Happy Holidays? Or Bah Humbug?

It’s the holiday season once again!  A joyous occasion!

Usually.

As I get older, I am more aware of the fragility of many people, both physically and mentally.  So many people have lost their partner/child, or never had one, and are facing the holidays alone, and yes, lonely.

What does lonely mean?  Google suggests the following:

lone·ly

ˈlōnlē/

adjective

1. sad because one has no friends or company

Very different than alone.  Google suggests the following:

alone

[uh–lohn] 

SpellSyllables

adjective, (used predicatively)

1.

separate, apart, or isolated from others:

I want to be alone.

So, you can see that there is a difference.  Some people like to be alone but most people don’t like to be lonely.

I remember visiting my mom in her final year at the nursing home.  She had Alzheimer’s and was slowly losing all functions.  She did not know what day it was, let alone if it was Christmas.  I always thought, maybe that was better.  Then she wouldn’t be lonely, per se.  Every day was a new day for her, and every visit was a new adventure, whether it was a holiday or not.

You see, I’ve been alone in a nursing home over a holiday.  I was alone, and I was lonely.  I spent almost 3 months there, alone in a room at the end of the hall, across from a very busy McDonalds.  The drive-up speaker was the voice that kept me company, until late in the night.  I could tell you what was ordered most frequently, and I could smell the french fries, which drove me crazy because I really really wanted some!  I used to pretend I could wheel my chair across a busy 4 lane highway, and roll right up to the drive-thru window, and order a cheeseburger and some fries!

I did have visitors, which I greatly appreciated!  Many people called, came to visit, sent fruit! or brought me McDonalds!  I was one of the lucky ones. There were others who had no one.    After dinner I would roll up and down the hall, and look to see if someone was alone in a room, and perhaps would like a visitor or want to chat.  There were people there in bad shape, and a kind word or two went very far.  At least I knew that MY ordeal was temporary.  Theirs, maybe not.  It just reinforced my goal of making it out of there in good shape.

So this holiday season, whether you love Christmas/Hannuaka/Kwanzaa whatever or not, please think of someone that might be lonely.  A simple hello could make someone’s day.  A card, or a visit or an invitation would send them over the moon.

I need to remember that more myself.  I need to reach out.  I need to help myself, and others not be lonely.  Sometimes you just need to make that call, grab that opportunity.

Happy Holidays, Merry Christmas.  Peace, Joy and Love to all.

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The Menendez Brothers

I recently watched the Law & Order Menendez Brothers treatment on TV.  This is a case that has fascinated me for years.  Two well-to-do brothers kill their parents in cold blood. I’m really conflicted about it.

Are they murderers?  Were they abused?  Did they really fear for their lives?  A picture perfect family.  Right?

Unfortunately, there is no good answer.  I think, like OJ, there has been too much publicity about all this.  Too many movies made, too much conjecture.

Unlike OJ, they did confess.  I almost wonder at what in the world they were thinking, after the murders, the way they acted and spent money on lavish lifestyles.  Did they think they were above the law?  Or smarter than the law?  Or did they just not think?

Everyone always looks to Erik as the weak one, the one that broke, that one that confessed.  I can’t imagine how hard it must have been for him.  Lyle seemed to be made of sterner stuff.  But regardless, however much you hate your parents, can you picture yourself waltzing into the den with shotguns and murdering your parents?  It seems maybe there SHOULD have been another answer.  Someone that could have helped them, protected them.

As a frame of reference, I think back to OJ, I personally never doubted his guilt.  Never gave him an ounce of sympathy.  He was violent, he was abuser.  He murdered out of jealousy and rage.  I’m just glad he did end up going to jail eventually, albeit not for murder.

The Menendez brothers?  I think it was a rash decision, that went very wrong.  They were still fairly young, perhaps not mature enough to understand the full ramifications of their actions.

So.  The brothers go to jail for life.  OJ is a free man today.  The brothers killed out of fear.  OJ killed out of rage.  Maybe.

#MeToo

So many, so very many people have come out lately to say #MeToo, about being sexually harassed or abused.  Seems like they are coming out of the woodwork.

And it’s not just women.  It’s men too.  And it’s not just Hollywood.  While this latest movement may have been sparked by the Harvey Weinstein scandal, it has quickly spread to many areas of life, including the music industry, sciences, academia and of course, politics.  Let’s face it, this problem has existed forever.  It is only now, in this day and age of Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Snapchat etc. that this kind of movement can go viral overnight.  It only took ONE BRAVE PERSON to bust this out of its shell, and grow into #MeToo.

To me, it boiled down to people in a position of power over me.  People that held your career in their hands, or your reputation, or simply your life.  I grew up in an era of respecting your elders and not questioning authority.  If someone straddled the line of impropriety, we figured that was the way it was.  If someone crossed the line, we were too scared to push them back.

Luckily for me, it was more a question of sexual harassment than of actual abuse.  I have been harassed by more than one superior.  Made to feel uncomfortable.  Made to feel I’d better toe the line.  Made to feel that my job was on the line.  In fact, I left a great job at a great company because of it, and regret it to this day.

Now, those of you that know me well know that I am not a shrinking violet and I will speak up, sometimes to my detriment, about most anything that bothers me.  But back in the day, fresh out of college, and onto the working world?  Not really.  I was afraid of authority.  I was intimidated by men of power.  There were very few women of power.  The glass ceiling was still very low.

Today, I would raze them a new asshole.  Today, I am a grumpy old lady with nothing left to lose.  But today, if I had a child, I would hope that I had instilled enough of moral compass in them that they would know when things where going south.  That they would speak up and protect themselves by any means necessary.  I applaud this new #MeToo movement, and hope that it exposes enough that people will think twice before abusing their next victim.  No more hiding behind “power”.

P.S.  I’ve just GOT to get on a soapbox about one thing.  Donald Trump, while on the campaign trail, was on tape BRAGGING about sexually harassing people, grabbing them by the pussy etc.  Billy Bush, the TV Reporter, who was just asking the questions, got fired and his career was ruined.  Donald Trump was elected President.  Trump has as many, if not more, allegations against him as Weinstein.  But he claims this is all fake news.  The POLITICIANS, Democrats and Republicans alike, need to keep throwing these allegations at him and hope they stick.  But I doubt that will ever happen.  Trump has too much power.  In his own words he could shoot someone and still be elected.  But I am heartened to see that more and more Republicans are leaving their elected offices like rats fleeing a sinking ship.  We can only hope.

 

Treated like so much chattel

Interesting word, chattel.  I wasn’t sure if it was the right word to use.  I’ve heard and read it bantered about.  I always pictured it as meaning someone herded along.

Per Merriam Webster Dictionary, here is what they say:

Definition of chattel

1:an item of tangible movable or immovable property except real estate and things (such as buildings) connected with real property

2:slave, bondman 

• slaveholders who were determined to hold on to their human chattel

Interesting.

Recently I experienced the unique opportunity to be treated like chattel.  I was going to Florida, and was trying to get the best flight for my condition (really bad back, like 4 herniated disks and 2 micro disectomies, repaired not once but twice over the spring and summer).  I guess I am still recuperating.  I have good days and bad days.

Flying in and out of O’Hare and Orlando or anywhere is a nightmare for someone like me, who can’t walk very far all at once.  A short jaunt, sure.  A long one?  Pack a lunch.

So for the past few trips, I fly “disabled”.  Meaning a wheelchair picks me up at check-in, and takes me to my gate.  A wheelchair picks me up at my destination and takes me to the pick-up area.  It also means skipping the long security lines, and wheelchairs have their own special check through.

The first time, I flew American both ways, to Ft. Lauderdale.  It was such a blessing.  The man at O’Hare insisting upon staying with me in the chair until it was boarding time, and then he wheeled me right up to the plane door.  He also stopped along the way to the gate for me to use the restroom, and also get a bottle of water and snack pack for the plane.  Obviously he got a good tip.

In Florida, a wheelchair was waiting for me when I got off the plane, and took me right out to cousin who was waiting curbside.  Perfect.  He got a good tip too.  Worth every penny, not having to struggle along, with a bad back and luggage etc.

Same great service from Ft. Lauderdale back to Chicago with American.

The second time I flew, to Tampa, I flew United out and American back.  There was no wheelchair waiting for me at United, and I had to walk a distance to get to the “wheelchair assistance” room.  Then I had to wait for someone to come get me.  They took a long time getting me through security.  As I was now running out of time, I didn’t dare ask them to stop along the way for anything, and just had them dump me out at the gate.  He got a fair tip.

Arriving in Tampa, more problems with United.  They didn’t have a wheelchair waiting for me off the plane.  I had to wait, and was upset because my friend was already there to pick me up.  Finally got moving and met up with my friend inside the terminal.  Eh.

Flying home on American, I wanted to kiss them right on the mouth.  Once again perfect service.  Always ready and waiting.

This last time I flew to Orlando, on United both ways.  I REALLY wanted to fly American, but the flight times weren’t as good.  So I crossed my fingers.

Flying out, a waiting game again.  Luckily I had anticipated this and left plenty of time before the flight.  I waved them off as soon as I got to the gate, and then walked myself and my luggage to the restroom and the kiosk to get my water and snack pack.

Again more waiting at the gate in Orlando.  My poor old Aunt and Uncle outside waiting and waiting for me.  But, eh, better than hurting myself walking all that way.

Now back to Chicago.  Oh good Lord.  Landing in Chicago, no wheelchair again.  Down the tunnel I walked and then I was told to go sit on one of those big cart like things you see people riding around on inside the airport.  The cart was full, and I was told to step up this high step and sit on the back bench seat.  My carry-on was thrown next to me.  The cart took off at full speed, and I almost fell sideways out of the cart.  One of the people told the driver to slow down, and he slammed the cart to a stop, walked back by me, buckled me into a seatbelt I hadn’t known was there, and then took off madcap again.  Along the way he dropped people off here and there.  I had told him to drop me off at the upper level doors for United.  He pulled up, pointed down a long hallway and said, go there and then take a right.  Really?  This was my handicapped wheelchair ride?  Treated like so much chattel?  This guy got zero tip.  Nada.  Zilch.

Now I understand how cattle feel.  Or slaves.  Or any other group of people that get herded around, taken who knows where, with no say in the matter.  Just pushed and shoved where they wanted to take you.  I seriously felt used and abused.  It wasn’t a good feeling.

I was a little mad/sad about the whole thing, but then got home and quickly forgot about it.  Until now, lol.  No, actually, I have been thinking about it, and I do think that United needs to hear from an unsatisfied customer like myself, and the exact reasons and circumstances that cause me to be an unsatisfied customer.  People deserve to be treated with dignity and respect, not like so much chattel.

Knock Knock Knocking on my Door

Sometimes a knock at the door is a good thing.  Someone has come to visit!  Or it is the groceries!  Or a neighbor bringing tomatoes!

Sometimes a knock at the door is a scary thing.  Yesterday was Halloween. I didn’t have any trick or treaters last night, but I got home late after my infusion, and haven’t had any kids stop by in years. I had just gotten home and was in my bedroom changing when I heard this very loud and sharp rapping on my front door. My heart stuttered, and I gasped out loud, because the sound was so intrusive, especially to someone who lives alone.  My cats scattered, and I quickly locked myself in my bedroom and got my gun out of my safe, and stayed there shaking for like a half hour, because I was afraid to come out! I was thinking that little kids can’t knock that loud, maybe it was an adult with them, I sure hope it was a neighbor trick or treating!  We don’t have many kids in the neighborhood, and a lot of summer houses too, so I don’t even buy candy anymore.  My bedroom looked out at the back of my house, not the front, so I couldn’t look and see if anyone was there.

I do have a legit reason for being scared, but I thought the reason was no longer one to worry about.  I think the attack in NY yesterday made it come to the forefront again for me.

Because that is what it is all about.  I cannot go into details, but let’s just say that lone wolf terrorists that have been radicalized here are something I need to worry about.  And it happens more frequently, it seems.  Around the world, not just here, in the USA.

It really got me to thinking.  I am scared, yes.  But dammit, I am angry.  Angry that people like that even exist.  Angry that people die, and will continue die.  Angry that I have to make lifestyle changes.  Angry that I sometimes wake up in the middle of the night with my heart thumping so loud, straining to hear the tiniest sound.  Was that a knock I heard?  A footstep?  Why did the cats wake up?  What are they hearing?

I have a gun. I only got it because the FBI told me to. (Again, I can’t go into details).  However, it only gives me a false sense of security.  I keep it locked up in a safe.  Most likely if someone broke into my house and wanted to kill me I would never have a chance to even get it.  That’s fine with me.  I don’t know if I could pull the trigger and kill someone anyway.  It’s a huge thing to do.  But I digress.

Over the winter something similar happened.  One night, very late, I was awakened by rapping on my door, very loud, insistently.  Never stopped.  Just kept knocking.  It took me a minute to get my bearings and get up out of my bed because of my bad back.  I stumbled down the hallway, eyes slit, and peeked around the corner to look at the front door.  There were flashing lights and spotlights shining everywhere.  I could not see who was knocking because of it.  But I could tell they were using a flashlight, or bat to knock.  I called out, “Who is it?”  They responded with “Police, open up immediately!”  I replied, “Why are you here, what do you want?”  They said they needed to talk to me and to open the door or they would break it down.  I was so scared.  Was it really the police?  I thought about going back to the bedroom to get my gun, but figured they would just shoot me if they saw a gun.  So I went down the stairs and opened the door.  They shone their big flashlights in my face, blinding me.  They asked me whose car was in my driveway.  I was confused at first, because I always park in the garage.  Then I remembered, I had told my neighbor that his friend who was living with them could park there.  So I told them that.  They asked me the name of the owner of the car.  I did not know.  By this time, I was shaking from fear and the cold, and crying.  They got a call on their radio then, and literally turned around and walked away without another word.

Now I was angry. My fight or flight adrenaline had now changed to fight. How dare they scare the shit out of an innocent citizen with no explanation or “sorry to wake you in the middle of the night”.  I am a single woman, living alone.  I slammed the front door shut, locked up, and then went upstairs to look out my big bay window.  There were squad cars at the house kitty corner from me, and police walking around yards etc.

I knew the grand kid of that homeowner was always in trouble.  In fact, at the time, I thought he was in jail, as per usual.  He was always getting caught doing something wrong. So I figured he was in trouble, again.

The next morning when I went out to go to work, the kid was outside, talking to some policeman or detective.  I glared at them, and the kid hollered over, “Sorry for the disturbance last night, I woke up last night to find somebody trying to steal my guns, can you believe that?”  I said, unbelievable, and then said to the policeman, I was very scared and upset last night, and the officers that were pounding on my door were very rude.  I have reasons that the Lake County Sheriff’s office is well aware of for being scared.  Obviously that was overlooked last night.

The policeman then apologized.   I went to work.  When I got home, I didn’t see the kid anymore.  In fact, I haven’t seen him in awhile.  I’m sure he stole those guns or something like that.  I hope he doesn’t come back.  And let me just say that typically the police/sheriffs/detectives/agents that I have had dealings with are the BEST.  So grateful to ALL our first responders.

Luckily the rest of my neighborhood is wonderful.  The people that live around me always look out for me.  They are very good to me.

Just don’t go knock knock knocking at my door!

 

 

The Big Eye

Taking a good selfie can be hard. The hair, the smile, the angle, the eyes…..

The eyes?  Yep.  It wasn’t until I started taking selfies that I was aware that my eyes are not the same size.  At first I thought it was my camera skills, but then I realized something.

One eye is bigger than the other. Aack!  I was freaked.  I started frantically taking pictures trying to hold my small eye open more.  But I discovered, no matter what you try, you have a BIG eye, and a small eye.

Once I discovered this phenomenon, I couldn’t stop seeing it everywhere, especially in pictures.  Even movie stars!  Seems like most everyone has different sized eyes.  A big eye, that makes you look younger, fresher, more alive!  And a small eye, that makes you look older, tired, ready to fall asleep.

Then I remembered a story or article I read years ago.  It said if you divide the face in half, the side with the big eye looks normal, happy. The side with the small eye looks mean, sad, or evil.

Most people would not ever notice this difference.  But with the age of selfies come more self perusal.  We are most critical of ourselves.

But really, who cares about a little eye asymmetry?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

REAR WINDOW

Sometimes I feel like Jimmy Stewart in “Rear Window”.  I don’t have a broken leg, just an annoying back and hip.  And I haven’t witnessed a murder….yet.  Anything is possible.

More to the point is the fact that I sit in my comfy chair in my office where I have a window, which on many days is my only outside view of the world.  While I work from home or watch TV I can see the kids go by on their bikes, golf carts, dirt bikes etc.  I see the dog walkers and the joggers, especially on the weekends when the neighborhood fills to the brim.  I see my family, walking to the boat to go for an enjoyable ride around the lakes.  I see LIFE, passing me by.

Sometimes I make up stories as the what the people are doing or where they are going.

The lazy unemployed son who lives across the street?  Drug dealer.  Sells anything you want.  Weed, edibles, vapes, pills.  Also arms dealer.  Has a display of guns in his living room.  Will sell to anyone, including his own son.  Except, well, the son is in jail now.  Drug and weapons charges.

The elderly couple who lives across the street.  Spends most of their days in their garden, which has a tall fence around around it.  They say it’s to keep out the varmints.  They NEVER invite anyone over.  I think they are growing the weed for the other neighbor.

The widower across the way.  I was friends with his wife.  When I walked my dogs late at night,  she would be out by the garage, sneaking a smoke.  She is dead now.  I saw her one day, and she was gone the next.  Never see the widower anymore, seems like he is hiding out in his house.

The Italian conclave that lives on the channel, takes up the whole one side of the turnaround street.  4 houses in a row.  I watch the cars start arriving on Thursday nights, and leaving on Sunday nights.  You don’t go down that street on the weekends.  It seems to have been taken over by the “younger” generation.  I haven’t seen the older folks in a couple of years.  They might be sleeping with the fishes.

The entertainment center of the neighborhood is on the corner, where the two streets split.  Many activities center on that property.  Dogs run, kids play and screech, adults drink beer, basketball is played, swimming is done by all on a hot summer day, all led by the neighborhood Pied Piper.  When evening falls, all signs of life disappear, tucked away in houses and garages, waiting to come back again, under the magical spell of the Pied Piper.  (Who resembles my brother but I’ll never tell!)

Then there are the mystery people, who visit my house when it rains.  I think the rain makes them grow.  They sneak in and out while I am sleeping, leaving only wet footprints behind.  I think I might know them, but I’m not sure.  Every now and then when I think I am dreaming, I hear a little girl’s voice, that sounds just like my niece.   I need to set up some cameras.

Hopefully my window on the world will expand soon.  I am feeling much better, and hope to be getting out and about a lot more!  I have a GREAT massage therapist and physical therapist, so I will be rocking!

P.S.  I almost wish I had a murder mystery to solve, I am great detective!  Jimmy Stewart goes a little overboard at times tho, lol.  Great film.  Everyone should see it.

Oh my Aching Back!

 

We all have a bad back every now and then, I think it is a fact of life.  I have had more than my fair share.  Most recently, since February, I have suffered with herniated disks and sciatica.  It has caused me a whole host of problems, included falling and double dislocating the fingers on my left hand, several hospitalizations, several epidural shots, and a surgery 6 weeks ago to do 4 laminectomies and 2 microdisectomies.

Apparently I have Oseoarthritis and Ankylosing spondylitis, which has helped cause these problems.  Whatever, all I know is that I have a bad back.  A very bad back.

After my surgery 6 weeks ago, I went right back to work (there were extenuating circumstances) and was driving to Libertyville 3-4 days a week plus working from home.  I was riding my lawnmower and my quad.  I was going to the pool.  I was dealing with my sleep apnea and going to sleep studies etc.  I was dealing with heart issues and going for stress tests, echocardiagrams and venous studies. I was doing WAY TOO MUCH.  So now I am back to square one with my back, and it is mostly my fault.  And my Catholic school guilt, which prevents me from putting myself FIRST when I need to.  So now I have ruined everything, and I don’t know if it can be fixed.  Crikey.

Tomorrow I go back to the hospital for tests and MRI, to see the scope of the further damage I have done to myself.  I am on very strong muscle relaxers and pain killers (so excuse the poor grammar etc.).  I am dizzy and in severe pain.  It takes me 15-30 minutes to get out of bed, because I have to wait for the zingers in my leg to pass enough to put weight on it without screaming.  Just like before my surgery.  I hate this.  I hate myself.

Sigh.  Why do I do this to myself?  I am my own worst enemy.  From now on I am putting myself first.  No matter what.  Please help me do that!

P.S.  You might want to read a previous post, in which I detail what happened back in February.  How was YOUR week? Redux

The Gorey Details

Another bullfighter was killed recently.  He was gored by a bull he was in the process of killing. He died a gruesome death.  Just like the thousands of animals that are killed in the name of entertainment, for bullfighting.

Do I feel sorry for the bullfighter?  Yes, I suppose I do, it is a human life lost.  However, he basically died by his own hand.  He chose to step in that ring.  He chose to fight an enraged animal that he was slowly and painfully killing.  He chose to do this as his profession, knowing that at any time he may be killed. And truth be told, he slipped on his own cape, making a fatal mistake.

But let’s be real here.  It’s not like his profession is a police officer or fire fighter, where you may be killed at any time in the line of action.  In these professions they are serving and protecting the public and trying to avoid death in the process..  In bullfighting, they are serving and entertaining the public by absolutely serving death on a platter, to the roar of approval by the crowd.  Shades of Roman gladiators, no?  Actually yes, it is all related.

Bullfighting is a series of three tandas, each of which bring more pain and suffering to the bull, in preparation for the final kill.  The matador entices the bull with his red cape (which is only red to mask the blood….bulls are color blind).

This is a gruesome sport, one that has been around for ages.  The arena in Mexico holds 48,000 spectators……FORTY EIGHT THOUSAND.  That’s a lot of people screaming for blood.  And, truth be told, a little goring of the matador probably adds to the excitement level of the crowd too.

I cannot say that I understand the sport of bullfighting.  Per Wiki, while some forms are sometimes considered to be a blood sport, in some countries, for example Spain, it is defined as an art form or cultural event and relevant regulatory frameworks liken it to other cultural events and heritage.

Then there’s the Running of the Bulls, where normal (?) people run in front of bulls down a narrow street, where the participants as well as the bulls may slip on the cobblestones. Another deadly sport I don’t understand.

Back to the dead Matador.  Sad for the loss of his life, sad for his family.  But I am continually sad for the hundreds, nay thousands of bulls slain every year for the enjoyment of the spectators.

But I guess I am in the mood for fighting for the underdog lately.  In this case, the bull.  I have no real pity for the matador. 

 

Dancing with the Devil

Devils come in all shapes and sizes.  Some are easy to recognize.  Some are not, at first.  But they all show their true colors sooner or later.

In the case of this story, the devil showed his colors later in the relationship.

He was a boss.  My boss.  He owned his own company.  It made him very aggressive, narcissistic, and mean.  Very mean.

I will not mention his name, or the name of his company (altho if you really want to know, message me and I will tell you, as people should be aware to stay far away from him).  I will say that he was in a very customer service type business.  A landscape company.

He was very charming upfront, to get your business.  All white smiles and silver haired charm.  But as soon as you signed the dotted line, that all changed.  He lied and cheated you every chance he got.

You were an asshole.  Everyone was asshole, according to him.  Especially his landscape/construction crews.  They were F*ing Asshole Mexicans.  He treated them like animals.

The first year I worked there was like the honeymoon.  Praise, raises, Christmas trees, Christmas music, parties, bonuses.  When I went there to interview, I was smitten.  A very charming office in an old farmhouse, complete with two retrievers and a fireplace burning.  It was a fairy tale.  I could not believe how lucky I was to go to work every day, with nice people and surroundings, and a golden retriever to lay at my slippered feet at my desk.

But then.  His true personality slowly leaked out. It turned into the War of the Roses. I had plenty of warning signs.  He talked shit about previous employees all the time, they were all assholes, and he fired their asses.  Every single one.  Many of them.  Especially the admin employees, who warmed their hands at the fireplace.  They never lasted more than a few months or a year.  No wonder they gave me such a nice one year anniversary party.  I was one of their longest term employees!  There was another one, who I became close with.  He quickly brought me up to speed on the dealing of the devil.  So I was careful.  I watched, I listened.  And most importantly, I never talked back or stated my opinion, because he was always right. The only other long term employee?  My so-called assistant, who was his girlfriend.  Actually more than his girlfriend.  She had a million dollar stake in the company, her previous divorce payoff.  If she didn’t like you, you were a goner.  I digress.

But then.  One day I just couldn’t do it anymore.  He wanted me to agree with him on something.  One of his f*cking asshole Mexicans, a long term employee, had asked for a 10 cent raise.  TEN CENTS.  Now, mind you, he worked these these poor people into the ground.  12-14 hour days in the hot sun of the summer, 24-48 hour days snowplowing non-stop in the winter, or shoveling driveways.  Have you EVER shoveled driveways for 24 hours straight?  They were lucky to get a half hour break.  Most had no food or water with them, the crews were not allowed to stop and buy food.  The Superindent, my friend, would swing by with nourishment and drink that he bought out of his own pocket for the crews.

Back to the poor guy who asked for a 10 cent raise.  The boss fired his ass.  On the spot.  F*ck him, asking for a raise.  He wanted me to agree with him.  I just couldn’t.  I struggled for a response.  So I asked him the one question that had been burning in my mind for the past year….

Why do you own a landscape company if you hate Mexicans?  (Doesn’t have to be Mexicans, you can substitute any other group of people).  They are the backbone of the company!  Without them, there is nothing.

Well.  That was it.  He started ranting and raving at me and throwing things around the office, while I cowered at my desk.  He was so enraged he was spitting in my face.  I thought (maybe prayed) he was going to have a heart attack or stroke in front of me.  He did not stop until his girlfriend called him off, like a rabid dog.  I just sat there like a statue.  I was too frightened to move.  I should have called 911, I should have left, I should have done a million things.  I did nothing.  I just sat there and took it

So then.  The abuse continued.  Ever. Single. Day.  I would come in to find hate email, hate notes on my desk.  Then his tirade, which would leave me sobbing, and then I would have to try and work the whole day with red swollen eyes and a huge headache like nothing was wrong.

The girlfriend turned on me pretty quick.  She quit talking to me.  She ignored me except to send me drunk text messages at night or on the weekends asking why I stayed there.

So then.  No more praise.  No more raises.  No more fires in the fireplace.  No more retriever at my feet, they were leased to the girlfriend’s desk.  (I kid you not).

So then.  At Christmas, there was no music, no tree.  Nothing.  So I brought in a small table top tree and plugged it in.  The next morning the tree was moved.  I found it and plugged it in again, this time in a different spot, with an extension cord.  The next day, the extension cord was gone.  I was so stupid that I did not realize what was going on at first.  This man did NOT want any sign of Christmas in his office.  So I took the tree and shoved it into the kitchen garbage to make sure he saw it.

So then.  There was no year-end bonus.  No Merry Christmas, Happy New Year.  Nothing.  Just an awfulness I cannot begin to describe.  An evilness.

So then.  He fired the Maintenance Manager.  Because he had the nerve to drive in early every day and nap in the parking lot until one hour BEFORE his start time.  F*cking Asshole, he should have been working the SECOND he arrived.  Mind you, he was salaried, and already worked a 60 hour work week.  And he was a new father.  Hence the naps in the parking lot.  But, he was a f*ucking asshole, he had to go.  It was awful.  I locked myself in the bathroom, crying, listening to him crying while packing up his desk.  His wife had quit her job, they had no other source of income.

I should have quit.  I was desperately seeking a new job, but I just should have quit and starved to death rather than work for this monster.

Eventually I did quit working for him.  Wait, I’m sorry, I was fired.  Because he came back from a hunting trip and I was leaving work 15 minutes “early” for a dentist appointment.  He started shouting at me and verbally abusing me in the doorway.  I was frightened.  There was no one else there at work, I was the last one in the office, as always.  So I ran.  I ran away from him, into my car, with him chasing me and shouting at me.  I sped away as quick as possible.  My cell phone rang.  I did not answer it.  Minutes later he texted me, telling me I was fired and not allowed on the property.  I cried all night.  But then I was relieved.  I did not have to look in his face, ever again, and see the evilness there.  I still have nightmares every now and then.

And this, my friend, is how you know you are dancing with the devil.