I would call back -- sometimes at home but sometimes I would, get this, find a payphone when I would be out and about.

Around this time I spent a lot of time at the University of Minnesota.  Around the turn of the century there was a computer lab open to students in one of the halls, and I figured out that my student ID from when I took classes at the U. over the summers I was at college still got me in.  That lab was in the basement, and there was a payphone on that same ground floor.  So whenever I didn't feel the urgent need to call back the agency to jump at a job, I would go on Netscape, be on the Internet for a couple hours, and once I was done I would go up to the payphone, put in 50 cents and talk to the temp agency.  And more often than not, when I ask about the job for which they left a massage, they would say, "Whoops, sorry -- already filled it."  And I would be like, "Shoot!" and then I'd be like, "Whatever."  Because I was young and didn't have a care in the world.

That was me in my early twenties.  I am in my mid-forties now.  Although age should not be the sole factor when it comes to deserving things, I am too old to dance like a monkey whenever someone has a need and doesn't offer it to me exclusively.  I no longer want to participate in any type of Death Race where I have to worry whether I'm first to reply to a job.  What I would prefer is if she would know about my seniority with the network and say to me, via e-mail or text or both, "Hey, someone dropped out of Sunday's Game.  We need someone to fill in.  I know you've worked with us for a long time.  Can you do it?  Please let me know as soon as you can; otherwise, I'll have to start asking other people from your area."  That, honestly, would make me feel good.  And it would make me feel appreciated that my tenure spent with this network is understood and not devalued.  She may not know this, and she may not need to know it.  But I have to be selfish here: I felt a bit disrespected by the way all this went down, which happened almost a month after I got burned over the same game of telephone tag.  And, of course, I got bitter that I missed my chance, again, to work Vikings Games like I usually do.  That's what made my bad day bad.

It has been a long time since I haven't been hired on to do all available Vikes homes Games for the two networks that do the bulk of their telecasts.  I grew quickly to resent any date that I for some reason did not work.  I haven't had to feel that way for at least half a decade.  But the pandemic, shifting position needs and the ability or inability to respond to requests instantly has me sidelined for the opening Game of the season -- a season which, I still insist, won't go on as planned, which I think would save me a lot of agita that I'm feeling right now.

But today's Game will be played.  And I will not be at the stadium.  I actually don't think I'll be seeing much of the Game.  I promised my parents I would mow the lawn at one of their properties.  After that, I plan on eating some State Fair food on the far side of town that I've been meaning to eat all summer.  Then, I think I'll try a Target or two to find some disinfecting wipes.  Then I'll come home and probably catch the tail end of what I predict will be a Vikes loss.  Probably for the best.  'Cause I still have my feelings of resentment and bitterness.  So the less time I watch the Game on TV, the less time I'll be reminded that I should be there, and not on the other side of the television.

Goddammit! Day 1 Again!

And now I'm back down to Day 1 with the slot machine in Texas Hold 'Em again.  I swear I pulled that slot yesterday/Tuesday ... or, maybe I didn't.  Maybe I got too caught up watching the news about George Floyd.  But since this has happened several times the past several months, maybe, well, I really just don't care.

The thing that bothers me about this, and I know this doesn't make any sense, is that I know will have to make that fucking week-long climb to Day 7/400% once again, and that week, obviously next week, will overlap with me going back to work and seeing That Cunt who disrespected me, when our schedules overlap again.  Why does that overlapping bother me?  Don't know.

And the thing is, I care that I've lost my streak now, but once (if?) I get back to Day 7/400%, I probably will stop caring and I'll miss a day, again.

Maybe I Should Quit

First real bad day at work in a long time.  And it all has to do with the coronavirus.

First thing happened near the top of the day.  You know how more and more states are issuing these "shelter in place" orders in order to keep people distant from each so that the virus doesn't spread?  Now, "essential" services are exceptions to this, of course -- health care workers, civil servants, and grocery store workers (something I have never thought was ever "essential," but, you know, they are).  Surprise, however; my boss gave both of us a letter stating that our job is also "essential."

How?  Truck drivers need to pass drug tests, and apparently there are still truck drivers in this crisis.  Those samples need to be tested.  We don't test them.  We just put in the information into our records.  That's how we're essential.  We are tangential to the actual work that needs to be done, and if he were honest, my boss would admit that.  This letter essentially is a doctor's note telling our gym teacher we don't have to change clothes, basically.  But, if Minnesota gets a "shelter in place" order, allowing the cops to stop people and ask where they're going (and there was potential for Governor Tim Walz to give that executive order this afternoon but didn't), I'm supposed to show that police officer this note and I should be on my way.  That feels so elementary school.

We both asked our boss about the note, specifically how seriously we are supposed to take it.  Because, and I think we implied this enough to him that he understood, if the situation in our state escalates to this, maybe it's best if we just comply and shelter in place.  To which our boss says that if we wanted, we could call in sick.  That'll get impractical after a while; we can't call in sick for the next six months.

So that was bad.  What was worse was my boss e-mailing me, out of the blue, that I cannot use gloves anymore.  I am paranoid that the virus would be living on one of the papers I work on.  There are plenty, and I mean plenty.  But for some goddamn reason, my job, according to him, is not allowed to use gloves.

Frankly, I'm pissed off.  I am trying to protect myself from this mysterious, insidious evil.  I live with parents who are at-risk.  And,like I said, there are plenty of gloves around.  I do not understand it, and I resent how little he seems to care about the protective measures I'm taking so that I don't bring this virus into my home.

But I don't know what to do.  Well, maybe I do.  I may have alluded to this before: When mentioning that I still have to appear on-site at work, one friend says I should call in sick and the other said what my workplace is doing is disrespectful.

You know, inbetween the giving of this letter and the e-mail warning me not to use gloves, I was actually defending this job.  With so many people getting laid off, is my company really treating me worse for telling me to come in than other companies that have just let go of their people for, if they ever do get their jobs back, an indeterminate amount of time?  (Both of my friends now work from home, and maybe I should find a job where I can do just that ... or go back to school to get enough education to find a job that'll let me work from home.)  But then my boss gives me this unreasonable, ridiculous request, and I think I need to quit my job because my job is going to endanger my parents.  Why am I boxed into a situation like this?

Oh, Am I Bothering You Now?

Man, this fuckin' sucks, but in my last half-hour at work, I felt so disrespected at this department for the first time ever.  Two co-workers -- not one, but two -- co-workers were rude to me.  I got the feeling they were pissed that I was encroaching on their territory, for some stupid goddamn reason.

The thing that really bothered me was that one of them rude to me has been really nice to me.  I don't get it.  See, all I did today was get her work for her.  And instead of a thank-you, she just said, "OK -- I'm here, you're there!"  Well, no shit, Charlie Brown, I'm just getting your work for you.  You know, the same way you sometimes get the work for me?  She not fucking get it, has something changed, or was she just Cybil today?

I don't know if I should buy chocolates for these assholes ever again.  Fuck 'em all, shit. ...

Oh My Fucking God, My Fucking Mother Went Crazy Last Night

A part of still doesn't understand what the fuck happened.  So I was late getting home to eat dinner.  My Fucking Mother talks to me about finding a picture of my cousin's new baby girl.  She tried to get on his Facebook yesterday morning but couldn't.  The thing is, I think she started to get upset with me that morning because I had to run out of the house because I needed to get my driver's license changed.  (I was going to blog post about that, but, uh, circumstances changed.)

She really, really wanted to see a photo of the baby, for some reason.  After some agitated back-and-forth, I told her I'd get on that.  Then she immediately flipped to another subject, one that blindsided me and one that I still don't quite get.  "Are you on your niece's group?" My Fucking Mother asked me.

"What group?" I asked.

"Your niece's group."

"Mom, what group?"

"DON'T YELL AT ME!  OH MY GOD, I WANT TO COME OVER AND HIT YOU WITH THIS FRYING PAN!"

And in my mind I'm going, what the fuck?  How did me asking a question turn into me yelling at her?  If anything, she was yelling at me.  She yells.  She's a yeller.  Always has been.

I tried to reason with her -- "Mom, are you talking about a group on Facebook?  A text?  What?"  But she was off on this rant, pointing the pan she had in her hand at my face and still threatening to beat me over the head with it because I was "disrespecting" her or some shit.  She can't beat me around like she did when I was young, however, so I defended myself: "Don't you even dare."  At which point this fucking crazy bitch comes around the kitchen.  I get up off my chair and stare her down, trying to listen to her insane ramblings about how I don't appreciate her cooking and how I treat this place only as a hotel or some shit.  The disrespect card is shit My Fucking Father pulls, not her.

I still cannot comprehend what she's talking about.  I can only think missing photos of newborn family members triggers something in her.  And possibly the "disrespect" card comes from the fact that I give off this bothered attitude every time she asks me for something.  I will cop to that; yes, it annoys me often when My Fucking Mother asks me for something.  But I don't think I need to help out with a shit-eating grin on my face when my whole life, when I've asked for something, My Fucking Mother (both my parental units actually) couldn't seem bothered to smile either.  Also, let's look at the bullshit My Fucking Mother asks me to do.  Invoicing, even though I get pissed when she lays down invoice after invoice without telling me how many invoices she needs me to proofread, is a legitimate ask.  But downloading an app, or asking how to play this game on her phone, or trying to set up her brand-new iPhad are not asks, especially if I don't know how to work them.  My Fucking Mother is a teenager, if not a kid, whose retirement seems to be filled with games she plays, and she's regressed to a juvenile attitude where, if I can't get something to operate correctly and immediately, she accuses me of not caring.

Well, I don't care.  I fucking don't.  And despite what My Fucking Father seems to be advising, I'm not going to give in to her spiteful attitude and profusely apologize.  Fuck that cunt!  I need to tip-toe around her crazy moods whenever she feels like lashing out?  This landmark argument got so bad that, when she told me I have three months to move out of the house, I thought, OK.  I have no way of supporting myself, and I will be out on the street within a month.  But if that means I don't have to put up with this batshit-crazy bullshit anymore, man, I'm totally fine with it.  Because My Fucking Mother is fucking nuts.

We'll see if she takes her pills in the morning.  In the meantime I am falling back into placating her bitch ass.  I wonder if I should ask my cousin to bring her daughter to the house.  I won't be there.  Fuck that, I need to stay the fuck away from her.

(Aside: This out-of-the-blue temper tantrum, along with the myriad requests in the past to help her set up her toys, makes me think that she will develop Alzheimer's.  Just saying.)

The Difference Between The Two (Scheduled Post)

(Man, I thought I talked about this already.  Maybe.)

OK, so I'm working the Vikings game this Sunday, and it'll be a different ... company that the one I usually work for.  Contracts are such that most of the games are handled by one company more than the other, even though there are some rules now enacted that could theoretically change that.

(Oh, BTW, I am being vague here to make sure I don't piss anybody off.)

My friend from college worked for these guys full time, and he was part of the crew that was working the Vikings game at the Metrodome.  On a lark I asked if he needed some help.  He said yes.  And each year since I have worked with the crews for this ... company.  It has come to the point where I work all of the games where they're in town, but there may be some games where I don't.  I think I've blogged in the past about not working a game and fearing what that means for my future employment.  My continued employment has assuaged my fears to the point where that is not a point of anxiety for me anymore.

Several years ago, the other ... company who works Vikings games e-mailed me out of the blue to see if I could help them out.  Apparently I impressed someone where, when a friend or colleague of his from this other company needed help, he recommended me.  (I owe a lot to this man; he's a nice guy, too.)  Ever since I have worked for this company, every year.

I have noticed some differences between the two.  For the company I work with more often, I have, through more than a decade of employment, been up and down the dial, so to speak, in the roles they need me to play as a day player.  For these other guys, even though it's been only five or six years, although I have done a lot of stuff for them, I am mostly a gopher.

I'm not a fan of just fetching stuff for people, but these guys make up for it by paying more, much more, for my day there.  That's because they're a union outfit, while the other ... company is not.  Now, that is more than balanced for the year by the fact that I work for them for up to six games while the union shop I have worked a maximum of two.  Also, if I work for the main guys Saturday and Sunday my check gets even plumper.  Nevertheless, the per day wage is something I notice, and something I appreciate.

However, there's something else I've noticed in the past couple years.  The unfamiliarity this union company has in coming to the Twin Cities, combined with the menial tasks I usually do for these people, makes me believe that there is a disconnect, if not a divide, between the crew that comes here and the day planners.  In other words, I have sometimes been treated dismissively, if not rudely, from some of the people who swing by here.  It's not unanimous or consistent.  Most of the time I'm treated well, albeit from a distance.  A few times the people there are real cool, in fact.  But I noticed that there were several other people who, for example, ordered me not to walk in his area while working, or screamed at me not to bring people into the truck when I already know I can't do that shit.  Maybe it's the stress from millennial punks (low blow, I know, but I'm leaving that label here) to do jobs for people yelling at them that makes them yell at me and us in turn.  But I have worked Vikes games long enough that there are people who are able to endure through this chaos and not pull that crap on the people who are only trying to help.  Hell, there are people show grace under fire -- those are the people who should be promoted from these jobs.  And it seems as though more of the non-union crews are the ones who exhibit this level-headedness.  Well, there was that one fatso.  But I've worked with the people he worked with, and he's not there anymore.  I wonder if he overstayed his welcome.  I wonder if people saw through his obese ass the same way I did.

I checked the people coming in for this game.  No names stand out, nothing triggers any bad memories.  But my guard is still up.  I love working for them, and yet I wonder if I'm going to run across an asshole.  It's more likely with this ... company.

Training My Replacement

So the person who is taking over my job -- well, the job that I am filling in on an interim basis -- is coming today/Monday.  Naturally ... naturally?  Is that word?  Anyway, since she is taking over this job -- my job -- and she doesn't know how to do it, I will be tasked with telling her what to do and how to do it.  Well, to the best of my ability, because even after a month I think I know how to do, um, half of the stuff I'm supposed to do.

I hate training.  I go back to that third and final year at the flu billing place where I was thrust into training about 16 people to do my job.  In retrospect, I should have been paid double for all that shit, or at least got a full-time job.  I'm back to doing that again, if only for a week, and I'm nervous.  I felt like I needed to look presentable, so I got my hair cut Saturday afternoon and I just got done shaving my face after showering.  (That didn't go so well.  Blade must be dull; should get a new one.)

I don't know if it's going to help.  I'm going to be such a mess in telling her all that I know (which is not much) that I think I'll leave her in worse shape than she came in.  I'm just not good at communicating what needs to be done to another person.  I wasn't good at it at the flu biller place, and I sure as fuck won't be good at it now.  I thought I should think about it this weekend, but I haven't thought about it one peep.  Which sucks because I'll be there for 40 hours and she'll be there for 40 hours and neither one of us will know what to do with each other after I stammer out instructions.

But a thought came through my head this weekend: Why in the hell am I so worried about training my replacement?  I mean, I'm training my replacement -- I am teaching things to the person who is taking my job.  Why in the fuck would I be so enthused about doing that?  Shit, why would I even prepare myself to do that?  What vested interest do I have in helping my successor succeed?  And come to think of it, why can't I get this job full-time?

This brings me back to a test scoring project I did late in the summer.  The first day (and have I blogged about this?) we were told that we probably won't be doing this project ever again because we are training a machine to grade essays.  We were training our replacement there, too.  I don't know how in the hell artificial intelligence can score papers, and even if they can, I don't see what state Departments of Education would want to rely on computers for kids' educational prospects.  But that was the deal.  And like a chump I went to work anyway, getting that AI so good at what we've been doing just fine for years that it'll just push us into poverty.  That same shit is going on here, and I should be in a better position to avoid debasing myself into doing bullshit like that.

(By the way, for those who asked why I feel this way when I was trained for this job by the person I succeeded; she was leaving this job on her own for a different position.  She was not forced to train her replacement like I am.)

So why am I doing this?  I don't know.  I really don't think it's in my best interest to train her with gusto.  But there are, I think, two reasons which prevent me from totally blowing this off.  First of all, while she is the person who's taking my job from me, it's not really her fault.  I'm sure she has no ill intent to maliciously push me into unemployment.  And second of all (and this may be the salient point), I was told when I got this assignment that they are looking for someone else.  As much as I think it's logical to be considered for this post, I was told from the outset that they're conducting a job hunt while I was doing the work.  So this shouldn't be a surprise.

But it still sucks.  So I may or may not think about what I'm going to say.  If I get a reputation for being a malcontent, that's alright.  I would be standing up for myself, my dignity and my principles.

I Hate Him So Much That It's Affecting My Health

My brother.  Oh, My Asshole Brother.  He has tormented me all my life, and the way he disrespected me at Grandmother's cremation was the last straw.  That motherfucker is dead to me.

And yet I am consumed by rage over him right now.  I don't know when I started thinking about him, but over the past, oh, several days now all I have thought about is how I want to get the opportunity to throw something in his eyes, or punch him in the face, or take a knife and take out his eyeballs.  Can you tell that I hate him?

That has coincided with a feeling of weakness on my left side.  I first detected it when I caught myself fantasizing about hurting My Asshole Brother.  I snapped out of this red mist of violence because the left side of my chest would start hurting.  Normally you would think that would be an indication to stop thinking about ways to kill Your Asshole Brother, but he's still alive, so I have to defend myself and my respect, and so I continue to fantasize about hurting this piece of shit, and then I stop because I'm wincing over this throbbing I feel underneath my left arm, probably closer to my back than my front.

It's gotten worse over the days.  I feel some tingling in my arms and fingers, and from time to time I feel pain down my butt, hip and leg, all on the left side.  The pain has lingered the same way my violent ideations of My Asshole Brother remain foremost on my mind.  Now it could be other things -- sitting too long at work, eating spoiled tomatoes and eggs -- but my theory is that whenever I get into these rage trances my blood pressure goes up.  And that's neither healthy nor good.

So if one day I am ever found dead in my bed, it's probably because I thought about killing My Asshole Brother so intensely that I gave myself a heart attack.  Just to let y'all know.

I Am Having A Surprisingly Stressful Week

It kind of blindsided me, but it is stressful.

I found work, and being unemployed is kind of stressful.  But I started yesterday (Tuesday), and there are a lot of things I need to do that I don't have a handle on.  And the person who's training is the person I'm replacing on an interim basis, so if I don't get this down by Thursday, I'm screwed.  And since Labor Day is Monday, there's a damn good chance I'll forget everything she taught me when I come back next week.

Then there's the Mensa thing.  The local Mensa chapter has had a booth at the Minnesota State Fair for years now.  I first thought of joining after passing by it once.  Well, the LocSec (the Local Secretary, aka the boss of the chapter) sets up three daily four-hour, two-person shifts for the booth for the entirety of the Fair, and there were two holes left to fill.  Because I want to be a more-active member of Mensa, I volunteered to staff our booth Thursday.  But that means I have to cut out of work an hour early (thus losing out on a hour's wage), get there on time, be able to solve the puzzles we have on display, stay awake for four hours, and be civil to anyone who comes by our booth.  I'm sure I'll get some asshole who'll ask me a question to which I won't know the answer, to which he'll say, "Ha!  You're not as smart as you think you are, dumbass!" which will force me to commit violence on his ass, and that will mean I'll get drummed out of Mensa.  Just you watch.

And then there's Saturday, the beginning of my alma mater's football season.  Expectations are high, but that's not the reason I'm anxious.  I'm anxious because, once again, I have to find a spot to watch our football game away from our customary home.  This carriage deal is getting ridiculous, but if you're the head of your alumni club and your football team is a traditional power, what is there to do?  Last year, in a similar situation, we went just up the street.  A week or so ago I went back to that place to inquire about watching it there again, and the bartender said I should take it up with the people working Saturday.  That means that there's no reason to do anything before then.  But that means I'm not 100% sure we can go there, and if we can't, it'll be too late to find a different spot.  It's just waiting till we get closer to kickoff.  That hasn't stopped me from telling people that's where we're going this weekend; hope to Buddha I won't be proven a fool.

So Thursday and Saturday are the really excruciating days to deal with this week.  But along with Tuesday, it has been plenty excruciating.  Once I get to Saturday evening, I can breathe a sigh of relief.  Maybe.

Bad Vibes

So I started a new test scoring project Monday.  The bad: The room boss, whom I've had once before, is not turning out to be the person I thought she was.  I get the feeling people in the room don't respect her, and good reason.  When you actually yell at a person to not talk while she's talking, like she's in an elementary school teacher, you kind of lose me, and I don't care how rude that person was.  Beyond that, she seems both blunt and clueless when it comes to instruction.  She often stumbles over phrases and frequently loses her place when it comes to reviewing test essays and notes that she wrote down.  And yet when she tries to answer a question, the tone in her unequivocal retort is such bullshit that some of the people I am sitting right next to are exasperated at how she acts.  I have nothing personal against her (at least not yet), but such musings have to be reflected on her performance review.

The other implication that she told us when we started still bugs the shit out of me, but at least she was honest.  She told us that the aim of these scores we're giving to these tests was, to put it in her words, "help our replacement."  These scores are going to be given to an artificial intelligence algorithm so that it can ... man, typing these words hurt more than I thought it would ... grade essays so that we humans will be out of a job.

A part of me still doesn't fucking believe this.  (And by the way, I don't really understand why the room boss had to say that, or at least could have not said it so matter-of-factly.  Read the room, for God's sake!)  I really don't know how, for example, a robot can understand all the nuances and meanings of a kid's words, phrases, sentences and ideas, I don't care how smart it is.  Besides, will a state's Department of Education really rely on the judgement of a computer to tell how good of a test-taker a parent's child is?  We may be humans for hire, but better that than a soulless, faceless program.  Finally, if humans can't grade tests, shit, what will we do for work?

At the risk of sounding naive, that last question may be a silly one.  There seems to be more and more standardized tests states are administering to kids in order to evaluate their aptitude and the ability of their schools to teach children.  Both companies I work for say that they're getting more and more contracts for projects.  That massive project at the Mall Of America was new, and with a few hiccups lasted more than a month; and that I am actually working on a project in mid-July, way past the usual test scoring season, is proof that leads me to believe that we can't be losing work in the near or even immediate future (even if this particular project is, theoretically, going to end because an algorithm will take our place very soon).  But robots are taking everyone's job; a person, especially one who doesn't have benefits attached to his job, can never be too sure.

One season at a time, I hope.  Meanwhile I hope that someone, anyone, is going to bring in candy for the room.  No one bought or brought anything for that plastic tub up front yesterday, and that's ridiculous.  How can we get through reading the same essay for eight hours without some sugar?

Bad Driver: 792 XDV

This fucker, this young punk, is a trip.  I go around this guy turning 'round the bend on 694 East because I was about to be forced to take the 169 exit off my lane.  I needed to stay on 694; that was the only reason I cut in front of him.  Honest!  (OK, I did see this asshole Fast And Furious has way through traffic like an asshole, so I wanted to show him up.)

I thought I saw the last of him.  But this guy, who was in a red Dodge whip, came storming back.  As I was coming up on a slow car in my lane, he drove up to my right.  No, I thought, he isn't going to cut in front of me.  But he did.  There literally was no room between me and this asshole car.  That's the way he wanted it.  And he actually cut through my lane, to the left lane on my left, and then took off and slalomed through the traffic yards ahead of me.

So this teenage prick cuts in front of cars only to slow down, only to start cutting in front of cars, apparently because I "disrespected" him.  Beautiful.

Oh, I love this part.  Just before he pulled off this stunt, I caught a quick glimpse of him through my rear mirror.  I swear I saw him put one of his hands, balled up into a fist, into the open palm of his other hand.  Like he was saying, "I'm coming for you."  You go on with your bad self, shitstain!  Man, to be young and have a fast car and to think that the most important thing in the world is to show up a car who needed to get onto your lane.  He didn't have the death of his beloved grandmother on his mind, that's for sure.

I will admit that it was kind of cool that he drove so close in front of me without causing an accident.  Doesn't mean I'm not going to write his ass up.

So I Guess I'm Going To Just Let It Happen

I was supposed to know by early this week whether or not I am getting a third interview.  Something tells me, though, that if I hadn't interviewed at all by early this week, I didn't get the job.  Therefore, I didn't get the job.

In harkening back to my interview I realized another telltale sign that I flunked it: When she told me, "You'll know later this week or early next week," she didn't look at me.  That's a sign that she's thinking in her head, "No, not this guy."

I had a thought that tonight would be the last night I could call the supervisor who tipped me off to this job.  If early this week is the very last day to do this, and if she somehow forgot, this would be the very last day I could try and say, "Hey, I interviewed last week and I'm still waiting on a call back for that third interview.  Did you forget me?"  I thought about all the drawbacks to doing that, but I thought I was going to go through with it anyway because at this point, I have nothing to lose.

However I have, unfortunately, decided against that.  The one thing I realized only just now is that the person who interviewed so long ago (Monday) is the person I would be answering to.  She answers to this supervisor, but I would be answering to her.  Therefore, the supervisor might not like me doing an end run around the person I have to work for.  If I did e-mail her, and in fact if there is a third interview, and in fact if my supervisor told her employee (my immediate boss) about what I did ... awkward!

So I won't e-mail her.  Then again, they might have already decided to reject me, in which case my seemingly mature decision not to napalm this entire process would be rendered moot.  I feel as though I'm just twisting in the wind, my fate already decided but not known.  But I can't just spout off passive-aggressively to those in power because "I'm not supposed to do that."  (sigh)

So I Was Passed Over

So several weeks ago, when I started my first assignment at the test scoring place, I ran into someone I sat next to at a scoring project.  She's really nice.  Trouble is, this scoring project where we met (as well as second one we were in the room together for) was at the other test scoring place.  She was looking for work, she did not hear of any assignments coming down the pike at the other test scoring place (at least not yet), and so she decided to go to the other test scoring company, where I was moonlighting (and still haven't let know about my double-dealing).  She's not the only one; I have seen several familiar faces from the other place.  But I think my secret's still safe with me.  I think.

This co-worker of mine is not doing the same project as I, so our meetings since that first were restricted to passing by each other at the break room.  However, a couple weeks ago, she told me that she was not only contacted by the other test scoring place for a job, but they were hiring her to come in early to train as an immediate supervisor.  She begins training on that today, actually; she gave the test scoring place we were both at two week's notice.  Great -- she actually would make an excellent one.  And it's the one where I elected to come in and work nights and weekends for.  I don't know if we'll be working with each other, but it'd be kind of a kick if she were my supervisor.

However, this test scoring place (though not the exact project) was the one where I had my first and, to this day, only call-up as an immediate supervisor myself.  And that was way back in 2014, three years ago.  I've been with that place ever since and obviously I'm going back again, so they want me back as a scorer (or at least they don't have anywhere else they can turn; this project I'll be moonlighting for needs hundreds of bodies).  But I was told by the person who I was working for from that '14 project that I did good at my job, and I thought that meant other supervisory positions would thus roll my way.  It hasn't happened yet, and in the meantime, my co-worker friend (who, again, is good enough and deserves a shot) has been tapped, and I think for the first time.  In a sense, I have been passed over for her.

Why is that?  I can only think back on my "work" the two years since.  Well, the projects the past two years have been tougher because they're essays, and because of that I have had to slow down and really consider the work these students are putting into it.  Maybe the slowdown has been reflected in my evaluations.  Or maybe it's because I talked back to that one supervisor a couple years ago.  Maybe she was spiteful enough to write me up.  Or ... well, maybe this is it: For last year's project I was warned several times that I was going to the bathroom too many times.  I snuck out even after being warned.  That's it.  I know I was written up for that.  And if you get written up, there's no chance you'll get hired for a higher position.

You know, I once considered that place to be the better of the two test scoring places.  That first-ever assignment, which I had been a part of for four years, the last of which as an immediate supervisor, was fun, stable and nurturing.  Everything that had been at the other test scoring place, the one I'm working at now, was alright, but couldn't hold a candle to the dynamism, the alchemy that I found there.  But then that project was either yanked or cancelled or discontinued, and there I have been shuttling from project to project, all with a certain amount of tension and indifference that made me question many times why I liked that company so much in the first place.  (Having headquarters an hour away also damages my thoughts of it.)  Since them I've been going back and forth between the two, mostly for the money but partly to see if there is anything company-wide that really differentiates one from the other.  I thought it was the practice of hiring guys to become immediate supervisors once the project started, but it seems as though both companies do that, which really blows.

But, taking this into account, maybe this test scoring place, the one that pulled that deputizing bullshit last year on me first, may turn out to the better one after all.  I will say this: Of the two places I work for, this is the one that's closer.  And if it turns out that there are no difference after all, I might chose which one's my favorite because of that.  Till then, I'll stick with these guys because apparently, I'm no longer immediate supervisor material to those guys.

Person At Work Pissing Me Off, #1: Mr. Inside Voice

OK, so for as long as I am on this project, I am going to have to put up with a lot of crap.  There are about 70 people in a room, and even though it's a big enough room where we're not knocking knees and elbows, sometimes it feels as though we are.

In particular, a personal tic, tolerated hour after hour and day after day, becomes unbearable.  That is the case with four such individuals.  I have had it with all three of them, and therefore, to blow off steam so I don't get into it with them at work, I'm just going to talk about it here.

The first, and possibly the worst, asshole at work is the one who sent me over the edge yesterday (Thursday).  The guy is old, schlubby, probably stinks.  He has two deals.  The less aggravating one is that, without fail, if he has a question, he will go to the overall supervisor in the room.  That's not a total big deal, but the way the organization in the room works is that there are us worker bees, immediate supervisors, and then the room supervisor.  There is an immediate supervisor for, oh, every 10 of us drones.  I'm sure he has one, but for some goddamn reason he does a disrespectful (IMHO) end run around that person and goes to talk to her.  Because he's Senor Hotshit or something.

But the most galling fucking thing he does is talk in a loud, outdoor voice.  All.  The.  Fucking.  Time.  I first noticed it when he beckoned the room supervisor over to his computer to look at a paper he has trouble scoring, which is much more often compared to the average.  I could hear him talking.  He's in the middle of the room while I'm off to the side, and he's talking loud enough for everyone to hear.  And when he goes up to the front of the room to ask this supervisor for help, I can still fucking hear him.  Does this old fart know how to whisper?  Seriously, one of these days if he's going to start talking as if he's the only one in the room, I'm going to either sidle up behind him or shout from my workstation, "Just give it a 1!"  And when he asks, "Who asked you?" I'll go, "Well, it ain't my business, but you're talking so goddamn loudly you've made it my business.  So give it a 1!"  And then he'll get mad and at that point I'll be so pissed at him that I'll be spoiling for a fight and I'll be ready for one.  And then I'll be fired.  And then I won't have to worry about him shouting and distracting me, because I'll be out of a job.