A Welcome Respite

Pinochet’s out today. What a relief. She’s a nightmare. I can’t remember the exact moment I decided to stop talking to her, but it’s because she has a tendency to jump down people’s throats. I’m not the only one with this problem. I’m tired of the snobbery, the holier-than-thou attitude and being corrected on things I know due to my four and a half years on this job. Just yesterday I was corrected on a name that I know damn well how to spell SINCE I WORKED WITH THE PERSON. She's never met him, but I don't know how to spell his name? Grrrr...

Another one of Bag of Rocks wondrous decisions. They—these women--just keep getting worse. We do nothing but wade through tough contractual language, a myriad of lingo and niche services and what did he want? Someone in a nice skirt. Ridiculous. Aoife (Effa) deserved the job. Yes, she was Irish. Yes, she was built like a workhorse. Yes, she was a strong personality who had a film background of 3 months here, 4 months there. That’s the nature of indie filmmaking. She wanted stability. Did she get it? No.

The REAL reason she wasn’t hired? She was a strong woman. Aoife, my former co-worker, and myself were too much for Bag O’Rocks. Long hair, legs, high heels, and an indecipherable accent are infinitely preferable to the King’s English. His statement? She worked for four years at her previous job. Took care of her boss. Like IN THE HOSPITAL. Brought him food, visited him, cleaned up the room. Um, is that part of the job description? Or is this just another ass-kisser? You decide.

My former co-worker laid into Bags on the day I wrecked my shoulder, and I heard there were fireworks. Women have a tendency to make sense on matters of detail. Men? Well, some of them can only think with blinders on. Particularly if six-inch patent leather heels are involved.

I am really tired of myopic views and misanthropic people. I’ve gotten nothing but pre-judgment and nastiness over the years, and she is but one more example.

Which leads me to a strange thing: last night, I stopped to pet a black Pomeranian. I had an entire convo with the person holding the leash without looking at her. Or was it him? Don’t know. Wasn’t interested. I stopped to pet my black cat at the Arabic fruit & nut store, and again, didn’t look up. A man owns it, can’t tell you who he is. Not interested. There’s a pug in my building who’s walked by a thoroughly nasty woman. I know this because I’ve had altercations with her slamming the door on me and complaining about the junk mail all over the hall. She’s not nice, but I’ve figured it out: she doesn’t like people either. Just animals. Her pug is lovely: friendly, bouncy, pleasant. What does this tell me? Doggy is taken care of very well. If not, he’d be miserable like her. So, even though I don’t speak to her, she doesn’t bother me. We kind of agree on things, in principle.

And that’s kinda how I feel. The facts and my opinion, from everyone else around here, are starting to add up. I’m not the only one who’d had run-ins with her. It’s good to know I’m not crazy. I'm really starting to enjoy animals more than people. It's more than a phase.

Another nonprofit called. Interview tomorrow. Let’s see how this goes. They liked my writing sample, so I’ve got a chance to construct grant letters as I did ten years ago. That could be fun. Let’s see…