Who Won The War?
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Why can't it be like it was?

Friday, September 10, 2004
I know this sounds treacherous, but I really fucking hate working with most women. We're all so afraid of causing a scene that we'll basically turn inside out to keep from confronting one another. THere are exceptions to this rule: Jean and Nik come to mind. But here at work, and at other offices, it's the women who turn out to be my biggest headaches. Women who won't tell me to my face that something I'm doing is bothering them. No, they'd rather stew in their own juices for weeks before going to a third party, who misinterprets the degree of their distress and ends up cutting me a new one. Or women who can't just plain admit that they don't like me, and become so incredibly two-faced that it's a wonder they don't go bankrupt on lipstick.
I love working with direct people. For most of my working life, these have been men. Sure, it's not always easy: direct people have a disconcerting way of saying "you're fucking up" when you're fucking up. But I really feel so much more comfortable around direct people. And so damned uncomfortable around indirect people, no matter how nice or popular they might be.


posted by Hane2SO4 5:10 PM
. . .


. . .