The Purpose
I didn’t realize that my purpose in life was to make other people feel better about themselves. I didn’t realize that my SOLE purpose in life was to run around kissing other people’s bums so that they could continue to skate through life on the curtails of those who actually use our intelligence and brains in an attempt to get somewhere in life. Whoops! I guess I missed that memo.
Sorry to interrupt your normally schedule program, but there’s a Newsflash!
Ooooohhhhh! That’s right. It’s not my purpose in life.
There’s a 22 year old… person of the male gender… here at work. I’ve given him the petname of Tard amongst friends and those I trust, but occasionally I slip and say it outloud to anyone, regardless of whether I trust you to know that the sky is blue, and the sun will rise (it’s a big secret, don’t tell!). One of these completely untrustworthy folks decided to tell the Tard’s mom that I “pick on him.”
Last I checked, bully’s actually have to, oh, I dunno, bully someone in order for it to be considered “picking on.” I don’t even talk to the Tard. After the things that came out of his mouth regarding my ass, tattoos (that are NOT placed in highly visible areas of skin), and various other body parts, I simply didn’t speak to him. He’s not an actual employee of the hospital, so a sexual harassment report might not have done any good because, well, he’s not an employee. Though I guess I could have reported it to the people he is getting his paychecks from. Regardless. I choose not to speak to him. I asked the person who overseas his department to speak to him, and this means that I’ve been “picking on him.”
Other co-workers are being asked to rally around the Tard and “stick up for him” when I go on my tirade of meanness and I simply can’t resist picking on him.
Tard’s mom is a pretty cool person. We get along, and I have no issues with her. She came, she confronted, I explained and by the time I was ready to walk out the door to head home, she gave me a hug. I didn’t hold back and I explained to her that I don’t like him. He creeps me out. He says terrible things that you “expect if I worked in a bar, but since I don’t, it’s inappropriate and he shouldn’t say it. Ever.” Her reasoning?? “But it’s because you’re pretty.”
I don’t care. I really don’t care. Actually, I really don’t fucking give a shit what his “reason” for talking about my ASS at work is… he simply… shouldn’t.
“But he’s just a kid.” No. No he’s not. He hasn’t been a kid for a few years.
Apparently, it’s not only my job to make him feel better about his inability to communicate like an adult to other adults in a professional environment, but it’s also the job of my co-workers to stand up for him when I’m not doing my job.
Next time someone comes up to me about how I’m “picking on” the Tard, I’m going to tell them to eff the hell off. Next time Tard’s mom decides to try to confront me, she’s getting a rude awakening to the reality of her son. I’m getting tired of this bullshit, and I’m tired of that little fuckface getting to say whatever the fuck he wants about me, my ass, and my NON-PUBLIC tattoos, then I get to choose to NOT speak to him, and call him whatever I want in the comfort of my friends.
dude, that sucks
hopefully you won’t have to deal with it much longer…