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Wednesday, Nov. 20, 2002 / 6:26 p.m. ~I Thought Challenging Was A Good Thing~ The head butting escalated at work. I went innocently off to lunch. I ate a charbroiled chicken club sandwich purchased at Hardee's, at home, I got online. I returned to work, D., the Supervisor, came to me, told me something had 'happened' while I was at lunch, she needed to talk to me. Into an office we went, she immediately took her place behind one of the desks. She told me the department had been talking about me, about how I've been 'challenging' everyone, how I took an informal poll yesterday to find out how eveyrone performs a specific procedure. Okay. They all seem to have a problem with me. Quincey has a problem with me. Q asked me to share with her the department procedure manual, I left it at her desk. She found it there, became offended somehow, told D., the Supervisor. ???????????????????????? D., the Supervisor, said Listerine told her I mentioned another procedure, was checking to make sure she does this procedure correctly. That was not my place, I was told. I was confused. Full Moon. Hormones. Unexplained vaginal bleeding. Irritability yesterday, sore throat, coughing, today better, much better, then this. I lost it. It escalated. I'm too close to it now to describe it well, but I wish she'd stopped as soon as she saw my chin quiver. As soon as she saw me begin to lose my composure, she should've stopped. I hated it. It was personal confrontation, it was highly personal. It turned into descriptions of why I'm not liked, why she's not liked, why I said this, did that, how I handled it, and why didn't I go over her head, open door policy, blah, blah, blah. We went in circles. I admitted we clash. "You'll be gone in two weeks, let's just let it go", I pleaded. Me, the diplomat. Yes, I'm blunt, I'm direct, I'm passionate, I'm emotional, but don't ask me how I feel, point blank, about you, from the other side of a desk. "I don't want this to be personal", I said, "I'm just trying to earn a living", I said. "I don't want to get into all this", I said. 45 minutes. I was crying, a lot, I couldn't stop, I couldn't look at her, it was horrible. She's a kid, she's only 26 or something. We used to talk, she used to be a rep, like me. I trained her when she came to the site. Yes. I trained her. She became our Supervisor a couple years ago. She applied, begrudgingly, and she didn't want the job. She took it anyway. Now she's moving to Japan, and she can't get there fast enough, for me. I've grown to despise her, to lose all respect for her as a person, as a woman, as a mother, as everything she is, but most of all as my Supervisor. It wasn't the time for me to tell her exactly how I felt. I had no desire to do it. It reminds me of the time I told my brother I didn't like him. I must have been 20 years old. We were arguing about something, more going around and around in circles, and I was sick of it, I couldn't stand the arguing, I couldn't stand the intense confrontation, and I told him I never liked him. He wanted to know why, he couldn't understand, he wanted details, a historic record of events logged. I couldn't do it. Just let it go. You're my brother, but I can't stand you, never really could. D. sat there today, behind someone else's desk, in someone's office, the office of the two site trainers. I didn't know where they were, the two gay black men on site. One very flamboyant, effeminate, the other so very surprised when I told him I knew. In their office, she behind the latter's desk. Me crying, wiping my eyes, furious with myself for losing it. Having to sit and hear how everyone talked about me while I was at lunch, how they think I am. And me replying that I'm no different from anyone else on the team...... except I'm white. It's racial, I told her. If I were a big uppity African American woman you wouldn't have called me in here. No response. 45 minutes. I went to my desk, I kept crying, I wiped my eyes, I couldn't compose myself at all, I didn't care who knew, it was their fault. D., the Supervisor, held a floor meeting for our department, made some of the same points, about procedures, about how to ask questions, about the open door policy, and I kept my back turned, sat in my cubicle, tapping my feet, anxious to make copies of my work before 3:00, for the audit. 2:55, I interrupted, after all, I'd just heard all this, and more. "I need to make two more copies for my audit". D. looks at the clock, "Is it 3:00", which sounds sarcastic because she's looking at the clock which reads 2:55. I think it's a rhetorical question. I say, "It's almost 3:00, I need to make copies, I only have one so far". Kukla takes over. Tells me, "We're havin' a meetin'! You ain't even payin' attention, sittin' in the cawnuh, yawh back turned", and there it went. She ripped my asshole, didn't even bother to replace it. No one said a thing. Not D., the Supervisor, conducting our little meeting, not Penelope, for whose Birthday dinner I paid half just a couple weeks ago, not Listerine, to whom I give coupons, and help with her computer. Kukla went off. She told me how offended she is I say I can't talk to her, how offended she is I call her mean and nasty, shouting all the while, quite, um, mean, and nasty. I turned to face her completely, my eyes swollen, my whole face red, I told her I need to make my copies, I've been in a meeting for 45 minutes already, I'd heard it all already. "Ah didn't know you wuz in a meetin', how's I s'posed to know?!!! You ain't participatin' and we need to talk about all this", etc., etc., ad nauseum. Have you ever heard someone shout about how they're not shouting? Or seen in a movie, or a TV drama, or in person, a man beat his woman, then tell her to come close for a hug, or something to that effect? Or seen someone say yes, but shake her head no? It was like all of that. The meeting ended, Veronica asked if I was alright, I turned to her, looked into her eyes and thought how much I hated her, how I wanted her and the rest of them to suffer endless hellish agony for eternity, and I muttered under my breath, my teeth clenched, nodding towards Kukla's back, "Sure, kick me when I'm down, I love you guys". One of those 'eat shit and die motherfucker' kind of grins followed. Tears and anger. Maybe tears of anger. Gossip. Backstabbing. Even Penelope. Christians, Bible fucking thumping Christians, taking me down. Take down Whitey. And guess who missed it all? The white boy. Kennel Boy. Kennel Boy had the day off and he missed it. Kukla turned away from me. She actually called Penelope on her inside phone line, I heard them talking, the two of them sitting mere feet from each other, talking in lowered voices thinking I'd not hear. Talking about me. Kukla got up to take her break and I sarcastically thanked her for kicking me when I was down. I told her I'd been called aside for basically being who I am, for being assertive, for having an inquiring mind, for trying to do the best job possible under the ridiculous circumstances, for speaking out, for trying to make sure the 'team' is on the same page. She told me how she is. It turned into her. "Ahm gonna tell you what ah think, ahm gonna...", blah, blah, blah. (the accent is Louisiana, if you were wondering - lots of 'ain't's and 'GIRL!'s and incorrect verb tenses, etc.) She stood in the aisle, inching closer and closer to me as I sat in my cube, my eyes barely dry, and she started the uppity black woman finger wag. Oh yeah. Wag, wag, wag, head nod, wag, wag, wag, "Ahm gonna tell you ...", blah, blah, blah. She had actually accused me of being scared of her. I said, "I'm not scared of you, not at all", wag, wag, wag. I told her I'm the same way, I'm direct, honest, open. But I'm the white one, so I get called into an office, she does not. She's the manager's sister, I am not. Can you say, "NEPOTISM"? She earns more than anyone in the department, she got the highest rating on her annual review. I saw it in the payroll records, before they were password protected. She bragged to me how she's going to be at that job a long time and I was laughing inside, thinking, "Jesus, is that all you aspire to????". I just sat and watched her finger wag, tried to keep track of which eye to look at, as one is a prosthetic. I found myself wishing her brain scan would show a big fat tumour, or thinking maybe I should key her new paint job on her car. While she wagged that finger closer and closer to my face, sarcastically telling me that STILL, she has no problem with me. She laughed, so did I. Evil little laughs. We didn't mean it. We were sarcastic as hell, I raised my fist in a 'right on, sister' kind of way. In a yeah, "GIRRRRRRRL, you go!" way. I had accused her of lacking compassion, of not caring about anyone but herself. I think that's what started the finger wagging. It was comical, especially in retrospect. And it's even funnier now, past my headache, past the pain in my eye sockets, to think of the whole thing, how ridiculous it all was. I even told D., over and over, in that little office with the two desks, "THIS IS SOOOOOO STUPID!", because it was. It wasn't about work, it was about what kind of person I am, how I relate to people, how she handles her job responsibilities, and what do I think of her, no, really. And she had these groovy cat's eyes glasses on today. She never wears glasses, they must've been new. But I couldn't say anything, it was beside the point. Right now, watching the opening scene of "Felicity", it all seems so far away, the whole day, like it didn't really happen. Like tomorrow will be normal. But I'm thinking of quitting, seriously. I have time off coming up, after Thanksgiving. Maybe I can go somewhere, to a temp agency or something, and beg for something else. I'm visualizing taking everything personal from my cube on next Wednesday, planning on not returning. We'll see. I know I haven't described any of this as it happened, it's all too confusing, too bizarre, it makes no sense, really, I don't know why 'the department' would turn on me, say I'm challenging them. Then again, isn't being challenged a good thing??? When did it become bad to use one's brain? I'm confused. Here's something else, not that there won't be a lot of 'something else's, but one of the things Kukla said to me, after I told her I'd been called out for basically being forthright, was, "Well, if it was me I woudn't be cryin' 'bout it!", and I told her I have emotions, I actually feel things, especially when I'm coming under attack. I'm sure more finger wagging followed. She was not just kicking me, she was aiming to destroy me. When would you ever turn to a person who is crying and shred her further? Perhaps if your parents did it to you when you were a child? If they beat you and told you they'd continue it if you kept crying, so you kept crying because you were frustrated they wouldn't listen to you and you were scared and they beat you more? She was beaten by her parents. And her husband, from whom she is divorced. It's no surprise she treats people the way she was treated. I was not beaten. I was not hit as a child. My mother yelled. If I cried, she showed compassion, love. Therefore I do the same. If I see someone crying my heart goes out to that person. What's wrong? Are you okay? Can I do anything for you? Will you be alright? Not, "FUCK YOU!!" Elemental differences. White culture, black culture. She's provincial, I come from rather Cosmopolitan genes. My family was educated, well read, traveled, I was raised as Dr. Benjamin Spock might have suggested, not the grandma with the biggest stick. We're all still children inside. Kukla can get her sister to relax her hair to make it straight, she can curl it up, wear her makeup, put on her high heels, and her tight mini dresses, her booty clinging pants and dresses, but inside she's the kid who had to fight, she's the bully who beat up other girls in school, she's the one who was attacked by the cat when she pulled its tail, so she hates cats, she hates dogs, she hates all animals, she hates anyone who crosses her, who DARES to cross her, and even though she goes to Church on Sunday, and Bible Classes on some Wednesdays, she's still that person, all frustrated and scared inside. And I was at the receiving end today, thinking horrible thoughts, thinking about how far blacks have come, especially here in the South, thinking that I don't have a leg to stand on, so to speak, in any racial discrimination case. A Civil Rights Attorney told me that. I'm the minority, I can stay, and deal, or I can go. Right now I don't want to run. I feel they want that. I told D., the Supervisor, that she is trying to get me fired as her last hurrah, and she said, "I can't believe you just said that.", but it's true. She's leaving, she's tired of me 'challenging' her, the whole department is tired of me making them think, they'd be happy if I never came back. So for now I don't provide them with that satisfaction, for now I stay, I plan, I think. I show up, I get paid, I come home, and soon, soon I head out in the proper going to get a job clothes and find something else. It's way past time. Way. Cost of the War in Iraq
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