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| https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Boy_Who_Cried_Wolf |
During my last full-time gig working for other people's families before my own, I knew in my gut that the term to my lasting apprenticeship was finally waning to its rightful conclusion. I'd made bargain books for the premier English-language retailer of the world resemble its fuller priced editions for richer whiter companies, which was my mission. The best of us then graduate to "Publisher" after many years of service given to others (and their pockets), but it's never an easy graduation.
I'd made the break real during the height of my MMA/BJJ training, and like co-founder Dana White of the UFC, the best fight league in the world , I found myself in the unenviable position of couch-surfing at 40+, which is the true sign that you're actually doing it: you're making the break from the system that held you down to make a run for it, and it is ugly. I couldn't have done it with kids, dogs, and households in tow, dependent on me as they typically are, because temporarily-had crack shacks in the 'hood ain't no child's game. You have to be free, angry, and loose to do it and survive with your sanity intact, which (luckily for me), is not the problem. It's never been the problem.
So, what was? Can't you tell by now? Other people's problems, and working them out for them for free (without getting any accolades for it), just to get my job done for some old rich white dude. Same shit, different day. I knew I'd be sweatin' it hard, and I knew they'd be gunning after me just as hard, because that's the price true talent pays when you fly from the system reliant on people like you, or they all fail. A freakish silence was all the recognition I needed to recognize my power, through that circle of their fears surrounding me. You can do that and not die?! Geez.....it blows them away, know what I'm sayin'?
The small Jewish family business I worked for trained their rabid dog to attack people, and then when she went full-on loco (aided by a cult for wellness operating a seriously illegal pyramid scheme, and a lack of properly administered pharmaceuticals supervised by a serious medical professional), she turned on them, too. I think they mistakenly thought a fucked-up Israeli girl from Long Island wasn't a match for their monied control, but they were wrong. This wasn't some neurotic crisis. She was a full-blown suicidal psychotic, which they had glimpses of through her failed relationships, like the death-threat text made to our cell phones in the middle of a work day by a fired employee (her former "bestie"), and they cut loose people wholly dependent on them.
Not only did Becky threaten suicide after her firing to me, Ayelet, and some other employees, but my friend Jimmy OD'ed after hooking up with them as a freelancer, too. They kept sick people on the payroll only if they sucked their dicks, then cut them off knowing they'd be vulnerable. I blamed them for each former staffer's mental health issues and subsequent deaths just as much as any "feelgood doc" who over-prescribes Oxycontin to create a drug addict for their heroin hook-up later on down the line. I knew my rigorous comebacks from serious bone breaks and DVT on their salary without any support from them knocked them ajar, and that's what I needed to do to take them out of the business for good: prove them wrong on each and every level they'd ever had, as seriously deluded pseudo-intellectuals.
They played G-d with their sick staff in codependent plays for leverage, power, and domination, which means nothing to me. I knew my real howls at the moon beat their "Crazy Jew" schtick any day of the week, and I was right, because here I am on a Monday writing for you instead of working for them, which is proof positive in the game of publishing. One of the last times I had a verbal exchange in "human" with their disordered receptionist, she was talking at me as soon as I walked through the front door, which was odd, because she took pride in ignoring company staff as they came into the office at the beginning of every workday. She thought being a bitch was some sort of superpower, but to this New York girl, she was just another fake blonde out-of-towner drowning in her own incompetence, unfit for the game.
She forced me to take off my headphones to hear her speak to me, without waiting for a proper conversation cues to be established at my convenience, as the first stab in a series of dully petty power plays of controlling manipulations done spitefully, writ upon me first thing in the morning to catch me off guard, except for this: I use music to work with and train by, plus I've Art Directed musicians professionally, so...yeah, no go. I asked her to start over, and she did. Did I know today was the anniversary of her famous Central Park rape? Sigh....here we go. Uh, no. How would I know that? I gave her a tired look to let her know that her simplistic, childish shock tactics failed with me (yet again), because I don't have time for bullshit in my day.
She tried to make a Broadway play out of her madness anyway, by describing her annual ritual call to the detective who supposedly handled her case back in the day. Yeah....what did he say? Let's move this scene along, okay? It was one of her last attempts at yanking my chain before she curdled into a rather typical manic/depressive hatred that she controlled manipulatively, like the fucking psycho she is. At this point in my employment, I knew she screwed half the ugly staff and got "dirt" on the rest, or so she thought. She had nothing on me.
I have no idea to this day if she lied about her Puerto Rican rapist because she seemed to have a "thing" for dark guys, or whoever paid any kind of attention to her, male or female. I noticed she'd vacillate between attractions as personality/identity disordered to center around the stronger core personality of the key people in power, like me. If she sensed I liked a man, so would she, and then she'd start some weirdly secretive contest that only she knew about. But, back to her bitch post at the reception desk. So, what is this really about, Ayelet?
Well, she just happened to have a picture of the suspect who she thought was still at-large, because she just felt it in her gut, drama queens, like a pit in her stomach, you know? Like, right here <press fist to stomach to represent a knot>....NO! Not her anxiety disorder. Not that! Conversation over! Whenever she got hip (and it was hard with someone as dumb and impaired as her) that you knew she was lying to you, she'd turn on you, in the same pattern over and over again. OK, I'll bite. What the fuck....I'm waiting for the office coffee you don't make anyway. What else?
Oh! Her carefully crafted mis-en-scene was back on! We could pretend to role-play with our famous Art Director again! Great! She immediately brightened up, to produce a grainy police sketch of this:
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| https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ted_Kaczynski |
That crazy bitch was so far gone, she thought a brilliantly educated Maestro (who reads practically every fucking day of her life) didn't know a picture of the fucking "Unibomber". Their crazy-ass bitch showed me, someone who worked at a newspaper during 9/11 to tell the tale to all of you, a picture that was in every fucking newspaper and media outlet for years, as the centerpiece of her madness gone murderously bad. Just like the brother of such a sick murderer, guess what I did? I turned her ass in to the authorities, friends of Earth. No one (NO ONE) fools this New York mama, fake rape victim or not. Take that to the bank, and show it to them as evidence that I'm solid for it. Ya here me?
Read it and weep. I took this info to staff meetings over their madwoman: https://www.osha.gov/
I also want healthcare for the mentally ill made mandatory for employment and ongoing health benefits through insurance carriers: http://www.nolo.com/legal-encyclopedia/workplace-testing-employer-requirements-29496.html
For the record, I've taken lie detector tests on job sites (as a teen for a mall retailer at an afterschool job, because Donnel used me to try stealing some clothes, and girl, you know you do that), random piss tests, voluntarily submitted blood-work, psych screenings (as written tests and other), along with everything else that goes along with being me. Now you know.
P.S. - That bitch also told me she jogged through the park after midnight alone because, you know, she's manic and stuff, and she HAD TO lose weight. Sound native to you?
