I’ve been itching to write about work. But, you know, you know I know how that kind of shit works out. With a recession and all, I don’t want to get axed for idle shiv talk and other blade-related humor.
So, I won’t write about the workplace. I’ll write about my pathetic little emotional life. You know that pea-shaped little bit of me that I like to keep all covered up with faux bravado, of the sorts like comedy talking while naked.
Here is the emotion on which I was fixated yesterday and into today. (My emotions tend toward the partially cloud with a chance of rain kind of passing through temperatures.) Tomorrow, we have high hopes of the fixation lifting, life going on and the sun coming out, obviously while Lil Orphan Annie sings.
One thing I will never be good at no matter how much anyone pays me or how light the ditch-digging is. I will never have grace dealing with the subset of humanity that needs to work in a style of keeping you in your place. Well, not really your place, their perceived notion of your lowly place. Vocal condescension, blunt order giving, that sort of thing leaves me cold.
I’m pretty sure in a past life I was a distant bitter relation to this dude, but somewhere along the way I evolved. Now, I just am not very helpful to those sorts. If I can get away with doing little or nothing for you, whilst you stand arms akimbo, demanding, finger-wagging, wheedling, pushing, I’ll push back with the strength of an immobile brick wall.
Really, in this universe, today with video cameras and everyone being Youtube movie stars and 30-plus years passed the bullshit personal empowerment movement, does rudeness work with anyone? Actually, in any age, any time, any place, isn’t life a bit short to win the douche bag Olympics?
Conversely, I’m pretty willing to roll up my sleeves, if I get the occasional bon mot of please and thank you tossed into conversation sincerely. Funny enough, I use those words my own self, and they seem to help.