My blog is about the scenic, stressful, spectacular life (and everything screwy in between) of a
California girl turned expat transplanted to the land down under: North Queensland, Australia.

October 07, 2010

Day 8.

I actually made this post yesterday because I just want to get it over with.

Day 8: Someone who has made your life hell or treated you badly.

There are three people that I have a vivid image of that I hate. Hate. HATE. People who are probably doing fine in life, because that seems to be the way the world works. I give most people the benefit of the doubt, so I’m always boggled when I come across people who have made it their job to shit on you or make you the most uncomfortable. I’ll start with Leticia.

When I was in fourth grade (yeah, that’s how much she made an impact on me-it’s been twenty freaking years), I lived next to a boy I had a major crush on. We would sneak kisses, but that’s about it. He wasn’t my “boyfriend” or anything (sounds silly to type, but you have to remember that at ten, he was PERFECT!!!). In sixth grade I entered junior high pretty damn awkward looking: short curly hair and braces. I only had a handful of friends because most of mine elected to stay in 6th grade at elementary school, and I chose to enter junior high. I had P.E. with this super short popular girl, Leticia. She was a grade-A bully. She picked on me for some reason, and as I am a pacifist (or coward), I never fought back. She would whisper to her friends and point at me, and they would all giggle. When I would roll my eyes or walk away, she would get in my face and say things like, “I saw you roll your eyes at me”, and I would deny it or wuss out and apologize. Well, near the middle of the school year her and my fourth grade crush became an item. I was furious! I would complain to a couple of my friends, then I would get her coming up to me saying, “I heard you were talking shit about me”, and I would deny it or wuss out and apologize.

On Valentine’s Day (this is still a very clear memory) at lunch, me and my friend Brooke were walking onto the basketball courts and there was a group of people in a circle. I was at least fifty feet away, but as the crowd broke I noticed in the centre of it was Leticia and crush boy. I started to walk the other way and I hear someone yell, “HED!” I turned around and the entire circle was looking my way. As soon as I lock eyes with Leticia she yells, “you’ll NEVER get Crush Boy!” and the crowd laughs and turns away. I was so mad I was shaking. In my yearbook I have her picture scribbled out so hard it dents the few following pages and above her photo it says “HATE HATE HALF TO DEATH!!!” The next year I moved to a new city but ended up back with my dad in my hometown for a month. By seventh grade all of my friends were in junior high. One of those friends was friends with Leticia. On the last day of school the two of us were being picked up by my dad, and as we were waiting Leticia comes up and hugs my friend and tells her to have a good break. She eyes me up and down and says, “Sup, bitch”, and I just stood there. You have no idea how many times I have played that moment over and over in my head, only this time I can picture getting out the heaviest book in my bag and slapping her with it as hard as I possibly could. Over and over.

The next person is someone I knew for three minutes of my life. When I was 16 I worked as an ice cream scooper at Thrifty (awww, Thrifty). This man and his maybe six-year-old daughter come in and he says, “I’ll have a scoop of Chocolate Malted Crunch and Strawberry Cheesecake in a cone with a cup” (yeah, I actually remember the order). I take the first scoop and place it in a cup (what we usually did then set the cone on top), and he says, “I SAID in a cone WITH a cup”. I apologize and semi-annoyingly shake the ice cream out of the cup back into the drum. I scoop both flavours into a cone and plop the cone into a cup (seriously, what the hell is the difference?), and ask, “anything else?” he says “yes, I want another of the EXACT same thing”. I start to make it, and I hear his little girl go, “what’s wrong, daddy?” and he tells her “maybe this girl is too stupid to understand our order”. I lift my eyes to comprehend what he just said and he says, “yeah, I’m talking to YOU”. I was 16. I was scooping ice cream. Really? I hold back the tears and hand him his other order with shaking hands and tell him, “that will be $1.98, sir” (on a side note, a double scoop was 99 freaking cents back then. I miss those days). He hands me the money and walks out of the store. The next family is up and I can’t even choke out words. I start sobbing and run into my manager’s office hysterical. I’ll never forget that guy.

The last person is Norman. I hope he’s dead. I hope he has a violent, painful, agonizing death. I’m totally and completely serious. Scum like him have no reason to be on this Earth. When I was 18, I worked in a casino. About six months into my employment I get teamed up with a man in his late 30’s who happens to be “tribal”, meaning he is a part of the tribe the casino is owned by and gets certain liberties given to him, like being handed a job. I loved my job. LOVED IT. When I had to work with Norman I dreaded it and complained to my boss. My boss hated him just as much but had his hands tied. Norman was disgusting. He would see a pretty girl in the casino and tell me “when she gets up, I wanna smell her seat”. He would make little comments to me and I would say, “aren’t you worried about sexual harassment?” and he would say to me “shit, I’ve had three girls claim that here. They won’t do nothin’ to me”. After a while when I was on break I would read magazines to keep myself from being bothered by Norman. Every once in a while my mom and grandma would visit the casino, and once he said “you know, looking at your mom, your grandma was probably HOT back in the day. I would f*ck her. And your mom too”. I was livid. Who the hell says that? I was coached by my boss to just let it slide, just do my job and he’ll get his one day. But something happened that let me know it was either me or him.

One night after work, he was complementing me on how I looked. I thanked him and started to walk away. He pushed me into a corner and said, “I’m gonna have you. We’re gonna end up together. Oh yeah”. I pushed him out of my way and called my boss. My boss suggested I write down all of the events I’ve witnessed and file a sexual harassment claim against him. I wrote a clear, concise letter explaining the issues I had with him, and the next day the head of HR called me into his office. He started out with letting me know that Norman categorically denied any wrongdoing towards anyone he worked with, and that I was not named as the claimant. Then he asked me if I’ve ever brought pornography to work. What the??? I said no, of course not. Then he said, “suggestive magazines?”, and at that moment I knew Norman realized it was me. I brought in fashion magazines like Cosmo, Glamour, Allure, etc., and every once in a while he would look over my shoulder and comment on the hot women in the pictures. By then I started to cry (the kind of cry where you can’t catch your breath) and I said, “look, I am not comfortable working with him any longer. I have done nothing wrong and if you don’t discipline him, I have no other choice but to resign”. They had a security guard escort me to my belongings and walk me to my car. I actually called around lawyers and drafted a certified letter to the head of HR and the manager of the casino, but no lawyers would touch my case because the casino was on federal land and the laws are different with Native Americans.

So yeah. I wish I could wash these three out of my mind, but I can’t.

3 comments:

  1. Reading this made so mad I wanted to find all three of them and kick them in the head!
    Karma probably took care of Leticia and Norman. People like that only skate so long before the universe hands them a blivet (10 pounds of shit in a 5 pound bag) but the terrible thing is people like this don't ever realize they caused their own trouble, as in your dad? Ever notice its always someone or something else's fault? I hope tomorrow's entry is something WONDERFUL. As I type this I am raining glitter on my keyboard. It looks like I killed a fairy in here....

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  2. We've all had a girl that picked on us in elementary school! They're all bitches. I remember I had one. Her name was Stacey. She picked on me for 7 years. The second last day of 7th grade. I was shooting hoops and she took my baseketball away (borrowed from another friend who did not atttend my school). I politely asked for it back several times. After putting up with her crappy comebacks and mimicks I'd had it.

    I kicked the crap out her to the point she was in the hospital for 3 weeks! I went to the teacher in the yard and asked her to call an abulance. She asked what happened and I told her, I did it.

    The school tried to expel me and i said go ahead, I'm not coming for the last day of school anyways, and next year I'm going to a different school.

    Nothing was done.

    As for Norman and what happened there.....its a shame when natives use the system that was given to them by their forfathers as a civil right to abuse it in a sick way. Know this though, their belief system and the way it works....he'll get his.

    CBG
    canadianbloggergirl.blogspot.com

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  3. My down under daughter,lol, This is what I mean when I said I've never met anyone who I wish I'd never met. I've met and worked with enough Leticia's and Norman's in my life. It is what makes me stronger and I know I'm a much better person than these people could ever hope to be. I've no doubt that you will never be like them either and that's what makes our world a better place. People like us!!! Hugs, Barb (US Mom)

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