Saturday, January 24, 2004
(5:05 PM) | Anonymous:
My Angel Rocks Back and Forth
Recently, I've had the opportunity to engage several denizens of the area behind my workplace in conversation. It's not face to face or anything, rather sort of a perverted pen pal relationship. See, about 9 weeks ago I went to take the boxes out to the recycle bin, only to find it flipped, turned upside-down. To my credit I first assumed that somehow the waste management guy managed to miss - this wasn't implausible, the week before he'd lifted the recycling bin (which is a huge mother) too far and clipped the power line up above, damaging one of our guy's trucks. However, after calling the company I found they had not been to our shop and thus subsumed to the great First Accusation of America's working class: "THOSE PUNK KIDS!" Right now I'm impressed that upon further review subsumed is a word and I did use it correctly.
So, after the trash company came to put things right again I went out and using one of the many boxes stockpiling in the store since they couldn't be recycled, I wrote in big black permanant ink, "Please don't tip this over anymore, it makes my job suck when you do." This was true..the large pile of boxes stacking up everywhere and the people constantly asking "Are you going to be able to take the boxes out today?" makes my otherwise pretty sweet (other than the no pay raise in 17 months) job that much worse, though perhaps I was embellishing to say it sucked. Needless to say, the very next day I found the thing tipped on its side again with the note on top saying "YOUR JOB DOESNT SUCK U DO".
An interesting note, due to the way they chose to turn the conversation. By making it personal, and hostile, they attempted to control me, but in my superior sense of self-worth I refused to come down to that level. I grabbed another broken down box, some more box tape, and another marker. I wrote something akin to, "Fair enough, my life pretty much sucks and thus by proxy I do. I ask only that you'd take pity on my suck-filled existence then and through the kindness of your heart not tip the recycle bin over again, thank you. P.S. Are you doing this with a car, or with man-muscle? Just curious."
Well, later that week my boss was in his office and heard a large crashing noise..after thinking for a second he figured out it was probably the tippers. He went to the door and spotted their car coming down off the opposing curve, and racing away. He ran after them down the street trying to get a license plate number. The next day he suggested we put spikes on the curve they were coming up over. I said "Yes, and then they'll be pissed and drive through the building." My boss relented the point, because he is a smart man. On my note they left the message, "WERE NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR UR LIFE - GO TO A BAR AND MEET SOME PEOPLE -PS ALL MUSCLE BIOTCH."
I responded thusly: "Ok - we'll make a deal, I'll stop blaming you for my lack of personality and thus life if you stop blaming my store for whatever pent up rage you have towards "The system", or at least take it out on the big corporate mall a few blocks north of here, rather than this small printing business that has nothing to do with "The Machine". I will also promise to go to a bar and meet some people. Deal?"
I did not bring up the fact they were lying about using "all muscle", because my boss didn't think they'd seen him run after him and to have someone come in the store with guns, or to find the back windows of the shop all broken out is amongst the least of my desires. Mentioning that we spotted them seemed to work toward increasing this chance.
A week went by and there was no tipping. I thought I might have to start finding out what the good bar in OKC is in order to make good on my part. However, of course, the next week the thing was tipped over again with the note saying, and I quote, "ITS NOT FUCKING RAGE, ITS JUST FUN FOR US TO PISS YOU OFF FUCKER".
I think the language was meant to enrage me, but I was so busy busting with joy at the progress represented by the comma mark that I was bubbling over. I wrote back "First of all, I'm not a fucker...after the way I described my pitiful life, you actually think I get any? Secondly - have you ever heard of Backgammon? That game is also fun, and less destructive. Or, if you need the destruction to cure some insatiable fire within, you might try that game Thin Ice..Lord knows I never could get that thing to not break. Maybe you could play where whoever doesn't break the ice loses? Whatever, as long as it isn't tipping over the recycle bin."
We'd reached week 6, and I was losing credibility. Fellow workers were sure that the only way to end this problem was to have the police do some low equivalent of a stake out. It was becoming painfully obvious that my way, while the fun way to some extent, was not succesful in alleviating anyone else's frustration at this annoying gesture except mine. In short, the natives were restless. That being as it were, I was heart broken after another non-tipping week passed only to be broken the next week by, YES OF COURSE, an upturned recycle bin. Perhaps most disheartening was the regression in the note, which simply said "UR A FAG".
The note ripped my heart straight out of my ribcage. It was with great trepidation that I managed to stitch my chest up well enough to write "Look, you're not helping my already admittedly porous self-esteem any with this baseless personal attack. Just because I'm not getting any doesn't make me a "fag". If anything, it makes me Asexual. PS - Where were you guys last week? Do renegades take vacations? PSS - Tell me a litte about yourselves, maybe we could be buddies!"
Another silent week, and then this past one the applecart was upset again. Apparently they'd developed a trend in hitting it every other week. Maybe they were cheating on us and hitting some other waste containers on the side..I don't know. However, the response finally came, and this time said, "YES UR A FAG AND WE ARENT TELLING YOU WHERE WE WERE LAST WEEK BECAUSE WE DONT WANT TO BE A FAG'S BUTTBUDDIES!!!!"
Well folks, I'm at a loss. This little game was fun for a while, and I held off posting it because I thought I might reach a sucessful conclusion and be able to post on the values of nonviolent communication with those who wrong us over aggressive involvement of cops and others. But, the fact is that there's no sign of stoppage unless they are as tired of the once fun game as I am - which, judging from the last note and the downfall in quality content in recent weeks is a distinct possibility and my last hope. How strange then, that perhaps the one great possibility for counteracting violence is the excessive use of language. If I'm wrong, and they do it again we'll probably have to start calling the police and all that crap. I mean, stepping back and looking at it..no damage has been done, except possibly to their car. The recycle bin is a tank, I'm convinced it could survive anything, be it direct nuclear missile hit or a Donna Sumner marathon on the radio.
Nothing else has been hurt, some kids have had some fun - I mean, a friend and I used to take Kessel's grocery carts on our bumpers, and then accelerate as fast as possible before slamming on the breaks and sending them careening into the ravine conveniently located behind the store. That caused more harm than this, since apparently shopping carts cost money. So, I can certainly relate to the fun destruction of others property can bring but at the same time..for 9 weeks? We'd hit that Kessel's up like..once every 2 months or so..although that may have been because it was on the other side of town more than anything. But, all that aside, the Print Shop employees are frustrated by this senseless act, and it probably needs to stop because, as previously mentioned, it makes my job suck. Nothing seems to put an end to it. So I am open to suggestions - Comment Feature prepare thyself.
-Robb
