people are crazy

I started my new job on Monday. I was also reminded that people are crazy on Monday. The two, unfortunately, have everything to do with each other.

Here's the backstory: I left one non-profit for another, seeking a smaller, grassroots style organization whose mission aligned itself with my values. This one being HIV/AIDS sexual education. And, I love a grassroots non-profit. I have nothing but amazing memories from my previous grassroots stint with Equality NC back in... well, NC. (If you're in a position to help out ENC, click that link and get to it because they are fighting a tough and bigoted battle right now.) I also really wanted a job that was low-stress so I could spend some of my free time dicking around with creative stuff, since I had no free time to dick around with anything at my previous job. This seemed perfect.

Ah, but all is not what it seems, my children. Is it ever? The other day, I opened a can of black beans that were supposed to be good until 2014 and they were rotten. I can't even trust the friendly exterior of a Goya can anymore, people. The fuck am I gonna do?

Three days in, and I can already tell it's not going to work out. Let's just go day by day.

Day one. I have this boss. He is a gay man in his mid 40s, I'd say. He's my direct supervisor and one of five co-workers. Yes, five. I get to work on Monday, and he shows me my desk and everything, allows me to set-up, except I really can't until noon when the real head honcho gets in to give me passwords, etc. Thirty minutes in, he invites me to his office to chat. His office being literally a desk away from mine hidden behind a bookshelf. It's just me and him in "the office."

He asks how my weekend was, and I said "Goo--"

"Wes, mine was insane. I think I fractured my wrist because I went to the High Line Rink with this guy on a date on Friday."

"Oh! I love that place, it's a lot of fu--"

"And...I fell. Flat on my ass. So, now I have to wear this Ace Bandage. Ugh. So lame, Wes. So, Wes, then we went to the beer garden and we're talking and these people next to us light up a joint and so, I ask them if I can have a hit and we start talking and it was so much fun! Except my date didn't think so, so he left right after that."

"Oh no... That's sucks."

"I mean, whatever, I still have a boyfriend. Do you want to see a picture? Here he is." I didn't actually say 'yes,' but...whatever, he was excited. "It's the funniest thing, Wes. A few weeks ago, I had a dream and I woke up and this name just came to me. [Insert full name including middle name here.] And I kept thinking 'where do I know this name from?'"

And I keep thinking: You're seriously going into all of this? We're really talking about this right now? How about you give me the lowdown on my schedule for the week. How about you go over policies/procedures. Oh, are we just gonna kiki all day?

"So, then I remember. It's this guy I slept with like, 10 years ago, Wes. I obviously Facebooked him, and we've been dating ever since." Obviously.

"Oh... Wow. That's crazy. Isn't it crazy how the Internet has changed everything?" Emphasis on crazy.

"Yeah! And it's great cause he's in New Mexico."

"Oh... I see. So, you're in an open relationship?"

"No, Wes. Hahaha!"

"You're a fucking maniac, I don't even know you." Is what I wanted to say. I think he could tell by my short answers (half of which were a result of him cutting me off) that I wasn't ready to hear about his dating life and that I really just sought guidance for the position I had started, you know, 30 minutes ago.

The rest of day one was ultimately really boring, as first days usually are. I set up my browser window by adding all of my bookmarks (Facebook, Twitter, Towleroad, Gawker, Huffington Post, BBC, and... whatever the first website was to come up when I Googled "Frequently asked questions about AIDS." You know, just in case). I met my co-workers, had lunch by myself (which I did take as a slight, kinda - aren't you supposed to have lunch, just that one time, with your co-workers before you all decide you hate each other and eat independently forever after that?) I'm not gonna lie - I knew it would be laid back, I just didn't know that it would be that laid back. I decided to be positive and think this is really different from the last place, it's just going to take some getting used to.

At 5pm, he walked me to the train station and I went to shake his hand (with the Ace Bandage, because I'm an idiot) and he hugged me instead. It was an awkward "are you fucking going to try to kiss me on the lips?" moment. How can I be sure? I can be sure because he tried to kiss me on the lips and because it felt really fucking awkward and I couldn't stop thinking about how awkward it was on the way home.

Day two. I walk in, cheery, ready for a brand new day. Again, I am the only one here with my boss. I guess the other three employees can come in whenever? Or maybe they are all on staggered schedules? Maybe clocks work differently in Manhattan? I don't know, why would I need to know these things, being an employee and all?

Anyway, my boss starts again with me at 9:15am:

"I couldn't take a shower this morning because my tub was all clogged up with disgusting black water, so if I smell bad, that's why."

"I wondered what that smell was." I said. He thought it was a joke. It was, but wouldn't it be so refreshingly passive-aggressive if it wasn't?

"Hahaha, Wes. I can tell we're going to get along just fine. Better than my next-door-neighbor. I mean, the girl is weird. She doesn't talk to anyone. I tried telling her to call the landlord to complain because our two bathrooms are connected by pipes." Are they, really?! "She wouldn't call. She won't talk. So, I'm not gonna lie, Wes. I have sex. I douche in that shower. There is shit going in and out of her shower and mine, and I'm just like 'why won't you call the landlord?!'"

"Oh my God." Oh my FUCKING God.

"I know, right? So ridiculous." Then he laughs it off and gets coffee. I am mor. ti. fied.

I was then given an impossible task to combine two Excel spreadsheets with completely different formatting and tons of duplicates into one, which I welcomed into my open arms like it was my childhood dog and best friend, Sir Maximilian, back from the dead. Literally. I was like Thank you, God that I don't believe in, for sending me Excel. Excel is not a human being who will talk to me about douching in the shower and I am good at Excel. I love to make Excel spreadsheets. I live for it, especially with color and formulas. I spent the entire day doing that, with a brief intermission to take in Lady Gaga's Yoü and I video, followed by more Excel, but a little half-assed this time because I was clearly daydreaming about dancing in a cornfield.

I have the brain that never quits. As such, I am reeling at this point. I fly into my Communication Studies mode and try to figure out what kind of a communicator he is and why and what the hell is wrong with him. What message is he trying to send? Is there some underlying flirtation, which is why he so unnaturally drops factoids into conversation and rubs my shoulders? Is that why he says my name so much? Or is he just another shit-on-the-walls-crazy person? Or is there some false sense of friendship based on the fact that we are both gay, so naturally we would both be interested in swapping douching stories? For the record, I don't douche and have no douching stories and I can't even begin to tell you how disgusting and horrible it is for you and you shouldn't do it. But yoü and I can talk about things like this because you're my Bloggy and we're BFFs, not brand-spankin' new co-workers.

Day three. I just got this job, I can't leave yet, even though I am legitimately uncomfortable going to work now. He is there, yet again, and here we are. I'm still day dreaming about dancing in a corn field, now with a side of me kissing my drag alter-ego in a self-love fantasy. I ran out of coffee this morning, so I'm a little more crazy and fuzzy-brained than usual. He starts by giving instructions, thanking me for the spreadsheet work, and reminding me that I will be meeting some of the health educators today. And then, he goes:

"So, Wes, who are you dating, what are you into? I feel like I talk about myself and I don't know anything about you."

That's because you do talk about yourself, and I don't want you to know anything about me yet. Or ever, really. I was scared for this moment. The moment where he turns his madness outward and starts asking me questions. "Oh, well... I don't know. I'm dating a guy, it's all cute and new. Umm... I'm into movies, I love live music, love Lady Gaga, I'm a vegetarian..."

"You are so innocent. Don't play with me, Wes. I meant what are you into. I mean, you're obviously a bottom. I think I'm the only bottom who doesn't like rimming. I'm actually vers, but I've been bottoming for a while now, but still.. I'm just not into the whole rimming thing."

I genuinely could not believe he was going there. I should have expected it. The mental image of him shitting on himself in his shower was bad enough, but now he is literally forcing me to think about--

"This is really inappropriate," I say. Thank you, word vomit. You done me right, finally.

"Hahaha, what do you mean?"

"I mean, this is inappropriate and I don't know what to say. I don't really want to talk about that stuff."

"Oh." He is visibly upset. "I'm sorry. I told you it was laid back."

"I know. I appreciate that, but this is too much."

"Oh. Okay. Well, you have your spreadsheet. I'm sorry." And he turns to work on his computer. He literally does not talk to me for the rest of the day. He pouts. I hurt his feelings because I didn't want to talk about rimjobs. Are you kidding. I could cut the (sexual?) tension with a knife.

So, I immediately go into shutdown mode, which is what I do now that I have gained "maturity," and know that to go buck on someone is not okay and it's more okay for me to quietly freak out inside my head and rock myself back and forth while singing "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star." I call Courtney to talk me down from a ledge, and she's got OSHA on the line 30 seconds in.

I go back to my desk and just try to focus on my work. I don't believe in signs. I believe you create signs for yourself as a way to calm your conscience in tough situations. But seriously, this must be a sign that I have made the wrong decision. That's the thing: I start getting all cosmic consciousness and superstitious and shit when life gets crazy.

Now, this entry could easily devolve into me shaming myself for not following my small but strong intuition. However, Tangents, you shall not lead me down the path of temptation today. No, ma'am. Instead, let me say it quickly and then get over me blaming myself for not following it. I had an inkling that inappropriateness might ensue when I was texted and given encouraging notes throughout the interview process from my future boss. My gut said "this is kinda not Kosher," but I wanted to believe it was because he genuinely liked me and thought I was a good fit for the position... not a good fit for other positions if you're picking up what I'm laying down.

I don't know if he's coming on to me, or if he's just really fucking balls-to-the-wall wide open, or if he's a crazy person but honestly I don't really care and I won't speculate. This kind of behavior is not okay, and that much I do know. It sucks when you have to ask yourself "Am I being too prudish to not have some fun?" or "Is this just my boss's way of telling me I can talk to him about anything?" The thing is - I am okay with talking about all of the things discussed in this entry. More than okay. I venture to say I go way more disgusting and ridiculous at times. I actually enjoy it with my friends. If not them, then with church youth groups. Either way, it's not at work, and if it is, it's because we've all known each other long and well enough to know the boundaries.

I hate feeling like having boundaries is a bad thing, but that's because I think of weird boundary freaks like Michele Bachmann and that just because I have some lines that cannot be crossed, I am somehow more like her. You can get away with a whole lot with me. My gut reaction may be to be like "Ew," but eventually I can laugh about it.

Bottom line is this is not okay and I don't even want to work there anymore. On Sunday, I was really excited to be doing important work. The work could very well be important, but I'm on day three and the only sort of orientation I've received is about my supervisor's sex life. 

Sometimes, your first impressions are wrong. And sometimes, the craziest people help you see in the clearest of ways.