Disquieting Anger
Over the past couple of months I have been working in a rather toxic environment—an owner who is greedy and micromanages every single detail. He will hover over you and stick around for an extra ten seconds to see if there is anything additional he wants to nit-pick before moving on to the next person.
The people in the office who refuse to get vaccinated or use a mask because they are afraid of going sterile or believe the vaccine provides nothing that your immune system already doesn’t have or are otherwise distrustful of the government. Coming into work sick without at the very least getting tested or masking is pretty much a ‘fuck you’ to me, that no one cares if I catch this virus or not. The mask I wear daily as I keep my head down to work is a ‘fuck you’ to them that I don’t care what they think. I’m going to be in a mask, secretly snickering at every dumb thing they say when they believe I don’t hear them. Little do they know, I hear everything.
Being surrounded by mostly men is just a reminder how little my opinion matters or how incapable I’m seen as a worker. The men are ”smart” and “bright”. I’ve been told I’m catching on quick, but that doesn’t matter because every other man in the office views me as a pain in the ass as I make mistakes due to poor communication and training. I’ve only picked up as much as I have because I have had to rely on myself to figure it out. But they don’t need to say it, I can feel it. I’m a lady who just doesn’t have a talent for computers or building cabinets but by golly, I can scan stuff! I don’t want to be seen as capable at this particular job, but I equally detest being seen as expendable. I could invent something brilliant that could ease our workloads and it wouldn’t matter—the owner would find something wrong or I would need to consult with another man in the office to make sure it works and it’s right. Office work is just another form of degradation as a woman. If you aren’t getting harassed, you’re just not taken seriously.
Today is January 6th, or otherwise known by the wackos in my office as Patriots Day—a celebration of a clumsy attempt at a coup. I’ll admit, it’s kind of cute when they talk in the glowing terms about Trump, yell, “Let’s Go Brandon!” as if they are coyly showing disdain for Joe Biden, unaware the quietest person in the office would go right up to Biden in the face and tell him to go fuck himself. They probably assume I’m a libtard because of my mask wearing and make fun of me behind my back. It’s okay because they give me something to laugh at when they claim Communism is illegal while in the same breath demanding the government give us free healthcare. The mask just conceals my face so I can freely smile when they associate Socialism with vodka.
Despite the stupidity I’m surrounded by on a daily basis, I don’t want these people to die. In fact, I can understand their frustration with the other party and the government because I have similar issues. So I do as much as I can to build some sort of worker solidarity where none exists and remain cordial to their faces because like me, they are part of the working class and nothing is more relatable than being disappointed when the owner of the company ends up not taking that two day vacation and any sort of respite evaporates as we wait with bated breath what he will get angry about next.