The thing that has been bugging me since after the planet's finest moment (any particular suggestions on this year's Spring Training tattoo...I'm stuck between touching up the most famous Cubs ink in pro-wrestling with the addition of some true football stars for 1907 and 1908 and the number 3 for 2016 or accompanying Ziggy Star Cub with a Queen Cub [if the latter, with or without the 80s' Mercury Stache]) is a topic that men may not have a place to make a statement about. My job at the I Hotel has left me dealing with seemingly the worst elements of white privilege, but to find those elements present in my social and family life makes it tough to be silent, regardless if it is misguided as I continue letting the keyboard express it.
When you tell an employer you prefer evenings, but are scarcely allowed to work them, you learn to that you better appreciate any moment you have before the third act of "The Daily Show (I'm cutting the cable off as soon as I move from my heat-deprived, roach-infested "not section 8" apartment, so I'll be more woke when I don't need to skip ACLU and women's rights activists to shower in my wet and dark, gnat-consumed bathroom). My girlfriend and I wanted to get the most out of November 4, a Friday, and when we heard about Emily Blue's benefit show for victims on WCIA that night, we decided to check it out. I am happy to say that our cover fees should have covered the cost for the local rape crisis hotline to operate for at least one more day, but when my girlfriend found out that the abuse to women was beyond just strikes and throws, she insisted that we had to leave. I tried to talk her into returning for the show, but she told me to that her near misses with rape (isn't that technically a hit, a joke from my dad that seems appropriate as I type it) made her scared to even address topic.
I had talked to her months ago about my need to write that in a blog, and I appreciate her understanding when she gave me permission to follow through. And I am grateful that she let me push back that night against her request for me to come to church for a sense of community that my hours do not allow me and for my personal salvation. It is also great that she did not think I was too much of a dick when I left her once we got back home to claim the other half of the make-up wings that Wing Stop deprived me of.
My girl and I enjoyed what time we had when we settled in at home, but if I knew I had to leave her to go and:
- Play nice with an out-of-touch state comptroller (to her credit, Lisa Munger was very polite and accommodating guest).
- Deal with the bullshit of the alleged towel-stealing, bar tab-skipping owner of the Secure First insurance brokerage who allegedly screwed me out of $660 seven years ago (when I find my certified mail receipt from when I sent an invoice and a disc of the webwork I did for his company, you can scratch the last alleged).
- Monitor hallways to give out noise complaints to drunk NIBCO valve employees (probably sales persons) who were there for Kid Rock's corporate gig that took place at The Accord.
It is bad enough to work for a wannabe Biker for Trump, but finding out you employer assisted in facilitating a greed driven performance from one of the most outspoken supporters on the New Face of Rape Lite (Bill Cosby would be the full-calorie face of the crime), you have pretty much determined then that you better get out-of-there once you get...a new apartment and at least the week paid vacation for serving there a year. My girlfriend should be proud of me at least working for some kind of salvation for my past three months of working in sin. Or maybe this blog will let her know to lay off thinking about the negotiating possibilities when they know I am looking for the unsecured exit door to the FDC rim-jobbing the rich tax write off.
If there is a silver lining to this, it is knowing that Donald Trump's finances being so poor is the reason that he is not releasing his tax returns. Surely Kid Rock can perform a cleaned up set on the Washington Mall for a rather low price if a piping company can get him to play a bar that hold 500 in Illiana. Hell, Trump supporters would not curse him for his vulgar objectification of women, so no need to put the effort in cleaning up his act.
My opinion of my work environment only got worse when I had to deal with the attendees of the Illinois Farm Service Conference (emphasis on Farm so you can picture the appearance, accent and attitudes of these drunks) while they were waiting for the official announcement of a Trump victory. A mess of beer bottles, Pop Tarts and an information monitor for the Illinois Conference Center that the guests screwed around with to find Fox News coverage awaited me when my coworker sent me on a floor walk to avoid me for finally snapping on their demands to take the "Clinton News Network" off the lobby television. I guess I should appreciate the fact my fellow coworkers want to keep me around.
The rednecks who celebrated the abandonment of the majority of the nation did not say anything that was particularly offensive beyond the character assassination of the woman who should be leading this country and mocking the whines of the caring and rational. It was just difficult to handle four hours of it (for fucksake, last call was 1 am at the bar). I state this because trashing and victim blaming women for the tragedies men force upon them was not prevalent. This bullshit was something I did not need before I had to return to the ignorant (I mean conservative) towns that I had been longing to get away from.
