Don’t Push Me

’Cause I’m Close to The Edge

When my foot landed on the unseen scorpion, the scorpion did what scorpions do. Pain ripped through me, white hot bolt from the struck big toe on my left foot, up my spine and across my scalp. I allowed myself the luxury of a single scream before snapping back to attention. It took me a couple of minutes to track the fucker down, but when I did, I unceremoniously dispatched him to his next incarnation, flattening him with a dramatically heavy-handed slamming of the cat dish upon his wicked little body.

Go ahead and make fun of my English degree all you want. I love having it for many reasons, not least being that it gives me license to spot metaphors everywhere I look. Before the adrenaline had even dissipated, before that toe stopped howl-throbbing, I had already extrapolated literary meaning from my pain.

For what was this sting beyond a sting? Why, it was apt punctuation! A final insult on the last day of an already shitty week, a perfect terrible ending. Lest we be here all day, I shall spare you the extended dance mix list of all that went wrong in the days prior to this final flesh insult. I’ll just trot out a couple of the tastier morsels.

I returned home from work Thursday to discover one of my tenants had snuck off, bailed the day before rent was due, no notice, leaving me in an unanticipated tight spot. I had seen him just the day before and he’d been cheerful and made no mention of his planned cowardly move, just sent a little text once he was gone and, of course, made no reply to the panicked text I sent in response.

I was already in a foul mood, thanks in part to an earlier run-in that day with an Austin firefighter. Maybe it makes no difference that the cowardly tenant and the firefighter were both twentysomething white men. Maybe I’m just on high alert regarding young white baby-men in light of the cyber-terrorist incels trotting around DC with the psycho billionaire destroying the government. On the other hand, just because one is paranoid doesn’t mean one is not being followed. I don’t think it’s my imagination that some young white men are getting cockier and creepier and more aggressive by the second, emboldened by the psychopaths coup-coup-kachooing at the helm these days.

So, the firefighter…first we need a little set up here.

In the two plus years I’ve worked at the museum, which is run by the city, we have had parking challenges. Our street parking passes have not always been honored by the aggressive meter readers. One, in particular, Officer Murray, lives to dole out as many tickets as he can and, when confronted, will gladly robotically cite, chapter and verse, some manual he seems to have memorized. He’s the kind of guy who, if he saw you step out of your vehicle and drop over dead from a heart attack on your way to pay for parking, would not stop to render aid but would, with pant-peeing ecstasy, give you one last ticket.

Recently we museum employees were given the great news that we could park in the lot of the fire station next door. We have the code to get into the lot. And I have a mirror hang tag identifying me as a city employee. The first day I did this, it was so easy, so free of the threat of Officer Murray, that I was suspicious. I went inside the fire station, found an employee, and gave the heads up about my truck. He gave me the all clear and, with this, I foolishly exhaled.

The second day I parked in the lot, a young firefighter approached me and asked what I was doing. I told him I worked for the city, at the museum next door, and that my hang tag was in place. Then I started to walk away. This is when he tried to stop me. “You need to tell me what you do!” he said. His body language and tone were accusatory and the fake smile on his face creeped me out.

I looked at him, told him I most certainly did not need to answer his questions and left. Off I went to get my pre-work smoothie and as I walked those blocks I felt sicker and sicker. There was something about him, that entitlement thing I so loathe, and something authoritarian, too. So as I again passed the station on my way back, I stopped to ask another firefighter to please get me a supervisor.

She gestured to the firetruck she was checking and told me I’d have to wait, that she was working. I explained that I was also working, or was supposed to be working, and could not wait. She got very shitty very fast. A truck pulled into the lot as she was mouthing off at me. She said it was the supervisor and, again with the authoritarian stuff, insisted that I had to stand right there.

Knowing she had no authority over me, and prompted by her rudeness, I walked away from her as I had walked away from her creepy coworker earlier. She made a move toward me as I strode toward the supervisor’s truck, started yelling, and then, in a flash, there was a whole group of them. Four? Five? This angry young woman flanked by angry young men, like a bad music video, following me like sharks, menacing, moving in, like they were ready to pounce on the 5’5” senior citizen as if I were some deranged linebacker toting an AK47. It was chilling how quickly they packed up like that, a band of hyenas. That they were in matching uniforms seemed to embolden them.

And then the supervisor stepped out of his truck. The hyenas backed off. He offered his name and a handshake. I took it. I opened with some information. “Alex,” I said, “before I tell you what just happened here, I want to own the fact I am extremely stressed out today. I have a sibling that is actively dying at this very moment. I don’t ever like being challenged, but I especially do not appreciate it today.”

[The Silver Fox is currently available to rent.]

I mentioned my estranged brother’s imminent death not in hopes of pity or mercy or whatever. I mentioned it because it really is important for me to see and acknowledge mitigating factors in stressful situations. Or, as the Twelve Step kids like to ask, “What is my part in it?” I wanted Alex to know that I knew my own mental state wasn’t making anything here any easier.

Alex, it turns out, is very good at his job. I’ve been through enough HR trainings myself to understand some of his lingo was of the textbook de-escalation persuasion. I didn’t mind this because he delivered the speech in a non condescending manner. More importantly, he listened to me. And because I could see he was actually listening, this allowed me to keep my cool.

He validated what I knew was true. His employee was totally out of line demanding to know “what I do.” When I said I worked for the museum and had a hang tag, he agreed this should have been the end of the discussion. He said he would re-educate his staff. I thanked him. I added that I harbored no ill will, that I only wanted them to leave me alone. And, to foster a little good will, I noted the time a different set of his firefighters recently helped one of my co-workers change her flat and how wonderful that was. I pointed out that while I do think what he and his colleagues do is more pressing work than what I do, we are still professional colleagues, all of us employed by Austin, same team, yadda yadda.

We shook hands again and I headed toward the museum satisfied with the resolution. Then, as I passed the group that had stalked me into the parking lot, the woman firefighter yelled, with great sarcasm, “Have a great day!” I sighed, turned around, and went back to Alex and, in a weary voice, asked him if he could please, please, please, get her to cut the kindergarten shit. He said he would. I really hope that is the end of it.

As Saturday wore on, I noticed I was having a stronger reaction to this latest scorpion sting than the two previous stings I endured. My tongue and lips grew tingly and numb and I had a really bad taste in my mouth that seemed to extend beyond the fact I ate plant-based sausage at IHop for breakfast. These sensations, too, offered me further metaphors. How fascinating and terrifying that a pinprick wound on my toe could ripple up to my head, poison spreading through me, affecting the whole of my body. Isn’t this one way to look at what is happening in the world, Elon and the Rapist in Chief injecting their venom stateside, with deadly effects rippling out through the entire world? And that bad taste in my mouth, you can taste it, too, can’t you? The bile, the sickening, and no way to escape it.

I’ve been saying since the election that I am not going to give into the fear. I will not be robbed of joy. I will redouble my efforts to see as much beauty as I can in this fucked up world. This remains my plan. But I cannot ignore the edginess—within myself and in the air all around me. This is some tricky work, not falling off the edge. I hope I do better next week.

How y’all holding up?

NOTES:

It’s always a GREAT DAY to become a paid subscriber. Today is an especially great day as I scramble to deal with my sudden income loss. Can you spare $5 per month? If so, please consider subscribing. You can also help by sharing this post. And/or you can order a copy of my hilarious new novel, Grok This, Bitch. $10 gets you an e-copy and $30 gets you a print copy (postage included). Just reply to this email if you want to order one (or ten).

Much as I absolutely hate Airbnb, I think I will do short term rentals in the Airstream aka The Silver Fox for now. Know someone coming to SXSW or some other event? Here’s a link to the Airbnb listing. If they book directly through me there’s a discount. I’m also maybe open to a long term tenant. Send me your leads, people!

FREE WRITING WORKSHOPS! Great news— in March, April and May I will be leading free writing workshops at the San Marcos Public Library from 10 am til noon. More details soon. Mark your calendars. My ongoing free writing workshops at Austin’s Hampton Branch Public Library happen on the first and third Tuesdays of every month from 5:30 - 7:30 pm. They always fill up so it’s a good idea to RESERVE YOUR SPOT.

I’m always collecting donations for Austin’s homeless population. If you have adult clothes, shoes, bedding, linens, toiletries or eyeglasses that you’re ready to part with, drop me a note and we’ll arrange a pickup/drop off.

Thanks for being here y’all. Don’t forget to FIGHT FASCISM!