Thursday, November 7, 2013

*Absolutely, Ridiculously Intolerable

"I have 30 years experience, I have kids older than you!" is probably the absolute last thing I'd want to hear while discussing working conditions with a coworker.  I'm not sure I see the relevance there - does having children older than me mean that we do not actually share working space and I am instead just a secretary sitting in your office?  Do your years of experience mean that you can stop being respectful after a certain period of time?

My (former) deskmate told me that he was being nice by obliging my requests, that he in fact could have said "Screw you!" when I asked him to close the blinds.  My question is - could he have?  That was not his window, it was ours.  In what world is he living that his replying "screw you" was a reasonable, acceptable response?  He is upset I called his actions childish - well boo-fucking-hoo, it was childish for him to antagonize and even, some would say, gaslight me daily over this shit.  He said he has been doing this for ten years with no complaints, apparently failing to account for the relevant fact that NO ONE EVER SAT NEXT TO HIM BEFORE.

How do I stop dwelling on these things?  I can't, they make me so mad, and it makes me even madder that I got frustrated and cried in front of him because it makes me look weak but really, how can I even say anything when he is being so unreasonable?  He kept changing the subject to being that we all need individual office space - sure, I don't disagree, but that's not the fucking issue and the fucking issue is you being an inconsiderate, sanctimonious dick.

I hate unreasonable people.  I hate when I am SO SURE I am right but no one will listen, although I guess most people engaged in an argument think that they are undoubtedly right.  But really, in this case, I am.  Right?

I have a terrible mix of my Italian and Irish heritage with regards to how I deal with feelings - my Italian half fantasizes about exacting revenge on those who wronged me, while my Irish half pushes everything to the back of my mind to allow it to fester and ferment into something bound to come out in some awful way at a later date.  It's swept under the rug for now, but that doesn't mean it isn't internally driving me insane.

I need therapy.  If only I had the time.

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