tothemadhouse

4:25PM - On Having a Best Friend at Work

Every year my esteemed employer browbeats their workers into forcing us to complete something called an Employee Engagement Survey.I have been at my current job for five years now.  The first two years,  random employees were chosen and called at home with the survey could be conducted by phone.  I was chosen both years.  I am ashamed to say that my attempts to deflect this unwanted attention by being brutally honest failed miserably.  My overall rating the first year was: you suck.  Don't you just know that the bastards called my back the second year.  My overall rating the second year was: you suck harder than you did last year and btw, you should practice using your teeth with more restraint while you do so.

In 2003 the Powers that Wish They Were decided to move into the 21st century and put the survey online.  The idea was that now, everyone could participate.

Bribes were rolled out like apples down a hill.  The chief one being that each department who had 100% participation would get a PIZZA PARTY, whee!  As it turns out, this was not a bad tactic because  the troglodytes with whom I work will do anything for  free food.
It does not matter how awful it is, you would think that I was working with a bunch of orphaned third-world children to see them fight over luke-warm Papa John's pizza like ravening beasts. 

Historically, the employment satisfaction scores for my department have been in lower tenth  percentile--to the chagrin of our fearless leader ; who wastes a lot of time and energy pretending that she actually cares about other people.

A quote from a management meeting, "Damon, what do you think we can do to get the scores to improve for next year's survey?"

Gee, I don't know.  Perhaps you could pay attention to the results of this years survey and maybe do something proactive.

The consensus of my comrades is as follows:
 *  Too many jobs have been cut and there are too few people to handle the workload.
 *  Our budget has been slashed to a mere ghost of itself and we do not have the tools to do our work.
 *  Our budget has been slashed to a mere ghost of itself and we haven't hadn't a decent  raise  since Britney Spears was still virgo intacta.
  *  We all hate you.

"I hear what people are saying, but we can't really do anything in regards to discretionary spending,"  was her reply.

Really?   I didn't realize that functioning printers, paper and staplers were optional expenditures in an office.

Anywho, back to the survey.  I think it is too droll that the survey is called the Employment Engagement Survey, when the survey itself is so ...unengaging.  The questions run the gamut from vague, to pointless, to amazingly insipid.  For example,  "Do you have a best friend at work?"

Are you fucking kidding me?  I'm sorry that was very rude of me.  What I meant to say is : Exactly what is wrong with the doucehbags who come up with this shit.?  I really want to know because I want to organize a fundraiser and initiate a public awareness campaign for whatever it is that ails you.

Honey, not only do I NOT have a best friend at work, you all should be bowing down to Glaxo-Smith-Kline (a pharmaceutical  company for those of you uninitiated to the concept of better living through chemistry) because I swear to God I would have made some Jim Jones Kool-Aid for last years Christmas  Party and served it up with a smile.


Who's your best friend at work? 

1:19PM - On Riding on the Metro

Central Texas is prone to bizarre winter storms once every other year or so.   Magically, our humid, sub-tropical mold ranch of a climate is transformed into Upper Manitoba for 2-3 days.  When this happens the entire city shuts down because we can't drive on ice down here.

The problem with my job is that it is in a hospital-and hospitals don't close.  So, while all my friends were taking a snow day, I had to try and catch a bus and get to work. 

All the buses were off schedule (or causing accidents while sliding across major thoroughfares) and I ended up waiting 45 minutes for a bus to show up.  When it finally did, there was one other person on it.  She got off downtown.  I really wish that she had not.

A little back story: for some reason the only people who want to know the pleasure of my flesh are the severely flawed or married.  My sex life is both a Greek tragedy and a Roman farce.  Male or Female, good-looking or homely, human or extra-terrestrial, if it comes on to me then experience has  taught me to run, run like the wind.

But this time, I was trapped and at the mercy of the bus driver/predator.

A few minutes after the other passenger got off the bus, the driver pulled over.  I thought this was odd considering that he was so far behind schedule that he couldn't possibly have a layover.                                                                                                                                                                 

We have some really hot bus drivers in this town, I hasten to add that this was not one of them.  He was really tall and about 80 pounds overweight, pop-eyed and had a weak chin. 

He got out of the driver's seat and approached me, striking up a conversation about the lousy weather.  I let down my guard just enough to let my inherent mistrust of strangers go into sleep mode and then he asked me if he could show me the pantyhose he was wearing and  then perform oral sex on me.

I silently counted to five and resumed the conversation in an attempt to drive the subject in a completely different direction. 

Alas, Romeo was not to be so easily put off and he repeated his indecent proposal , sweetening the pot by adding that we could have sex right there on the bus. 

I knew then that subtlety and an elegant manner would avail me nothing and yelled,  "Get your fat ass back up front and get this bus moving!"

He stood up as if something had bitten him and then I saw his eyes water as if he was about to cry.  Suddenly, I saw not a creep(well yes I did still see a creep) but an abysmally pathetic loser, and I felt sorry for him.

"You know,"  I said, "You really can't solicit sex from complete strangers.  You could get hurt -or worse."  For instance, I could kick the shit out of you but I'm three miles from work, the wind chill factor is 17 degrees and this is a really hilly part of town and I just know I wouldn't make it to the hospital without breaking a bone somewhere in my body.

"I know.  That was dumb," he said, sounding for all the world  like Deputy Dawg.  "I'm  really lonely.  I just came out and everything and its hard to meet people."

"Well this is not the way to meet quality men.  I think that approaching people in a gay bar, or placing a personal add would increase your odds of success."

"Would you go out with me sometime?"

"Um, I've got a boyfriend (lie).  And he's a cop (big boldfaced lie)."

"Does he treat you right?"

"He treats me so right, I don't wanna be wrong."

"You're nice.  Can I hug you?"

"No!"

"Okay,"   He trudged back up to the front, put the bus in gear and pulled away from the curb.  "Can I get your phone number anyway?"

I pretended not to hear this as I had pulled out my Ipod and was putting the earbuds in my ears.

I never saw him again until the other day.  I did the only decent thing I could do.  I got on the bus-he looked at me expectantly.  I swiped my pass through the farebox and said nothing as I went to the back of the bus, disavowing any acquaintance with him..or his pantyhose.



 

10:06AM - ON LOSING MY DIGNITY

Something awful happened to me the other day and I have been obsessing about it.

I work nights and am asleep most of the day. When I have to be awake past 9:30 in the morning it takes a toll. Well last week I had a couple of days where I had to be up until noon because of work related meetings. By Friday morning I was pooped. This particular Friday morning I had some errands to run and thought this was a good time to have the maintenance staff at my apartment community fix the garbage disposal that had been malfunctioning for weeks.

When I came home, I could tell that the maintenance guy had been in the apartment and in my half-stupor I assumed that he was done. I put a movie in the DVD player and went to sleep on the daybed in the living room.

The movie in question was Bruce La Bruce's Raspberry Reich. Those of you familiar with the work of Bruce La Bruce, fringe film director and agent provacateur(that's French for sh*t starter), know that his films are controversial for their subject matter, their very pointed commentary on society, and the fact that most of his movies contain a lot of medium-core gay/bi porn.

Some time after I had fallen asleep, there was a knock on my front door. Not an unusual occurrence considering that I have what is probably an internet shopping addiction. (Ebay is my main man but I have been known to cheat on ebay with Amazon.com).

I turned over on my daybed, figuring that if it was a delivery the guy could leave it at the office for me to pick up later,and tried to go back to sleep. Bear in mind that the movie is still playing.

Fast forward to the middle-aged, apparently very traditional, Latino maintenance man walking in while two young and gifted German actors were on screen performing unspeakable acts- which unfortunately they were not simulating. Pan to me fumbling for the remote control, powering off the offending image a second too late. I felt like the perv or all pervs (and it wasn't even real porn) as I observed the disgust laden discomfiture of the man coming back to finish the work on my garbage disposal. I wanted to scream in my defensse, "I'm not dirty. It's an art film!"

As the maintenance loped to the kitchen, refusing to look me in the eye; I retreated to my bedroom in shame.

I think our relationship has reached a new level and I am going to have to serve him sooooo much attitude to over compensate for my humiliation.

To add insult to injury; I'll be damned if my bedroom ceiling fan didn't go out today.

10:04AM - ON INTRODUCING MYSELF

Greetings and Welcome to To the Madhouse.

Before I scare anyone off I just want to go on record as saying that I am not really going to a madhouse anytime soon. Not as long I can buy a plane ticket before the men in the white coats come for me.

Now I get to tell you about myself, and this is a problem. You see, I enjoy talking about things that have happened to me more than I enjoy talking about me-the person. Think of it, not as being withholding, as much as it is the New Wave in Narcissism. I believe that the less people know about you, the more room that gives you to operate. And the closer the person is to you, the more true this becomes. Just ask my family, besides the fact that I'm gay and Black, they don't know very much about me. This fact becomes painfully apparent on my birthday and Christmas when I am presented with unsatisfactory gifts.

So here is the scoop:

1)I am 40 years old and probably too old be posting to LiveJournal.  But since 40 is the new 25 and immaturity is the new self-affirmation, here I am.

2)I am gay and single, I have two exes who, from time to time, will be vilified in this forum. I have been single for a long time and I like it. To tell the truth I was kind of a child bride having moved in with my first ex my Sophomore year in College and it took me 35 years to realize that I could be too selfish to make a relationship work. Also, it wouldn't hurt if maybe I was better looking and had some sex appeal.

3) It is much, much easier for me to do nice things than to say them.

4) I was raised in an old fashioned Southern home and because of the resultant good manners I acquired, am frequently mistaken for a people person. In reality I am practically a misanthrope but I'm so bad at it that I tend to err in the direction of treating people with more consideration than they deserve-then talk smack about them the second they are out of earshot. I am fully aware that this is dishonest and cowardly, but so what?

5) I hate my job, but my employer thinks I love my job. (See above).

6) I fantasize about terrible things happening to most of my co-workers.

7) My entire family is crazy. This is not an uncommon phenomenon in Southern families, what makes it a problem is that I know that I am not normal and they think they are.

8) I live in Austin, Texas which is supposed to be such an awesome place to live. It used to be, but frankly way too many cool people have moved here, rendering the city a self- conscious caricature of itself.