Oh What A Lovely Tea Party

Apparently, I have an enemy, an adversary, a nemesis, a foe, a Moriarty to my Holmes, a Lore to my Data, a Doctor Doom to my Reed Richards, a Lex Luthor to my Superman (Dean Cain preferably), a… well, I guess you get my point. I am at war and I couldn’t be having more fun if I pulled out my teeth with rusty pliers.

What am I babbling about this time?

Remember last week when I bemoaned my ability to keep my fat gob shut and spoke my mind at the day job as opposed to keeping my head down and lips zipped? If not here’s the short bus version. Following the massacre in Orlando a withered hag of a dietician named Jill (not her real name) and a fat gas bag of a male nurse named Eugene (also a fake name) decided loudly that LGBT men should never be allowed to donate blood because they are dirty. Breaking my normal rule of not engaging assholes, I decided to argue with them.

Mistake number one.

Mistake number two was ending the conversation by reminding them that the ban was put in place because of unreliable blood testing in the 1980s and because the LGBT community at the time was being scapegoated. When they started to argue my point, I asked them how old they thought I was because I was there at the time and remembered it clearly. The logical follow-through being that since they are both significantly older than I am, they should know better than to distort history.

I said at the time there would be consequences and boy I was right.

Jill is a gossipy old bitty, and she’s doing exactly what I suspected she would. She won’t speak to me and whenever I enter a room she stops talking. If she thinks, I’m not aware that I’m her current topic of work gossip when she’s not bitching about the “Colored Girls on Second Shift,” (seriously I’ve heard that phrase more in the last three months than the last ten years) she’s dumber than I thought. Her attentions are irritating at worst and amusing at best.

Eugene is whole other kettle of fish.

Eugene is about ten years older than me. He’s roughly my size. He’s a good old southern boy and self-proclaimed Trumpeter. And he is an Alpha Male from the old school constantly bitching about female coworkers (also hating on our female boss) and always looking to assert dominance despite his lack of real authority and expecting the other men to be submissive. There are only a handful of men here at the day job, not unusual in this industry, and he’s the only male nurse. He did not appreciate me verbally stepping to him and to be honest, it was stupid of me. I was so upset about what happened in Florida that I fucked up and now I have to deal with Eugene.

To be upfront, he’s done and said nothing to me since the confrontation. But there are a lot of crossed looks, and I think it’s fair to say most people can tell when they’re being watched. Eugene is waiting for me to screw up at my job. Eugene is scrutinizing me. I honestly, no bullshit, believe Eugene genuinely hates me.

Game on bitch.

There’s a reason I’ll never be promoted into any position of authority at a job. Once I was the guy who’d make sure things weren’t tense and would apologize for shit I wasn’t sorry about just to defuse situations. That guy died a long time ago. The jackass living in his meat suit has been making sure to stand close to Eugene, I’ve been walking close behind him, I’ve made sure to be working in the same areas he’s in, and I’ve been doing all of this without speaking to him.

In a phrase, I’ve been poking the bear.

Is it the right thing to do?

No, I’m well aware it’s not. But fuck him, fuck his sexist, homophobic ass. If he thinks, he’s some king shit of this turd mountain he has another thing coming.

– Josh