In Search Of

This week started off on the good foot when I captured a Wild Pikachu (Raichu) that had appeared in the area some three weeks ago ─ first time I’ve seen a Raichu ANYWHERE.

I’d initially spotted it in the market parking lot ─ where it evaded capture, then over at the Adventist Church ─ where it fled before I could drive over and try once more to capture.

After that, I’d pretty much given up on seeing a Raichu in this area again; but lo and behold, there he was yesterday ─ hanging around the fountain of the apartment complex down the street.

I managed to get there before he fled, captured and added to the Pokédex.

He’ll make a good fighter in battles, because his tail acts like a scorpion’s stinger.

Shortly after capturing Raichu, I arrived at The Pain Cave only to find the place in complete and utter disarray.

Trainer explained he was actually closed this entire week, as the studio undergoes a renovation ─ which includes knocking out a wall to expand the personal training area, but was going to work with myself and one other client yet and still.

Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I didn’t ask why I got to continue training, while others were left to wait the week out. However, if I had to guess, I’d say it's because I don’t need as much space or equipment as do younger clients. The readily available treadmill, a few pulleys, weights will get me through the week just fine until the other equipment, and spaces, become available for use.

It’s going to be interesting to see the studio’s transformation as it goes along. However, I thought twice about that last night when through my mind passed a question ─ “What if there’s asbestos in the wall being torn down?”

I brushed it off, rationalizing that sessions are only half an hour, I’m in a mask and, as far as I understand, asbestos is in ceilings, not in walls.

And if you think a half-hour isn't long enough to work a body, you'd be wrong. I'm generally feeling it at only 10 minutes in. LOL.

There’s still that eerie feeling on the complex, because the strange car is still in Assistant Complex Manager’s spot, with no sign of her, her husband or Complex Manager.

It may be time to put up “Missing ... Have You Seen” posters.

On the other hand, everyone may be at Corporate planning revenge on my buddy Apache, because Apache tells me it’s official ─ Complex Manager has been served that restraining order. There is of yet no set court date.

I’ve never been served with or taken out a restraining order on anyone (no need, as I had plenty of protection ... four street-smart brothers, and a sister who was wilder and tougher than the bros.

Even though I was the oldest, I was shy, naïve, that "good girl" under mom's thumb, while the others ran amok and watched my back for me.

So, anyway, I don’t know for sure how a restraining order works, but I’m fairly certain there’d be a date to appear on the paperwork ─ except we’re in a pandemic, there’s a backlog and courts have more important things to mitigate than a landlord/tenant squabble.

Perhaps Apache should take it to Judge Judy.

Seriously.

I'll look into that and mention it to him.

It’s looking like a nice day for a drive, so I may head out today for Sprouts, which is the only place I can find organic chicken that is grass fed, not the grain fed that would set off a gut episode.

Why does my gut not like grain fed chicken you ask? 

Well, that’s because not only are you what you eat, you are also what you eat eats. If I eat chicken fed grains, I’m ingesting grains my gut is allergic to.

I’ll probably run into more Raichu while out and about, because the game is weird like that. It may take a year, or years (in the case of this Raichu) to catch a creature but, once caught, more of the same mysteriously begin to appear.

Hips Don’t Lie

Yesterday was my day to declutter under the sink (cleaning products) storage.

I’d already ordered, and received, non-stick contact paper to match the cupboards, because matchy matchy is how I roll.

Close Enough

After removing all the cleaning products, stacking them on the counter, it became evident the clutter was due to having two, sometimes three of the same product.

Best I can figure ... disorganization made it difficult to see what I had, and I’d end up purchasing another.

The total haul does look to be a bit excessive, don’t you think, or would you say the typical household has a plethora of cleaning products under the sink?

At any rate, I do enjoy looking at this paper when I go under the sink now. The paper went down easy and, because it’s non-stick, can easily be removed to clean.

Under the bathroom sink wasn’t chaotic but, inasmuch as I had another roll of paper ─ and the energy, figured might as well, so I did that area as well.

And while we’re on the subject of cleaning products, save your money on this.

I’m a sucker when I see a new cleaning product advertised, especially when touted to be powerful, so I gave it a shot.

Disappointing. Takes too many pumps to clean a single item, and doesn’t get sudsy.

I didn’t even have to be tempted by an ad on TV to try this next new anti bacterial fabric spray. My fetish for new cleaning products just led me to it in the store isle, but it’s turning out to be worth the money.

I don’t have a washer/dryer in the unit to toss my workout clothes into when I return from the Pain Cave, so I spritz wash the clothes with this disinfectant wash.

I also used it to spritz clean the heavy quilt on the bed, and to freshen up clothes hanging in the closet.

As for that other new item, tempted by TicTok to purchase ─ the Smart Hula Hoop, I was beginning to think hips do lie and I was never going to get a rotation going.

When I’d previously tried with a conventional hula hoop, I’d attributed my failure to the middle-age spread around my midriff. But inasmuch as the smart hoop fits like a belt, and I still couldn't get a rotation, I deduced the problem was movement of the hips, so I tested out different tactics.

Pushing forwards and back didn’t work.

Rotating my midriff in a circle fashion didn’t work either.

Trying to sway real fast definitely didn’t work.

Then one morning, I clipped on the belt and, while focused on something on television, NOT thinking, my hips automatically kicked into gear and voilà.

Easy like Sunday morning.

Now I just have to build up my stamina because, though it appears effortless, it wears me out quick fast and in a hurry.

If and when the pandemic ever ends, I’ll be taking this to family gathering as a fun activity for all.

Mike ... did you get yours yet?

Eerie Calm

I think it was Wednesday when, turning into the driveway, I glanced over at the office building and thought to myself eerie.

There appeared to be no light coming from inside and the building looked dark and foreboding.

Head Maintenance Guy (HMG) is the only staffer I’ve seen on the premise, and he has been unusually busy.

HMG being not one to hustle, it’s odd to see him moving at warp speed ─ zipping this way, zipping through the property that way, working his normally lazy arse off, no temp employee helping him out while his assistant is in quarantine.

THAT’s telling me something is up.

Is the entire office, with the exception of patient zero (HMG) in quarantine?

That possibility was somehow reinforced when, returning from the Pain Cave yesterday, a resident blocked my path and asked if I knew why the office was closed.

I did not.

She went on to say the front doors were locked, and there’s a strange car in the Assistant Complex Manager’s (ACM) parking spot.

I look over and there was indeed a strange car in ACM’s spot. As to the front office doors being locked, well, duh, thought I as I pointed out “the building has been locked ever since the pandemic began”.

”No …They left the front open for us to drop off paperwork”.

I did not know this, and it doesn’t make sense inasmuch as we’ve been mailing in our payments, but I don’t doubt her word. It’s just the kind of oddball thing management would do — post a ton of notices about doors to the office being locked, then leave some doors unlocked.

At any rate, I didn’t recognize the neighbor I was speaking with. That is, until she pointed out she parks right next to me.

It was then I realized I’ve seen her multiple times ─ because we often seemed to be pulling into our respective spaces at the same time. She’d sit in her car until I’d gotten my items out of the passenger seat and closed my door, so she could exit or I’d sit in my car until she’d gotten out. So, I’ve seen her multiple times, and yet not seen her ─ if that makes sense.

So now that she’d caught my attention, she was difficult to shake off, as she recounted many of what others, including myself, have had to say about living here. That’s it’s a nice property, the units are great, it’s a friendly place, but management sucks, i.e., they don’t fix recurring problems, it’s difficult to get maintenance to respond to issues but, all in all, it’s better than other places looked into, plus it’s affordable.

She, like I, had a long standing issue with her smoke detector and though, knock on wood, I haven’t had any problems with my detector since maintenance finally got around to connecting the wires properly and pushing it back in place, she said she’d handled the annoyance differently. When no one showed up to stop the beeping, she called the Fire Department. They actually responded saying something to the effect her detector hadn’t been serviced since 2015.

I don’t know what that means but, when management learned the Fire Department had responded, they replaced her smoke detector quick fast and in a hurry.

Embarrassing management by calling the Fire Department seems the way to go, so if and when there’s a next time, I’ll know.

When I say this resident was difficult to shake off I wasn’t kidding.

After I’d gotten out of the car, instead of heading to my unit, I’d intended to take the long way around to pick up mail. She’d blocked that path so, after talking to her a bit, I began slowly edging my way to my unit. She edged along with me, moved when I moved, still talking. We ended up at the opposite end of the walkway, past my unit, under the shade of a tree ─ where she pointed out her unit, which happened to be downstairs and across from evicted Cat Lady.

She had a lot to say about Cat Lady, because she too had been victimized by her.

Evidently, it was a normal thing for Cat Lady to bang on this resident’s door (let’s name her The Talker) 11 o’clock at night yelling, “Give me my cats!” — “Always 11:00” she said.

With no way to get around the The Talker ─ now blocking my path to the mailbox AND my unit, I politely listened as she told me her entire life story .... Problems with family, how she was always there for family members when they needed someone to be, but no one was there when she needed someone to be.

Been there, done that.

THEN, she tells me that she has a brother now in hospital with Covid. That, when she’d last visited that brother, he'd failed to tell her that he’d been tested and the test came back as positive. That, she’s okay now, but didn’t feel well for a few weeks after.

I’d gotten a little lax while listening to her chatter on. She was wearing a mask, we were having this conversation under the shade of a tree, and I’d say I was in the three feet range. HOWEVER, upon hearing this news, I slowly began backing away from her, away from the shade of the tree and into the sun.

”Is that sun burning you?” she asked.

”No, I’m fine” lied I.

In actuality, the sun was kicking my arse, but I needed the distance until I could finally politely terminate the conversation. Which I finally just said, “Look, I have to go. I need to pee”.

I picked up mail, headed to my unit, sprayed myself from head to toe with Lysol spray.

On another note, during the week seeing a cleaning crew on the property, a carpet cleaning company, painters and watching a transformation taking place in the ugly window facing my patio, I realized I was incorrect in thinking that window was the rear of the unit of the woman who passed away a few weeks ago, and her husband — the nice old guy who was Cat Lady’s last victim.

Before

It wasn’t. Instead, it’s the side of Cat Lady’s unit, which the ugly curtains make more sense because it fits her  style ... deranged.

After

What a relief. Much more pleasant view.

Now if I just didn’t have to look at Next Door Neighbor’s new butt ugly doormat.

People Ugh!

It’s looking like my initial guess ─ that it’s Assistant Maintenance Guy (AMG) who has tested positive for Covid and is now in quarantine was correct, because I haven’t seen him working with Head Maintenance Guy (HMG) since the notice was posted.

AMG is the older of the two, and much nicer, so I hope his being older doesn’t have a negative impact and he recovers as quickly and as well as HMG ─ who is probably the one who infected him.

And speaking of being infected ... I can’t believe, after all this time, that I still have to tell people to back up off me, keep your distance but, twice this last week, I had to do just that.

First was when I was collecting mail which, by the way, management has had to put up this sign.

They’ve built a fortress to deter mailbox break-in, and some resident or residents are evidently leaving the door to the fortress open.

A set up to come back later and pillage?

Possibly because, when you let go of the handle, the door automatically slams shuts. It would take some effort to hold the handle, slowly allow the door not to slam shut.

So anyway, when I pick up mail, see another person walking that way, I stand way way back and wait for them to pick up their mail, because the walkway is tight and I'm quite serious about people being too near me.

I expect everyone to do the same when I’m in the walkway and I’ve not had a situation when they don’t. Maybe they don’t stand as far back as I do, which I’d prefer, but at least they let me in and out before they enter the walkway. Except once last week, Miracle Guy began walking into the walkway when I was already in the space.

Miracle Guy is the resident who’s mom said that, in his younger years, he’d been shot on two separate occasions. He himself bragged to me “I’ve been molotov cocktailed, shot AND stabbed”, which prompted me to respond “You’re a walking talking miracle”.

I never asked what he was into that drew such treatment though, karmically speaking, he had to have been involved in bad stuff, but evidently God wanted him here and he seems to be okay except for walking with a limp and a speech impediment, tied to some residual brain damage, that makes him difficult to understand at times.

So, anyway, when I opened the fortress and saw him walking into and up the walkway, getting closer and closer, intending to enter with me, I had to hold up my hand and yell "STOP, WAIT!"

He did, and moved to under the stairs until I got my mail and walked out, but damn. Why do I have to tell you.

Then on Friday, I popped into the market after that morning’s workout. A young girl, around 10 /11 years old, made herself noticeable by bouncing around the market like she’d had too much sugar.

Of course, she and her dad had to get right behind me in the checkout lane.

When I reached the cashier, I noticed the girl was bouncing around in front of her dad’s cart, which placed her much too close to me. I would say about 3 feet, or less, rather than the 6 if she’d stayed with her dad behind their cart.

She was a child, so I didn’t yell. I just calmly held up the palm of my hand, said “Six feet please”, whereupon she backed up as much as she could, being as how she was in front of her dad’s cart, and at least stopped bouncing around.

I’ll have to remember to wear my “Six feet back or six feet under” tee to workouts when I plan to market after.

PEOPLE, young and old, UGH!

So that’s been my week, a week that’s flown by way too fast.

No word yet on if Community Manager has of yet been served with the Apache’s restraining order.

The craft kit left by Activity Director is still on my to-do list and, as if I don’t have enough exercise equipment in this tiny unit with a balance ball and indoor bike, I saw a TikTok promo advertising a “smart” hula hoop.

Now, I love hula hooping. Would hula hoop for hours as a kid and, off/on over the years have tried to get back into that fun activity, but became frustrated at the continuous drops and having to bend over pick up as I tried to get my rhythm back. Not to mention, once the crazy girl moved into the downstairs beneath me unit, she’d have had a fit with my hula hoop drops, so I tossed it.

A “smart” hoop clips onto your waist like a belt and your movements spin around an attached weighted gravity ball, which serves as the hoop.

It’s still frustrating as I continue to try to get my grove back but, fortunately, a lot of calories are burned in the trying, and at least there’s no dropping.

Release the Dogs!

Happy St. Patrick’s day!

It’s been a quiet, drama free St. Patrick’s Day here at the complex.

That is if you don’t count the helicopter flying overhead late last night, shouting out commands ─ one that sounded like “Release the Dogs!”

And if you don’t count the canine officer, along with the canine, I observed walking down the walkway during daylight hours.

Also, if you don’t count the notice, posted to our doors, that yet another “employee has tested positive for Covid-19 and immediately underwent self-quarantine”.

Other than that, it's like I said ─ a quiet, drama free St. Patrick’s Day. LOL.

Word is the “release the dogs” and the canine visit are the result of someone trying to steal that thingy off cars that’s been in the news lately ─ catalytic converters.

I don’t want to jinx myself, but I park in the front. It’s generally cars in the back, and along the side, that are tampered with. So crossing my fingers whoever they were don’t come back and, if they do, they stay away from the front.

As for the employee testing positive, I’m guessing it’s probably Assistant Maintenance Guy, because he works in close quarters with Head Maintenance Guy (HMG) ─ who was the first to test positive. But it could be any one of the three ─ Community Manager, Assistant Manager, Assistant Maintenance Guy.

Covid doesn’t appear to have had any impact on HMG, who I’d spotted walking around mask less a number of times pre his diagnosis. NOW, he's always in a mask, but his wife doesn’t wear one, his children don’t, and visiting family members don’t.

I give all of ‘em a wide berth. It would have been wise for, whoever this latest staffer to test positive is, to have done likewise.

Activity Director stopped by and dropped off a craft project for this month.

Looks to be St. Patrick’s Day wreaths, three of them, different styles.

St. Patrick’s Day is one day, not an entire month, so three is kind of overkill. But since she went through the trouble, I’ll block out some time this week to put ‘em together.

Trainer was miffed with me today.

He’d put me on the Grappler Toss, which is where you stand, holding one end of a rope in each hand, then toss the ropes one at a time during the first set, simultaneously up down on the second set. Only this time, he had me do it from a seated position.

It’s a lot harder seated and I was performing poorly because the right shoulder didn’t like that routine. That’s the shoulder that’s been giving me trouble, that I sometimes wear a brace at home, because reaching back for needlepoint supplies had aggravated an old torn rotator injury.

I pushed myself poorly though a set and a half before the pain became too much, and I had to tell Trainer I couldn't go on and why.

"That’s something you should tell me right away!", chastised he. Then he walked into the other room and let out a loud guy scream ... an “AHHHHHHHHH!”.

I really don’t think the ire and histrionics were so much about me, as it was more about what trainer is holding in ─ the situation with his daughter, so I’m not holding it against him ..... this time.

And I understand how my not telling him I had an injury unrelated to our workouts would have been a concern to him in that, had he known, he'd have adjusted the workout around it, so as not to cause further damage. However, I did tell him, “Life is pain. I try to push through because, if I told you every time I hurt something, you’d think I was too much a risk and not train me.”

I wasn’t kidding.

Getting old is no joke or, as Bette Davis once said, “Old age ain’t no place for the weak of heart”.

And, yes, I know she used a word other than “weak of heart” but that was an inappropriate then, this is a politically correct now.

So that's it for our quiet, no drama day. LOL

I dug into the back of the closet and pulled out my special tee for the day.

Rainy Days and Monday and Apache

Waking up this morning, it once again looked like I was going to have to swim to today’s workout. Fortunately, when it came time to leave, the weather gods slowed the rain down, enabling me to get there and back.

Returning to the complex, I ran into my buddy Apache who said he’d just gotten back from the courthouse.

No surprise there, he’d said he was going to sue ─ take the corporation, and their attorneys to court for harassment.

The surprise was that he went to the courthouse and filed a restraining order … on the Community Manager because, in addition to everything else management and their attorneys have done to try to get him (Apache) out of here, the Community Manager recently put in writing, something to the effect “Your unit has been sold. The new owner wants you out.”

That’s laughable, because this complex is owned by a corporation. There can’t possibly be a new owner for only one unit, and how stupid to put something like that in writing.

All hell is going to break loose when Community Manager gets served … and I didn’t know anyone could take a restraining order out on what is essentially the landlord.

The Complex Manager doesn’t live here, but his office isn’t all that far away from Apache’s unit. So, it’s going to be interesting to see how manager is going to comply with however many feet he has to stay away, or maybe this is Apache’s way of stopping the threatening correspondence. Community Manager, once served, can send no more emails, post no further 3-day notices to Apache’s door.

The only other time I’ve seen anything like this — where a restraining order is placed on an individual in close proximity, was in 2005 at the agency I retired from — the klan place.

The Main Klansman (MK) manhandled the female Safety Officer (FSO) in a way that caused injury to her arm and shoulder.

She had bruises.

Pictures were taken.

And then the police arrived and served MK with a Temporary Restraining Order.

The two worked in the same area ... Not 15 steps from each other's office.

MK complied with the TRO by keeping his door closed most of the day, then took a sudden vacation.

The two eventually ended up in court, with her seeking a Permanent Restraining Order (PRO) because, not only did they work not 15 steps from each other, they lived in the same area and she was alleging stalking.

The klan members showed up at the court hearing in force to support MK and, according to FSO, all lied about what they witnessed day of the manhandling incident.

Consequently, the judge ruled against a PRO saying, MK had a clean record, had never been in that kind of trouble before, it would go on his record, ruin MK’s life and that what he had been doing (The incident in the office, following her in the neighborhood, showing up wherever she went) did not warrant having his life ruined.

MK kept his job, FSO was harassed out of the agency.

I don’t know if filing against Community Manager is genius or madness, but I’d sure like to see manager’s face when the cops show up and serve him.

I’ll leave you with Hillary’s summation — which I love so much, of Megan’s situation.

Preach, sista. Amen.

Across the Quad

Returning from Sprouts this morning, I observed movers clearing out the across the quad, upstairs, corner unit.

Resident in that unit is a nice woman, active when she first moved in November 2015, but changed a lot since — most of the seniors do, and not in a good way due to loneliness and inactivity.

However, in her case there was also smoking and drinking to excess.

Since the pandemic began, I’ve only seen that neighbor once — let’s call her Sue (because that’s her name and now that she’s moved there’s no need for a pseudonym); and that one time I saw her she was in terrible shape — hunched over, slowly struggling along towards a waiting car outside the gate. She’s not old enough to be walking that way, so I assumed her lifestyle was taking a toll.

Not that there really is an age where one should be walking that way, and I don’t exactly know how old Sue is, but something tells me she’s nowhere near my age.

At any rate, Next Door Neighbor (NDN) tells me that yes indeed, the smoking and drinking has impacted Sue’s appearance and health to the point where she can no longer care for herself and is being moved in with family.

Being with family, not alone in her unit with cigarettes, booze, a mean little dog that never stops barking, the occasional visit from other drinkers in the complex, may be a healing environment for Sue.

That’s two vacancies: one a quad over … the one Cat Lady was locked out of, and now we’ll be getting new blood in our quad — new to us, but old in age.

NDN also tells me she ran into The Seer in the Laundry Room, and it was not a pleasant experience. The Seer, evidently, is still in her evil stage and, according to NDN has lost a lot of weight.

That’s not good for two reasons. The first being, The Seer wasn’t overweight to begin with so, losing a lot of weight is not a good sign. The second being, and I kid you not, waking up three days ago, heading out of the bedroom, I suddenly had the thought “J____ (The Seer) is next”.

That’s a weird thought, I said to myself as I stopped dead in my tracks thinking it to be a death premonition. Then, I shook my head to get the thought out of my head.

It didn’t go.

Instead, I heard myself say to myself, “I don’t care. Doesn’t matter. We haven’t been friends for a long time”.

I’m not wishing ill on The Seer, it’s just that I no longer care if the premonition turns out to be true, and won’t miss her.

Other than the above, not much going on as I tune into the news, watch the royals implode and Sharon Osbourne come out of the closet .......... as a Karen.

Evidently, the world isn't done with Bernie either,  because I saw, on facebook last night, that he's been turned into an emoji.

What William Said

I’ve been thinking about yesterday’s headline news that, as William and Kate were in east London to congratulate teachers involved in re-opening schools following the lockdown, they walked past a reporter who asked: “Sir, have you spoken to your brother since the interview?” William replied: “No, I haven’t spoken to him yet but I will do.” The reporter continued: “Can you just let me know is the royal family a racist family sir?” As he walked on, William turned to say: “We’re very much not a racist family.”

William’s statement saddened me and, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that this is exactly why things don’t change, don’t get any better for minorities because people who are racists don’t know they’re racists and don’t believe or accept that label when faced with it.

Back in the day the rationalizations used to be ... “We’re not racists, we have a Black gardener ... a Black cook ... my parents had a Black maid”. And the family was probably very good to that gardener, cook, maid, so long as that gardener, cook, maid presented themselves as was expected, i.e., subservient, knew their place and acted that place.

But woe be unto that gardener, cook, maid if they didn’t play along and stepped out of the role assigned to them because, not only would they have been deemed ungrateful ─ for not appreciating how well they'd been treated and fired, they’d probably get a late night visit from the klan.

The Royals may very well not be a racist family per se. In fact, how could they be when, once again I say, they have Black blood in them through Queen Charlotte. But then, in some aspects, they very well may be because they don’t get it.

Don’t get that when you treat a person of color differently than you would one not of color, say something to or about a person of color that you'd not ascribe to one not of color, that’s racist behavior.

When you expect a person of color to fit the role you in your mind have assigned as to how a person of color should be, as opposed to having no such assignment to people not of color, that’s racist.

I brought up the three witches I worked for at the law firm yesterday. They would be shocked to sit down with me today and hear how I felt about all they said and did.

Racists!? We’re not racists!

They just did not see, nor could they ever understand that treating me differently, expecting me to perform duties they never ask a white secretary to do fell under the auspices of racism.

Like the time one of them set a rule that, when she approached my desk while I was typing, instead of stopping to type, fingers still hoovering over the keys, head turned towards her while listening and paying attention to what she was telling me, I was to remove my fingers away from the keyboard altogether, turn face forward towards her, fold my hands on the desk until her conservation with me ended.

This request, out of the blue, after four years of putting up with all the b.s., was the straw that broke this camel’s back. I was done with the witches, put in a transfer and got it.

Of course the witches didn’t understand why ─ after all, we’d all gotten along so well in their eyes, and they did like me, they just didn’t realize how they treated me, because I was Black, they could get away with it and knew I had no recourse, was neither kind or normal behavior, and that I'd ever stop putting up with, so they fought the transfer.

Lost.

Tried to make trouble for me in my new position, so I’d come back.

Lost again.

Then, when I left that firm after 20+ years because I was completely vested and sought a second retirement, I ended up with those klan people.

They also did not consider themselves racists. They just didn’t like Black people. LOL.

Actually, that’s not 100% accurate, because they could tolerate Black people so long as they were the subservient kind that knew their place.

They really didn’t even dislike me. It was just that I came in there the consummate professional ─ wearing stylish suits, had more skills and abilities than the klan girls, didn’t need anyone to hover over me, talk me step by step through the day ─ which is what my direct boss loved about me, hired me for, but which made me a target with the klan people.

The CEO himself (head klan guy) took a personal interest in me saying to someone on his team, who pretended to be klan ─ for his own protection, but was not part of the klan, who told me CEO would hold meetings discussing me, blurting out in one of those meetings, “Who does she think she is!”

I knew who I was. A child of God, just like him and the others. No better no worse than him and the others, but just as equal.

As far as the CEO rationalized, his holding meetings about little ole me wasn’t racist at all. It was just that I didn’t fit the mold he had of how Black people should be. I was too high, mighty and needed to be taken down.

That’s another thing fed to me by someone at the klan place.

My direct report was a Contract Manager. She loved me and had added to her organizational chart myself and an Assistant Contract Manager. The assistant and I were on the same level, except she didn’t think so. No way was a Black woman going to be on the same level as she, to her thinking, so she gave me grief, tried to dump her work on me.

Not planning to go back and repeat what I'd experienced with the witches, I managed to fend the assistant off at, maybe not every turn, but enough so that she was infuriated with me most days.

One day she was so pissed that, while working out in the company gym, she confided in a guy working out, a guy who was on my team and told me everything she said. Which was, “She doesn’t know her place. I’m going to break her”.

That woman had Black friends, so of course she’d never have accepted the label of racist. Again, it was about me not fitting the mold of what she thought a Black person was to be ─ LESS.

When an additional manager was later hired to be placed over my boss, for the explicit purpose of firing me (CEO went to a lot of trouble, over a number of years, trying to run me out of the company) ─ which, in the end that additional manager did not and could not. She tried by first, the first week she was hired, calling me in to say "They don't like you here. Why don't you go. Just go."

I played stupid. I knew the "they" was just a handful of folks, the klan people, so I acted dumb, "Why should I go? I just got here".

She didn't have an answer, so that was that and she ended up liking me as well. Yet and still there was an expectation she'd never have expected of a white secretary when, she one day sent me an email indicating something to the effect that the office she’d been given was dirty, messy. She told me to schedule some time to come in and clean it, straighten it up for her.

What am I, the maid Prissy from Gone With the Wind, thought I.

I couldn’t say no, couldn’t refuse, because I’d have been written up for insubordination. I just didn’t do it. Pretended the request never happened.

I was like a brick wall, visibly non reactive to the request and her frustration at not being able to get to me.

There was nothing she could do about my not cleaning her office, because it was an improper request and she knew it gave me leverage should a harassment lawsuit ever ensue as a result of everything going on as a whole.

She straightened up the office herself, and could be heard angrily throwing things around, after which she went to the company gym to work off her rage. LOL. 

That manager ended up, if not liking me, at least respecting me, depending on my work skills. She gave me a good review, and quit when the CEO kept pushing her to get rid of me.

So all of this to say there's not a doubt in my mind that there were fractions in the palace who treated Megan differently, thinking here comes this Black girl who doesn’t know her place, and that the royals themselves, though not a racist family per se, had expectations of Megan to be LESS than they, subservient, not equal, and for sure were worried Archie’s skin color would not be an acceptable color.

The people who think they are not racist just don't get it. Don't get how treating a person differently damages a person to the core and IS racist behavior.

Flashbacks

There were some interesting comments on facebook last night having to do with Piers Morgan walking off set because he was being called out over his unflattering comments, constant bashing of Megan Markle, and discrediting her account of suicidal thoughts and racism.

Mostly, the comments were how it would now be a Good Morning Britain with Piers off the show, and comments calling Piers a “snowflake” who could dish it out but not take it.

For me, one comment summed it up nicely.

I’ve got a lot of stuff buried in my memory vault, ugly incidents that I’ve written about in a BlackandBlue blog I used to maintain, but never talked it out. Thus, there’s so much stuff fermenting down in the vault only to come up when something, like that comment, brings it up.

I’ve spoken before about most of my working years being nightmares I seriously doubt any of you can relate to. That I had children to feed, clothe, house, so I’d had no choice but to swallow and not complain about all the racism, abuse of authority, etc.

That didn’t mean I didn’t find my own petty under the wire ways of striking back/protecting myself. One of which was, when I worked with the three witches at the law firm who’d put on a show during Secretary’s Week, by gifting me with flowers and taking me to lunch on Secretary’s Day, I’d deliberately leave the flowers on the counter behind me, sans water, so they’d die quickly.

As for those lunches ... treat me like crap all the other 51 weeks of the year, but give me flowers Secretary’s Week, and take me to lunch Secretary’s Day, so you can show off to the other attorneys how good you are to your slave.

This homey wasn’t having it. So, what I did was to begin scheduling my vacations to coincide with secretary’s week, leaving the witches nowhere to go, nothing to do with their so-called magnanimous selves.

After about the third year of my doing so, I think the witches finally caught on that I was purposely disrespecting them and struck back by taking the temp out and feting him just to show me a thing or two.

They didn’t ─ show me a thing or two. Instead, when the temp told me about how well and over the top they’d treated him that week, I filled him in on why I didn’t want to eat with them, and we had a good laugh at their expense and became steadfast friends ─ my friend Q that I’ve mentioned on the blog as being a friend now for over 20 years and the only friend whose events I travel to attend.

But that’s not the memory the comment about Piers brought up from the vault. It’s just an associated memory that tickled me.

So anyway, what came up was when I retired from the agency that had a heavy klan presence.

I survived everything the klan girls and guys threw at me ─ trying to run me out, because the head klansman (the CEO) wanted it so.

They couldn’t fire me or get anyone of the people they later hired with specific instructions to fire me do so, because I had a stellar background in the secretarial field and, try as they did to break me, cause me to react, I kept a smile on my face, behaved professionally, never gave them a reason. Which drove them crazy. LOL.

Very long story short, Karma got them in the end ─ the head klansman (CEO) retired just ahead of an indictment for misuse of government funds, the other klan guys began jumping ship to other jobs before they got caught and, with the head of the klan gone, his overseer and other klan guys gone, the klan girls retreating back to being on the down low and the weasly klansman also on the down low because he had not the skills to go elsewhere, the work environment became boring. So boring that I felt my work, spiritually speaking (that I was placed there because I was the one who could stand still and be the catalyst that ultimately busted that klan crap up) was done. When a package was being offered to anyone who wanted it, I turned in my retirement papers.

Once I submitted my paperwork, the weasly klansman had the nerves to say the department director (who was named Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde in the blog I kept at that time) wanted to host a retirement party for me.

I made it clear that I didn’t want a party, saying it would be disingenuous, and thought that was the end of that. That my going away would be a luncheon that had been arranged by friendly coworkers from my department and other departments.

That is, I thought so until I got a telephone call from someone in another department, aware of how I felt, asking if I was going to attend the Open House.

"What open house?" asked I.

"An email just went out that says we are all invited to an Open House to celebrate your retirement ... Thursday, August 26, from 3:00 to 4:00 p.m.".

"I won't be there. I just can't do it" replied I.

As to why I couldn’t do it, I pulled up that old blog (no longer on line, but much of which has been saved to flash drive), and dug up a blurb.

"The last two weekends have been spoiled by images of Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde. I can't get him out of my head. I keep seeing his smug face and hearing his voice when he said and did hurtful things ... like when he gave credit for my accomplishments to other departments and when he left me out of training pertinent to my position and made me beg him ... and when he talked down to me as though I were an idiot when I asked a question ... and how he did not support me when I asked for his help in dealing with his buddies in IT when the website was down for four months ... and when I asked for his help with the obnoxious temp. He's totally just screwed up my work flow and the work flow of the department. I was there for him and he used me and hurt me and failed me and everyone else in every way possible, so I've reached the point where I am so disgusted by him and so disgusted with him that I want nothing more to do with him. I'm polite, as always. I do my job as always, but I am otherwise as cold and distant as cold and distant can be, and I'm really struggling to heal and get beyond how I feel about him. To go to this party would just damage me further, so I'm not going. I will be calling in with a migraine that day. If it embarrasses him and makes him look bad ... well then tough. He didn't care when he hurt me. Now it's me who doesn't care."

Just like with the witches, his only reason for the party was an opportunity to put on a performance, promote himself as such a great caring magnanimous leader. I wasn’t going to give him any more of me than he’d already taken by participating in his act of phony sincerity, so I actually did call in with a migraine that day.

It embarrassed and hurt him greatly and, I rubbed salt in his wound by recovering from the migraine and returning to the office the following day. Not to mention, he had to look at me, in the office until my official retirement date (the 31st). Plus, I had that luncheon with my company besties.

Theme of that luncheon was "These Boots Are Made for Walking".

Weasly klansman, after going along with all that racist crap for years and years, when head klansman was in power, had the nerves to take it upon himself to tell me “You shouldn’t have done that”, meaning I should not have absented myself from Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde's party, embarrassed him thusly.

Yeah, sure, some people just keep dishing it out, expecting others to keep quiet, take it, not find a way to get the hurt out.

I’ll admit my ways have been petty, underhanded, but removing myself ─ by feigning illness, from lunch with the witches, a party with Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde was what I could get away with, all I had to work with.