All this, to say our adventure now draws a near end and I am a mere 250 yards from making it safely back into my cave with my groceries.
It is about 50 yards in that the now second revelation hit me. Quite literally, actually, as I almost broke my neck tripping over my 'revelation'. Now behind me, stood word's crummiest covered city works. I kid you not when I say, this was filled up at random and leveling the floor was a thing of mere fiction. In all the times I've passed there since then, I forgot to take pictures. I hope I'll remember shortly (I did, look!), but I usually hurry through there. Although, I am now forever reminded of this atrocity, whenever I pass.Again, worsening this fact, I encountered their second covered ditch mere yards away yesterday. You've guessed it; it was another calamity.
It had hit me, that I had seen this abomination's creation only the day before passing with my groceries. Right there and then, I put these 3 road workers in a very nasty box of judgmental prejudice. I saw them and immediately assumed they would do a horrible job and that I should avoid eye contact, lest I'd find myself in that hole. Since these 3 poor, young men hadn't done me any harm to prove me of such nasty ideas, I shrugged it off and continued walking.
Well, the next day, after my epiphany, I retract this shrugging. I even resent it a bit. I was right on the money on these lads and my gut instinct usually is. No idea why I suddenly give people the benefit of the doubt on this, but I'll try not to let it happen again.
Look, before you categorize me equally as swift, let me paint you the picture I saw.
The entire roadside was blocked off with construction tape and inside this tape, work was being done. When I say work, I mean of course that there was one dude working and the other 2 just looking about. Poor sap, doing everything by himself; but wait! Sap person was operating a small automated crane that did all the work. To look more bad-ass, he was arched over it and was smoking with no hands. you know how it looks; like a disgruntled cowboy riding a mechanical dragon. I bet he had a back tattoo, with a copulative remark towards my mother to top it off. While operating this at complete random, as it looked, the two others spent their time spitting to their sides. Followed by a hollow grunt or a despicable glare. It is amazing that these fellows get paid, but there you go. It is only out of respect for the hard, manual labor they should (!) be doing, that I couldn't bring myself to insult their demeanor further. Rest assured, it looked a lot worse.
So, here is where my thoughts intertwined with one another. How come people can judge a foreign any foreign person without a second thought, when these fine, white, young men don't get that downside?
I, for one, hold much more resentment towards these folks, than I could a random immigrant. The immigrant only appeals to our fear of the unknown, but otherwise, he has done nothing. These bastards though, they get away with this behavior and that pisses me off.
I noticed this at first when I worked in a social workplace. A place where lowlifes, like myself, with little to no career opportunity, can come together and be exploited. It's there I decided to further my studies, for that place was pure hell.
We all know the bullpoo expression that you have to do some work that sucks sometimes. Well, I wouldn't advise on it, because that experience has scarred me for life for numerous reasons. I'll try not to discuss it.Getting back to the point, this place was filled with drug addicts, (ex)convicts and immigrants. But not adaptive immigrant type. The type that comes over here and expects you to learn some Arabic to communicate with him. I was the only person on the workforce who had never been to jail or hadn't serious warrants pending over him. These guys were as hardcore as they get. Getting to work high and keeping that high throughout the day, while as verbally abusive as they could get away with. It was like being thrown into a biker gang as a sweet, big breasted, 18-year old virgin. You were their bitch, whether you wanted to or not and things will, without a doubt, get rough.
Now, most of these elements were upstanding and not-so-upstanding white folk. Take away the fully tattooed folks and you couldn't tell the difference between them and more accepted members of society. And these junkies meant business on every aspect of life, beside work. Well, they only had one aspect beside that, so it wasn't hard, but still. You have to see dedication where it lies. And it lies in their drug addiction.
Let's dissect the mind of a drug addict for a second: He wants drugs.
Yes, that's the dissection, nothing more simple. This will result in the person in question to talk about drugs, every chance he gets. I have rarely had any conversation there, because there was only one topic: Weed. If they weren't talking about how nice weed was, they were talking about smoking it, when to smoke it, when to acquire it, etc. It was torture to endure, because as a sane person, talking about 1 (ONE) thing the entire day for 365 will cause head trauma.
Anyways, since their job didn't consist of smoking weed, they would go about it as half-assed as possible. Cutting corners so badly, it would be a disgrace to the term or just plain not working. That was fine by me though, I hate work too, but at the end of the day, I had to get something done. Not for the bosses; screw them. But to keep my sanity in that place, I had to have some sort of accomplishment, something to tell me my wasted days had some meaning. That meaning would quickly wither away in fall time, when raking leaves and picking them up would become a Sisyphean task.But the most bothersome thing about the other workers attitude was, that they'd believe they were doing the best job ever. Sheer arrogance, but that's how most workers feel. They alone know the secret to fast and efficient work, when in fact it's due to their lack of work that they're done so fast. Also, they would berate others for their lack of work ethic. Their work was awful and filled with holes everywhere. No, really? You mean, just like yours?
Ok, I'm a bit of a perfectionist and my work progress has tendency to slow down because of it, but at least my job is done. I remember numerous times where I was asked to secretly go over spots other workers had 'done'. Secretly, because let's not forget, these people were (ex)convicts. Noticed the brackets? Yes, some were technically still serving a sentence in the penitentiary and the only reason they were left out, was due to this job. Still feel safe on the streets? There's murderers loose, because they can feint a work attitude. Just something to make you think.
Leaving that experience and coming back to the present, this is what upset me so much about the crappy hole. Not for my sake, but theirs.
I know what they thought when they were working and when they were done. They were convinced of another job well done and probably high-fived themselves on the matter. Fast and efficient; it's their motto and they put it to the test.
And here's what really pickled me. If they themselves would pass a similar hole along their way, they would scream bloody murder! They would rant viciously about what an outrage it is, that such work is tolerated and performed. To put the cherry on top, they would claim that they would've performed said task flawlessly!! Can you imagine that insult? They would do a perfect job and leave that hole in the exact same state! To this day, the irony fries my braincells. I cannot comprehend how people cannot see their own idiocy on this part and their blatant arrogance.
So it isn't for me or you that I had this thought, but for them! I was instantly brought back to those days where I would hear such drivel and irritate myself so much, I had a nervous breakdown. One which I never recovered from, mind you.
It's kind of like when people are driving. Éveryone thinks they're the master of the road skills and everyone else is an oaf, an absolute oaf! why are you cutting in like that? You can't pass me, I'll pas you! We've all seen it and you probably fashion it in your own vehicle. Don't say you don't, because you do. There are no exceptions to this, so don't insult yourself.
Anyways, these people to me, are the scum of the earth. I don't mind you being a failure, but if you boast about how great you are, I'm sorry, but you disgust me. I just can't comprehend where you would get the impression that your way is the correct way. When you get thwarted by any upright standard of society telling you otherwise, how can that not affect your judgment? I guess that, as always, ignorance is bliss.
As RATM put it best on this one: "If ignorance is bliss, then wipe the smile from my face".
My apologies if this sounded discriminating or even borderline racist. Once you have dealt with firsthand experience on the matter, I'll appreciate your input on this.
I have to move on; no sense in dwelling on the past. And so, I moved on, only to find out that a few yards further I would have another thought pop in my head. This last thought, however, is one I've had for the majority of my life. Starting a lot younger as you may think. The concept states: "people 'just in case' me on a regular basis". It is only until recently, I had noticed that all the wrong demographics do this. And so a mother and child on the street caught me in their sights and quickly proceeded into the act.
For those unfamiliar with it, let me draw an example and illustration. This is the idea that when you pass someone you deem to be untrustworthy, you cross the street or perform a similar action. I've seen extremely insulting things happen to me this way. From clutching your purse, to holding your children at your side, to crossing the street, to subtly trying to grab the mace from your pocket. Can you imagine a person that is so scared of your first expression, she's ready to drop everything she knows and resort to macing you if anything seems wrong? And I couldn't even go up to that person and tell her the mace is really unnecessary. I wouldn't be able to finish a sentence and I'd be on the floor with eyes filled with pepper-spray.These things used to really upset me. I'd get really angry that people would discriminate you like that and you couldn't do anything about it. To this day, you can't file a complaint for this, you only get a message from the Board Of Equal Rights that people shouldn't act that way. Thanks, tattoo it on your foreheads, perhaps it will have more effect.
I'll give you an example I frequently mention to illustrate my point on this:
One day, a friend of mine and myself were just walking around town, completely sober. Worth the mention that we were sober, because that was not always the case. In a straight line forward, we were walking behind a mother and her young child at normal pace. At some point, the little girl turns around and notices me and her eyes flare up! Right after that she notices I am in the company of someone else and then all turns to hell! She runs towards her mother, clutches her leg and holds on for dear life. The mother, being totally surprised to see her child in fear of death, turns around to see what the matter is, to see us in her sights. She can not, for the life of her, get her child to release her leg and so she has to drag it along at which point we obviously pass her. Her gaze quickly turns to a sneer, as if we are to blame for her child's misfortune.
It's times like these, you don't know whether to stoop down to their level and give them a solid trashing or just sob away at the grave prejudice of it all. Luckily, in those times, we would forget after a few minutes and beers.
A while ago, I decided to have some fun with that concept. A friend of mine and myself were going home after an evening of discussing things. His car was parked in a more shady area of town, both literally and figuratively, so I decided to tag along. On the way to his car, I spotted a young woman in a dress and heels walking in front of us. I already knew what was going to happen when she'd notice me as I always walk around in a black jacket and hoodie. We're casually walking and talking towards his car when she does spot us and, yes sir, she picks up the slack. A woman fast-walking in heels makes a load of noise. Perhaps not the kind of attention you want to draw to yourself in that neighborhood, but it's your call, lady.
Of course, it's insulting to see, but this time I went with a different approach.
As she was so quick to label me, I decided to concur with her prejudice and fuck with this person's mind as much I could!
I took leave of my friend in the most loud, obnoxious manner I could and proceeded to 'follow' the wench. she takes notice of this fast and picks up the pace once more. But for all the treads she precipitates herself, I can take a few additional ones. I am a man with giant feet after all and it also helps I'm not wearing heels, but combat boots. Just following her isn't enough now, I'm forced to also act like a menacing presence, or at least what she believes to be menacing. Otherwise, I have no idea how to look menacing, so I just crouch a bit into my hoodie and puff myself up as much I can. this poor lady is terrified, you can tell, even from this distance. I'm still 100 yards away, but I'm closing in anyway!
The charade of picking up the pace goes on for a bit until she snaps. She now crosses a busy and very dangerous street without even blinking to any side. I'm a bit stumped as how one would think that's a good idea, but I'm still enjoying this too much. To make things completely obvious she also starts making small runs every time she looks back. Again, if I wasn't cracking up inside, I'd be gravely insulted.She crosses another street in a similar fashion and still I'm gaining on her. Damn her heels, she must think! Why today, why did she have to wear them today, with a small dress? I'm also pondered by the idea, lady, it's not really summer at this point, more like November!
And here is where this story really gets sad: She's now completely desperate. So, as I'm approaching, she goes up a street with little to no lights in, what is basically, the end of civilization. I don't think I've ever seen anyone go there, except the actual residents of the street. And knowing the demographics of my neighborhood, I can rule out you're not one of them, lass. you're just making a fool of yourself. As I'm crossing the second street she previously did, she comes to her wits end. This woman has done everything she can think of to shake me off and I'm still drawing near. Her death must be near, just look at me! I will certainly have bad things in store for you; I'm in all black and out at 1AM in the outskirts of town.
She suddenly halts her jog and turns to a random house and randomly rings a bell. Now, if I were to believe you lived there, you could have at least fake taking out a key. But what she doesn't seem to realize is, that she's in a more obscure part of the neighborhood and this is where all those ambulances and police cars go to. Chances are now she has tried to get away from me, harmless gentleman, and rang the door of a potentially very bad person. One person who might think Christmas is early this year, as his present of a young maiden at his door has arrived. Oh boy, this is a turn of events I can revel in. Have lots of fun with your potential, serial rapist/drug-dealer!
And just when that happens, I turn the corner to proceed to take my trip home. At first, I walked slowly. So if she'd realized what she had done, she'd head my way and still see me there. Imagine being stuck in a deathtrap like that. But that thought changes promptly, as it is late, I'm cold and I'm hungry. I resume my usual pace and leave the poor, young lady to her fate and a few hundred yards later I'm home for a well deserved pizza. Pizza thoughts go in and lady dying thoughts go out, what a pleasant night.
To the lady that night: If you have pressed the correct button and valiant, young men have answered the door to rescue you and sweep you off your heels and dress, good for you. You have overcome all odds and upheld discrimination at it's best! You may be proud to run away from a completely harmless person. I'm sorry to have made you feel that way. I wish you will rethink about similar situations later in life, so others do not need to suffer your judgmental attitude.
If you have, by accident, rung the wrong bell and did end up in the clutches of a villain, you are now probably murdered, horribly raped or at least scarred for life. I'd also like to apologize for that, as I did mean no harm. Perhaps next time you'll think twice and take your chances with the guy who's at least a full foot smaller than you. A man who bears no physical or other threat, other than his more gloomy appearance. And a person who, even in the worst case scenario, you could've easily crushed like a bug, as he's a complete sissy-girl. If you're still alive of course, otherwise, my bad you're dead.
Anyways, I think it's a shame that only all the wrong people feel and act this way. Like the heels and dress or the mother and child or, more recently still, a young lady who crossed the street and then had to recross it, because she didn't have to be there.
I do not mind frail women and children crossing my path. Who I'd really like to stay clear of me, are the less savory types. The types these other people take me for.Sadly, these thugs can see right through you in a split second or even less. As if they see you are wearing a disguise, it also seems to set them off. You're pretending to be a hard-ass like them, yet you walk the sissy-girl walk. Perhaps I should stop referring to myself as a sissy-girl first.
No matter; even in the most boastful of attitudes, these guys can cut through your bull like butter.
You might not think of a ruffian to be intelligent, but to each his own. What such a man lacks in common knowledge, he makes up for in sheer people skills. And by that, I mean he can coerce nuns to perform heinous acts on themselves. It might not be positive skills he possesses, but you should see intelligence where it manifests itself. Believe me, if you could do what they do, you would too. Algebra won't get you far in life. Possessing the ability to blackmail, violate, oppress and command dozens of terror-struck individuals might. Specially if you've also mastered getting away with that.
It's these kind of people I usually encounter. Hence, my life sucks, for I am not on the good end of that rope.
And with that thought, I head on home with my bag of groceries that seemed to be a distant memory.
But no more, for I am at my gates and my mind is once again completely devoted to pizza. Pizza is god and I shall absorb its vessel into me. Sweet, sweet vessel.
Good day.
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