Boundaries

Wherever I have gone in my life, I have been confronted with boundaries of some sort or another. I have learned to respect these boundaries, when I recognize them, either through honest to goodness courtesy and respect, or through fear of the resulting consequences when I violate them (think bees, territorial dogs, cats who don't like to be touched, what-have-you).

Boundaries may be good or bad, but, whatever they are inherently, or whatever we may think of them... they are boundaries, and I think we should respect them in most cases for one reason or another.

By now you have to be wondering what the hell I'm on about...I'm sure...

Well, I have some issues regarding boundaries as of late, particularly because it seems that just about everyone that I work with and every fucking customer with whom I come into contact doesn't seem to either recognize that these boundaries exist, or, (in my view, worse...) don't care, and, consequently, traipse across them roughshod, without a care or concern in the world, apparently.

This is starting to piss me off.

I am extremely courteous and polite to people. I am gentle by nature, and I don't often take over and order people around. This in no way means that I am a fucking candy-pants sissy that can be shoved around at anyone's whim.

People, it can be a grave mistake to confuse kindness for weakness.

In anybody.

I have put up with minor annoyances in the realm of boundary violation issues for the entire time that I have been working in this job. Some of them I have learned to ignore and to laugh off, or to gain some degree of understanding about so that they no longer have the sting that they did initially... others have become burrs under my saddle that have chafed and scratched me raw until they are either somewhat or considerably annoying.. depending upon the circumstances and, of course, my frame of mind at the time.

I have had people ripping things out of my hand, taking pens out of my pocket to use, stealing my pads and writing implements, taking my personal calculator to use without asking, and then leaving it somewhere, eating my fucking food that I brought from home for lunch (what the FUCK is that?? -- this one goes straight up my ass, folks! MY FOOD!)

I have had people take important paperwork to use as notepaper (not papers that are left in reach, now... they come behind the counter and actually root through shit! And the suck-asses who run the place don't have the gonads to say anything about it or set limits), I have had people pull the calculator tape out of my calculator and take it to use as scratch paper! (WHAT!?!).

In one case, some rude bastard actually pulled the phone from between my ear and my shoulder, hung up on the caller, and dialed out on the company phone to make a personal phone call!! (I probably sound like a friggin' lunatic, but I have never in all of my life had to deal with this particular flavor of shit).

I can put up with a massive amount of bullshit and assorted abuses, but this is really obnoxious and surpasses all limits of common courtesy and civilized conduct.

Being referred to as "Heyasshole", or "Lemmeget [insert desired object of purchase here]", or "Wouldja hurry da fuck up!? I'm inna fuckin' rush!" is one thing... (though still mildly annoying..). Having the items that I need to perform my job taken from me everytime I turn my back (or sometimes when I haven't turned my back...), is downright infuriating.

Due to my nature, which is pretty tolerant, I generally just let this shit roll off my back... this isn't to say that it doesn't bother me in some ways... it does, I'm only human, I simply choose not to address it when I am fairly certain that it won't change as a result.

There is a limit to my tolerance, however... and it basically ends where my skin begins. I choose who I allow to touch me, and how, and when, and why, and where. Period.

So. You must be wondering what happened to get me started on this diatribe, by now, ay?? Okay... I'll spill....

Yesterday at work, I went back into the storeroom/metal shop/breakroom for the yard guys in order to use the sink to rinse out the coffee pot and get water for a fresh pot. The yard guys are good guys, but, for the most part they are roughnecks. Some have done time in prison, most have been locked up, and all are relatively large and muscular since they spend a great deal of time hauling heavy shit around from one place to another. I get along with them, I joke with them, and they joke with me. However, they seem to be somewhat over-focused on the concept of a pecking order. This has always been a sticky issue for me because I am not easily pigeon-holed by other people in this regard. What I mean by this is that while I don't act aggressively towards other people, meaning that I don't push folks around either physically or verbally, I also, (and this is where folks who end up having a problem generally start to have said problem...) I don't allow anyone else to do this to me. I don't make a huge issue out of it, I simply don't play the game, and I don't comply to 'test orders' that are ways of seeing whether I am higher or lower in the pecking order.

I get a sense that some guys seem to think that I should be afraid of them or have some higher degree of subservience to them than I exhibit. I don't regard this as my problem, since I treat everybody courteously and am generally friendly to all.

More than once, I have had guys demand money or something else that I had on my person, and I have basically smiled, made a joke out of it, and refused to comply. In the vast majority of cases, this was taken in good humor, and that was the end of it. In a few cases, the point was pressed, and I stood my ground quietly, but with enough calm self-assurance and resolve that the other person decided to let it go rather than press the issue any further, and, as a bonus, nobody had to lose any face, which, like it or not, is important in these situations.

Anyway...back to yesterday; As I walked in the room to get water and do what I had to do, the other guys were playing the "I'll punch you in the arm as hard as I can, than you punch me as hard as you can, and we'll see who pussies out first" game. I said "Hi" to everyone in general, walked on by them and over to the sink, and started washing out the coffee pot.

One of the guys sauntered over and invited me to hit him, so that he could hit me back. I thanked him, and explained that I don't play this game, as somebody always ends up getting hurt, and then pissed off, and everybody has a hard time staying friends afterwards. He decided to play anyway and took a swipe at my arm, which I brushed out of the way (now... I have to ask; Where the fuck does anybody ever get the unmitigated gall to think that it is in any way acceptable to reach out and put their hands on me, or anybody else?? I just can't....!!) He took a second swing, which I similarly brushed out of the way, and I stepped behind him and, picking up my coffee pot, headed back to the front office. As I was walking through the door, I heard most of the guys making disparaging remarks and sneering at me for being, I suppose, a coward.

I don't generally respond to this, but I sensed that it would create problems if it wasn't addressed, so I got the coffee started and grabbed the largest and thickest phonebook that I could find, a huge business to business job, and headed back to the break room.

When I walked back in, everyone went silent. They were obviously surprised to see me back so soon, and curious to see what the phonebook was about. I approached the individual who had initially wanted to play 'punch the arm' with me, and said, "I didn't think it would be fair to hit you, even though you invited me to, when I know that you have no idea whether I can hit hard or not."

He wrinkled his brow, obviously thinking that I was off my nut, since he is about 6'2 to 6'3 and weighs about 300 lbs, and I am 6' even and weigh about 240 or so. Also, he is about 20 years my junior. I could see that just about everyone else in the room most likely thought I was either full of shit or just nuts as well. It didn't really matter to me, because I needed to make a point, and I needed him to help me. I figured I would save myself a lot of trouble in the future by cleaning house today, so I was fairly goal oriented, and prepared to take the moment as far as I needed to to earn a measure of respect and take my place in the pecking order if need be, whichever way it went.

He pointed to the phonebook in my hands and asked me, "What's that for?"

I held it over my solar plexus and suggested that he hold it, "right about here", and explained that I would give it a "little love tap, from about an inch or so away..." and that, after I did that, if he still wanted me to hit him full force, I would be happy to play whatever game he liked. I went on to explain that holding the book over the chest would be better because hitting arms was 'sissy-shit' (I was hoping to rope him in to my plan, I suppose... I figured he wouldn't want to be caught dead engaging in 'sissy-shit', whatever that turned out to be...)

He narrowed his eyes at me, sensing a trap closing in on him, but not quite seeing what it could possibly be, and most importantly (the part that I was counting on...), not wanting to lose face in front of all of the other guys who were, by now, watching intently to see where this was all going. He arrived at his decision, took the phone book, and held it directly over his solar plexus.

I placed my fingertips lightly against the cover of the phonebook and said, "I'll hit from about this distance, okay?? I won't pull my hand back at all. It will only be about a one inch punch, so that shouldn't be so bad, right??"

He readily agreed, nodding his assent vigorously, while he thought about getting his chance to give me a good hard punch in return.

I rooted my stance, coiled my spine, breathed in and raised my eyebrows at him inquisitively and asked cheerfully, "Are you ready?"

"Uh-huh!"

... at which point I released the breath, uncoiled my spine, and using the ground as a base from which to transmit a burst of power through my body and arm, struck the phone book, focusing on a spot somewhere directly through and behind him.

He let out a loud "whoosh" as the force of the strike sent him flying backwards, through a pallet of boxed coil-nails (for nail guns... they weight about 40lbs a box). Taking about three rows of boxes with him, he blasted through the pallet, and landed flat on his back about eight feet away from me, eyes the size of dinner plates, and mouth in a little round "O" of surprise and shock.

Everyone in the room shot to their feet amidst a cacaphony of Holy-Shits and What-the -fucks, and every head turned my way, eyes searching me and reappraising me in light of this new development. Here was something they hadn't counted on, apparently. The dweeb is scrappier than he looks!

I walked over to where my buddy was still lying on the ground and offered a hand to help him to his feet. I asked him, "Want to play some more?" as gently as I could.

"Uh.. fuck no!"

"Can I have my phonebook back?"

"Uh... yeah... here!" (he handed it back)

One of the guys asked, "Did that hurt?"

He replied, "Uh... there was quite a bit of force behind it... Bear hits pretty fucking hard!, holy shit!"

I said, "I hate these games,... but if anybody else feels the need, now's the time...." and I let it hang there.

No takers.

I felt partly embarassed, and partly satisfied that I had nipped a problem in the bud, and headed back up front to get to work.

Today at work, everybody seemed somewhat more respectful, and I got about eight quiet visits from various guys who all said basically the same thing in different words that amounted to "You did the right thing... that would've gotten ugly for you if you hadn't stepped up.. I'm glad it wasn't me!"

Dude who got knocked on his ass proclaimed "Bear looks like a dildo, but he'd be nasty to fight!"

So... I look like a dildo. Great.

At least I managed to make my point about not judging a book by its cover.. or something.

Now I have everyone explaining to me that they work out, they lift weights, and they want to study martial arts and do I teach??

As if...


(As I re-read this, I hope that it doesn't come off as some testosterone based macho bullshit story.. It happened the way I have told it here... but I want to make it as clear as possible to you that my point in telling this is not at all to impress you with my prowess as some kind of bad-ass, which I am most certainly not... but to illustrate the lengths to which I found it necessary to go in order to avoid what would have apparently been a long road of torment had I simply walked away from the situation.... Yes, I could have gone to the boss... and been hated and despised and had my vehicle fucked up, etc., I could have done a number of things, which would have ultimately caused me more problems. I had to deal with this on the level in which it was instigated, or it would have come back to haunt me... with hair all over it. The most fucked up part of all is that now everybody wants to be my best friend!! I wonder what would have happened if I had laid into him with a hammer or something?! Yikes... the world of us humans can be complicated and scary sometimes.... Geez)