Freedom and Suckiness

I feel as if Jera and I are 'Life is Crap' twins lately, for when I read her blog, it's like reading a page out of my own life. You begin to reconsider a lot of things about yourself when things continuously go wrong, like, "Wait a minute, maybe *I* am the lunatic here." I remember back in Bangkok, my assistant director and good friend, Bill, used to say over and over again, "Wait a minute, is it us? There's no way that EVERY Western teacher is a fuckwit. What the hell?!?!" This after dealing with yet another asinine teacher who acted in strange and/or frightening way.

And you can't help thinking that it all just kind of snowballs. Stress leads to health issues which cost a lot of money which leads to a lot more stress which makes you more sick, and then you start feeling like a hypochondriac, oh shit. I've recently been diagnosed with dangerously high blood pressure. It's a long story, but to me it seem pretty simple; one-part family history (just about everyone in my family keels over from heart disease, usually somewhat young), and one-part suffocating stress. A deadly cocktail. I'm on medication, and I think about salt a lot more now than I ever did, but so far it isn't budging much. Apparently it's my systolic that's the problem, when you're 170/101, it's the 101 that will kill you.

As I've partially-documented, life in Missoula has pretty much sucked, despite ongoing efforts on both Beau and my part to seek satisfying and decent-paying employment, improve our health, pay off bills, and fight an oncoming depression from it all. I've sort of gotten to the point now where I'm starting to hate it here. Looking at the big picture, I do see a nice, good-sized city that is fairly attractive and has some interesting things going on. But in MY world, it's a place where jobs are low-paying (Montana just passed up South Dakota to become the SECOND-to-worst (best?) state in the country in low wages. Yeehaw.), and where work situations are just so crazy that it does more than confuse me, it totally messes with my head.

Quitting Shop-n-Smile has been one of the greatest joys of my recent life. Just being home at night is wonderful bliss, despite the fact that I spend most of it cleaning and ironing since Beau and I never have the chance to clean our now gross apartment. I was hoping the new focus on my day job at the university would prove to be fruitful. Less tired, less rushed, less distracted. But it now seems that even THIS job is becoming more and more troubled. It hasn't been all that great anyway, but it's was always better than Shop-n-Smile, which made it "the better job."

We got a new boss - and he's one of the most powerful men in the university. He's a really nice guy overall and a genius diplomat. When he arrived, Office Manager Woman (OMW) latched herself to him like a baby possum. There were lots of closed doors and things changed rather quickly. She went from pretty sweet woman you could joke with (who gave me, like, no work to do), to super rigid professional woman (who still gave me no work to do). Her distance was not only alarming, it was somewhat hurtful since although I hated how she didn't give me tasks, personally I liked her very much. I kept telling myself she was just busy (and she has become super busy since the start of our new boss), and I tried to shrug it off.

And, I'm STILL a frickin temp. But the university only allows you to be a temp for a max of six months, and my six months were coming fast. The main reason I allowed myself to be poached by this department and leave the other department I liked so much, was that this department promised the job would go permanent quickly and then so would benefits (medical insurance, free tuition, sick and vacation leave, etc.). Well, it's been six months, and this "temp job" has been extended - THREE times. I've started to become a bit resentful. It feels like my life is just on pause.

So, a week before my six months were up, and I still hadn't heard much, I wrote a letter to my two bosses and the OMW basically saying, "Well, there's only a few days left. I can't work past then...I'll be UNEMPLOYED." I said it a bit more diplomatic than that, of course.

I heard nothing.

This scared the crap out of me, because you'd think if someone thought you were a great employee and wanted to hire you, they'd let you know, not keep you hanging. And I knew that once the six months came about, they could just say "Bye!" and that'd be it. Also, let's remember that I just quit Shop-n-Smile. Fuck.

I reflected on things - I know I've been doing a good job. I rarely do things wrong/mess things up, and I get a lot done. I always show up for work and I've already established great relationships with a slew of people across campus (who often joke how it can't be possible I work in this office, since I "actually have a sense of humor" and I am "too nice"). But when your boss has seemingly turned on you, you're screwed.

The irony here is that my bosses LOVED me at Shop-n-Smile and repeatedly begged me not to quit, and I couldn't stand the place. I thought my bosses here liked me too, but now, now I'm paranoid. At least I get along fantastically with the rest of the staff in the office. I've even gotten Crazy Carla to loosen up some - she actually laughed aloud today and said, "You're so funny!" It felt like a triumph.

So, when that Friday, the final official last day of my "appointment" came, OMW came up to me in the morning and said, "We need to talk in a few minutes." My stomach dropped. Just what you never want to hear either from your boss or from a lover. But, in true medieval torture fashion, "a few minutes" became an hour. Three times during that day OMW told me "We'll meet just after X happens," and then it'd happen, and we wouldn't meet. I felt like I was losing my mind, and thought of a Dilbert cartoon I had JUST seen in the paper a week before where a similar thing happened to Alice, my favorite character:Beau, knowing my sky-high level of stress at what was to happen, called frequently, "Did you meet yet?"

"No! She said after I get back from lunch now!"

"Geeez, postponed again!? She's going to wait until I have to leave for work at 4pm and then I won't be able to talk to you!"

"God, I hope not!"

Consequently, we met finally -- at 5:00pm. I was taken into a room and the door was closed. Great, this is it. I thought about another job I could go for - kind of like a teacher's assistant at the local elementary school. It wasn't glamorous, and it paid less, but it'd get me back into teaching in some form. I kept telling myself this to soothe my soul - for I'd never been let go from a job before, and knowing myself, I knew I'd probably bawl. I just hoped I could control the flow of salt water until I got to my car. No one likes an office crier.

OMW slowly began, telling me that the position had finally been finished (they'd been working on the "job description" for about three months), and that it had been submitted to Human Resources. Now, with everything that had to happen, all the chains of command, the posting of the job to the public, the slew of interviews they'd have to do, and finally hiring someone, it could take about six weeks. (And of course, since they had to open the job up to the universe, there was no guarantee it was mine).

Six weeks! Six weeks of unemployment if I chose to go for this job, instant unemployment no matter what. I inwardly panicked. But no, this was not the case. I was told that although I was about to pass up the 6-month mark, I could continue to work, they would just be forced to pay me for benefits for the six weeks. How odd to have full benefits for 45 days only. Well, okay, so I wasn't being "fired," that was good.

Then, OMW, wearing her all-cool, all-professional demeanor, began to tell me the two things that were "wrong" with me, which in all honesty, weren't really flaws, but just things I had to pay attention to (like that the phones were ALWAYS covered - apparently a pet peeve of our boss - even if I went on break or something). Okay, no problem, I could do that.

OMW then started to go on and on about "communication" and how it had paid special attention to that in the job description, making sure to add it in certain parts. "Communication" has been the hot, new word in this office lately. It's all about us all communicating, which is a joke, it's really more about control, but whatever, I can communicate. So, with this emphasis on talking to each other, I waited for her to address our recent distance, her stony silences, her sudden lack of friendship. She never said anything. So, I brought it up. It had been driving me crazy anyway, and I knew I just couldn't continue at this job with this stupid tension.

Immediately she admitted she had felt it too, and that it had bothered her. To her, it had started after she had returned from a vacation, (her thinking it was me), and that she had even gone to my boss about it (gee, thanks). As we talked, though I didn't feel all warm and fuzzy, I felt a sense of relief that we had gotten this out. Maybe we could become friends again. We both love to laugh, and I had missed that. Then she suddenly told me something I had done that had really upset her. Believe it or not, it was when I was actually thanking her for something she did for me, but she took it as me thanking her for NOT doing something immortal (oh lord), and so, had seen it has some sort of backhanded compliment. It wasn't. It sucks that she interpreted it that way, and I'll have to think about how I presented myself, but it's not an accusation I've ever heard before. "Hey! Thanks for not being a dick!"

I felt like things were better, and yet, still strained. When I had asked her what my chances were of actually getting this job permanently (since I had stuck it out so long with that in mind), she refused to give me any clue, saying it wouldn't be right to say. Then she went on to say that when I first joined the staff, and we had frequently chatted, and she told me a buttload of juicy gossip and information on a regular basis, that it had been "totally inappropriate." Well, maybe in an "official" way stuff like that is inappropriate, but co-workers in most offices bond on their mutual gossip, and OMW had never shared anything with me that was malicious or cruel, mostly just the history of the place, which was already steeped in chaos. Her statement made me feel bad again, because all those chats had been so friendly and fun. I guess that means we wouldn't be buddies anymore. I told her I was relieved, because I thought I was going to get let go. "No, no, no," she said, "I would never do that. I would only fire someone if something was really dreadfully wrong" (well, gee, I guess I'm not dreadful then). So, when I finally left the meeting, I felt better, but just, weird.

The next morning when I came in, I had a feeling of optimism. Things had to get better now. But when I sat down at my desk and opened my email, my heart sank. There was a long letter from OMW, basically going on and on about how my perception of being "fired," was incorrect since technically, it would just be the ending of my temp assignment, so even if I hadn't been offered another six weeks of work, I wouldn't have been fired legally, blah blah blah. Yes, she was right, legally, but really, I would have been let go only because I suck. Hiring another temp now would be silly. The email left me with a cold feeling in my stomach. So much for a warm and fuzzy reconciliation. Again, when your boss is against you, you should start sending our your resume.

God, I want to leave Missoula.

Dogs, Darkness, and Dickheads

So, I’ve been doing some dog/housesitting on the side to make any kind of (tax-free) money I can, and really, to pay back my step-father the money I borrowed from him to move. He keeps reminding me that I have to pay it back by Christmas. I know! It’s just not easy sending big paychecks away like that. Sucks, really. But as I know, it was my choice to move. Nobody better expect anything for Christmas/Hanukah from me except my warmest wishes for a holiday season.

ANYWAY, (ADD distractions!), it was pretty late at night and I had to take the two dogs I was taking care of to “the park.” A massive, beautiful “ecologically-friendly” place called, Prospect Park in the embarrassingly affluent Park Slope community of Brooklyn. Due to the fact that it was wicked cold and I don’t fancy walking deep into a dark park at night, I decided to take the dogs to the closest grassy knoll possible. As I approaching it, I heard shouting. Chock-full of profanity and anger, there was no doubt it was some sort of fight involving more than two people. I held tightly to the dogs' leashes in case I need them to save me (which I was seriously doubting since they slobber joyfully all over anyone who looks their way). I was on the park side of the fence on this “grassy knoll” which was elevated about two feet from street level. The park is surrounded by this stone fence, about 2-3 feet high, with the sidewalk and street on the other side.

As things got closer, and the shouts and profanity louder, I could make out three teenagers up on the knoll with me, and below on the sidewalk, a homeless man with his shopping carts and personal possessions. They were screaming at each other and the teenagers were throwing anything they could get their hands on at the homeless man. As I got closer, one teenager picked up this metal pole as long as a javelin (and much heavier) and threw it right at the homeless man, hitting his arm. These weren’t boys out on a stupid prank, they were seriously attacking this man. I was so appalled by what I saw I could hardly contain myself. I began shouting, “Hey, stop!” but they didn’t seem to hear me. Choking on anger and adrenaline, I took off sprinting toward the boys screaming, dogs keeping pace along side me, oblivious to the drama unfolding. As I was nearing the boys, one who had now picked up a large metal trashcan, holding it above his head, ready to throw at the homeless man, I started screaming every single profanity I’d ever heard in my life at them. I didn’t know what else to do.

“You dumbshit motherfuckers, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?! ..." I won’t get into all of it, but let's just say I would have made Collin Farrell blush. Yet it wasn’t ‘til I screamed out, “I’m calling the cops right now you pricks!” that they took my meager assault a bit more seriously. They dispersed immediately, running in three different directions, shouting over their shoulders all the way. And during all this time, the homeless man and the teenagers had still been exchanging curses at the top of their lungs. As the boys disappeared down side streets, I approached the homeless man and asked him if he was okay. He was still pumped up from the experience and it took him a minute to calm down. The whole time he was gripping his arm that had been hit by the pole. He thanked me for my help and said that they had got his arm. He talked about how they were part of a gang and this thing happened all the time. I was stunned. It had been such a vicious attack – I guess I had always figured homeless people were harassed, but I thought such situations as terrible like this were rare.

Luckily, someone had called the cops, as a patrol car glided up to the man. By this time I had let the dogs free so they could frolic among the forest area. As soon as I saw the cops, I trotted up to them. I was afraid they wouldn’t believe the homeless man and think he was crazy. I told them everything I saw and asked if they knew who these boys could possibly be. They said things like this happen every night, but they didn't know who the boys were. The male policeman was surprised when I pointed to the big metal pole, now leaning against the park wall, and told him that had been hurled at the man. The cop hefted up the pole and grunted. He was stunned at how heavy it was. “They threw this?’ he asked in disbelief. “Yes!” I said, “I saw the whole thing.” I then pointed to the large metal trash can, now lying on its side a few feet from me and told how that had been their next cannon fodder. The police then told the homeless man to go over to 16th street where it would be “safer” and they drove around the area, though we all knew it would be in vain. We couldn’t identify them in the darkness.

I whistled to the dogs who ran up to me and jumped off the wall. I grabbed their leashes and started walking back to the house, down the same streets the boys had taken off on, and it was only then that I had a twinge of fear. I didn’t know who they were, but they would know me. I had two dogs, a bright yellow breaker on, and a ridiculous hat (it looked exactly like the one Han Solo and Luke Skywalker were wearing in the opening scene of the frozen planet in The Empire Strikes Back. All fur, all around my head). I was pretty identifiable. Would they try to retaliate? Truthfully, I wasn’t really that afraid, but it did occur to me to keep my eyes open. So everytime I passed a group of teenagers hanging around (and they were all over) I stared at them closely. Nothing happened. We got back to the house and I spent the rest of the night watching Forensic Files and eating cereal.

Vindicated ... Sadly.

A little while ago, a friend and I had a long discussion about giving "charity" to total strangers, which, if you live in NYC, you are solicited for every single day. It could be someone asking for pennies or dollars. It could be someone with a disability, homeless, or even the best -- just playing music.

What had happened was this: my friend, let's call him, "Adam," had returned home very early one morning from a weekend trip to Manhattan. As he got out of the car, a woman, one of his neighbors, approached him and began to tell her woeful tale: her father-in-law, living on Staten Island, had had a massive heart attack and was in the hospital. She and her husband didn't have enough money for gas to drive out there, which they wanted to do immediately. Could Adam possibly give her $40 for gas, and she would pay him back shortly?

Now, Adam isn't what you would call naive. In fact, he can be rather suspicious of people to the point of impolite. Immediately skeptical of the women's story, he followed her to her house, went inside, looked at her driver's license and waited as she showed him her utility bill as proof of her residence and identity. Finally, he somewhat reluctantly handed over the $40 and she left.

Now, despite the fact that Adam has intense methods, he also has a giant heart, and deep down he yearned to believe the woman and do good. It was a few hours later he relayed the story to me, full of doubt, but hoping, really hoping that the woman was for real and that he had truly helped someone out and not been scammed. He was seeking some sort of vindication from me, hoping I'd dispel his worries. After hearing his story, I felt the same mix of emotions, suspicion churning with hope. I tend to be more open to woeful stories than he, but am also probably much more fervently willing to seek "vengeance" against those who cheat others.

He then began talking to neighbors who were communicating similar stories of the same woman. She had borrowed from several others and not paid them back (though it was later discovered she had actually had paid one back). A few suspected her of being a con artist of sorts. Hearing this, I was incensed since I always take such things personally (as I always did in Bangkok and Europe too). Now even more uneasy himself, Adam waited for the woman to return and immediately began calling her, confronting her with this information. Flustered, the woman promised to pay him back and in various increments over the next several days, did pay him back, more due I believe, to Adam's relentlessness than to her own fastidiousness. He never felt completely right about the situation and we talked for awhile about giving money to people here in NYC and the eternal desire to help people out while simultaneously worrying about being played for a fool.

Now, I do give money. I'm not going to lie; I don't give that much. "Charity starts at home" and I'm always fighting to break even. I like to give to the homeless "representatives" with their empty water jugs who ask only for "pennies" which is a good way to give them loose change without feeling like a cheapskate. Besides, they're always polite and friendly, which is something everyone is receptive to. I also like to give money, usually just a buck, to musicians. Today I spent a wonderful time in Union Square (talk about it later) listening to a wonderful musician named "Dorian" playing guitar and singing. I feel if I really enjoy the music, then I should be willing to show my appreciation with a dollar.

Anyway, as we were talking about this, I told Adam of the one time I had ever not given money and had felt bad about it long afterwards (to the present, actually). This was back when I had that second job at Barnes & Noble, and I was leaving work late one night after we closed up. A shaky white man approached me, and at my startled look, he reassured me that he was a gay man and so wasn't interested in doing any harm to me. He then went on to nervously tell a long story about how he was a documentary filmmaker who had all his film canisters/equipment nearby in an apartment that he couldn't get into, etc. etc. I can't even tell you the rest of it, though I have to tell you, even though I always try to be polite, I had to finally say, "What's the point of all this? Do you want money?" The man chattered on for a time before asking if he could have some money, that he swore up and down he'd pay me back, that I'd go to heaven for the good karma, that he wasn't homeless or a freak, etc. He seemed pretty believable, though looking back, I should have been suspicious of his rattling and vibrating. At the time, I literally only had $5 to my name, along with some scattered change in my pocket. I was eating dinner through the vending machines in the employee break room, so I was reluctant to part with the only money I had in the world. Reaching into my pocket, I shuffled around with some "effort," and brought out all the change I had, which couldn't have been more than about 25 cents, and handed it to him. He was obviously disappointed to receive so little for his elaborate story, and mumbled a "thank you" as I rushed off.

As I was walking away, I was feeling bad, not good. Payday was only a day away, so I could live without that five bucks. Thinking the guy was actually for real, and actually THINKING about that stupid karma comment, I walked away with guilt for not being willing to give. Though I have given up religion long ago, I still carry many of its lessons and superstitions with me. Not to mention reading old Irish and Scandinavian folktales, I had ridiculous images of 'faerie folk' or 'angels' who test the heart of humans by disguising themselves as a person in need. Yeah, yeah, I know, but crazy things dart through your mind when you're feeling guilt, it doesn't mean you're berzerk-o.

The combination of my story that had happened a couple months ago, and Adam's story, led to my reaction later that day. I was crossing 6th Avenue at 14th street when someone was holding out a small red card to me. Normally, I never take what's handed to me, since as a stand-up comic once said, "It's like the person is saying, 'Here, you throw this out.'" Anyway, for whatever reason, in part because the man handing it out looked to be in pretty bad shape, I reached out and took it, not even breaking my stride. But I felt my arm being pulled back --- the man was not letting go! I wheeled around, still holding onto the red card. The man was making a pained face and pointing down to the card that we were both still holding. I read it. It announced that he was deaf and was trying to feed his family. It said it was offering the alphabet in sign language as a small little teaching tool and if I could give anything for it, it would be appreciated. I flipped it over and sure enough, there was 26 hands displaying each letter. Just before I left Thailand, I had taught my 6th graders how to spell their names in sign language for fun during "summer school."

I had met many deaf "beggers" while in Thailand and this man didn't seem to be faking it. At that moment, I felt my heart just clench. I had Adam's story still in my mind and the anger that it had caused in me. I looked at the man who seemed to truly need money. I reached into my bag and handed him a dollar and he thanked me by nodding his head and doing "thank you" in sign language. As I walked away, I started breathing heavily. I had an overwhelming feeling to weep. I couldn't even articulate in my head exactly why. I knew it was connected to the whole Adam story, but I just felt so awful. I entered my gym then and went up to the locker room, spending a bit of time composing myself in the bathroom stall.
------------------------------

So, today, I'm walking toward Union Square after having worked out and spent a fairly pleasant time in my new Chinatown place-to-eat-super-cheap. I got a Tasti-Delite ice cream (I swear I will never eat that stupid ice cream again!), and am crossing the street. Suddenly a man appears in front of my face, startling me, and causing me to halt just as I reach the curb. Shaky, the man starts, "Hi, don't worry, I'm gay so I'm not here to harass you, I just want you to know..."

Oh. My. God.

I couldn't believe it. My one hunk of burning guilt for my own personal greed. Here he was, months later, spilling the same schpiel. I wanted to throw up.

"Look," I said, pursing my lips, "You told me this same story two months ago..."

A cloud crossed over the man's face. He looked down in disgust, turned away, and walked off. He didn't even try to deny it.

As I walked on, I felt a heaviness descend upon me. Perhaps the guilt was better -- it let me believe that at least there were good people out there and that I had screwed up. Now, my sole source of legitimate charity was nothing but a hoax. He was still out there; still doing it. I know the guy is obviously down on his luck and trying to get along, and yet, I feel so angry about it. Anyway, my guilt was misguided, and yet I don't feel better. I've been vindicated...sadly.