Calling All Bitchez!

So.

Today, at the cafe (oh, dear, it's always a cafe these days, with the dissertating) I saw that the prized bay window niche was free for my taking and I took it. Because who doesn't want a 180-degree view of the world at large while taking one's forced march down the specialized and over-specific?

But, what I didn't realize is how much this particular cafe was a destination for the business meeting (earphones in, ambient noise out, normally) and that this particular window niche is a total commitment, should two or three people take the neighboring table and block all the few narrow points of egress otherwise available.

The result was that in my six hours writing about interiority and botany in the Romantic era, I was treated to not one but three consecutive long business meetings for exit-blocking neighbors. One of which began with a debate over the relative merits of kale vs. dandelion greens as a salad component, and turned out to be a catering contract where there were a lot of high-flown opinions and misplaced passions about vegetables (vegetables are fine and wonderful in their supporting role, but nobody goes home talking about the broccoli rabe, dammit). Another of which turned out to be a gossip session about the wedding plans of a coworker. I don't know whether my sympathies are more repulsed by materialist bridezillas or their backstabbing besties. But either way, I always make a note to fill my gratitude journal with effusive thanks for the fact that my friends all either came to me married or are not the marrying kind.

Conclusion: Oh shut up and leave so I can squeeze out for a cigarette without making a big production of your or my "agreeableness" in accommodating my fat ass.

But the business meeting between the two extremely "genteel" men really perked up my ears. For one, they were talking finance, which one does not see so often in my particular hipster neighborhood. I'm used to only seeing such economically-advantaged in their Harvard B-School ass-hat stomping grounds, where they feel ordering Jack neat is the very most leading edge of taste and it's OK to holler at obviously poor strangers (me) that they couldn't leverage their entitlement into untold and unearned millions (or billions). So two middle-aged gay boys talking about finance in the most civilized of terms was... novel.

But it was the raison d'etre for the meeting that really got me.

One financier had summoned the other for advice on how to deal with a problem character who was not "taking the hint" from his performance reviews. By not taking the hint I mean, he was told directly what the problem was, and not only was he defensive in taking criticism from his boss, he had no problem disregarding the recommendations entirely. And saying so, in front of his coworkers.

The problem: he was "ageist" and "too focused on beauty" of his clientele and coworkers and was apparently alienating everybody--the paying everybodies included--despite being "otherwise very talented." And they both talked about how offering mild correction would be a benefit to all, including his own personal growth. There was much talk about his personal growth.

Let me now confess that I will be doing some serious reading between the lines. I am imagining some jack-off tool who thinks that all value in women begins and ends tits and ass and is extremely vocal about it. I say this because there seems to be some serious overlap between dudely bros who think "ugly" women in any context are an insurmountable affront to their nuts and berries and dudely bros who think they are entitled to be the financial masters of the universe. If you don't believe me, recall the existence of Wall Street, and its present pathetic sequel (the latter of which appears to be some creepy Oedipal yet homosocial wrangling over the right to money and daughterly pussy, at least based on the trailer). Also, just trust me. They are all over this town. And it's not like this is Manhattan, you know? Beyond the ladies, I would further guess that anybody who strayed farther from his dudely world would present an existential crisis, should he or she or ze make his or her or hir existence unignorable.

So two things:

(1) What talent in finance--that profession in which driving the entire country into the effin' ground is rewarded with enough government cheese to bloat the bonus checks to historical record size the very next year for the very same people--is so effin' rare that someone can roam the cubicles undercutting the boss's authori-tay and said boss to have to justify an almost/not-quite smack down on the grounds of Oprah-tastic personal growth? You're a couple of gay dudes--you know what balls are. Find them--use them--silverback that poo-flingin' monkey into his place. Or replace him. They are a dime a dozen here and everywhere: and in the words of the immortal Beyonce, he shouldn't ever for a second get to thinking he's irreplaceable (for all his personal convictions of omnipotence).

(2) Because: I am quite certain that dude is spreading his bile among all his old, gay, lady, fat, uggos clientele and coworkers--to their daily, exquisite torture. And I am quite certain that flat out, pure principles first, nobody deserves this. And I am equally quite certain that no amount of talent can counteract the horror of finding, that when wanting to hand over some large sum of money to some probably not-quite well-known company, you are not taken seriously because you are old, gay, female, fat, or otherwise aesthetically tool-penis deflating. And then you don't want to hand over your money anymore. Pure principle aside, bad business.

So far, so obvious.

But, it needs to be stated.

For one, if you are in a position of power of any kind, don't put up with the kind of behavior that always dragged you down. Don't apologize. Be angry. It's OK to be angry, and it's OK to fire somebody, who, frankly, is a legal liability. You're the boss in a bad economy and untapped talent abounds--use it for the forces of good and hire someone who at least can swallow their vile hatred well enough to treat people with basic decency. What makes you miserable surely makes others miserable as well.

But, I know the motivation. I teach at a fancy-pants school. Everybody here thinks their shit don't stink, and relies on every cheap trick in the book to make me feel like it's my fault I smell an atrocious smell and not their gassy asses. For instance, women are not supposed to be bitchy--and criticism and rigorous standards are so bitchy. I'm sure same and/or similar standards apply to people who don't fit the white/straight/dudebro/able-bodied/young prescription. But at the end of the day, I'm in charge (sort of) and never have socialize with these sorts in actual fact--I can be the bitch, and it doesn't matter to me. But it does matter for those students who actually try and actually succeed, and to those who want to be in a class sans-asshattery. Draw conclusions about your underlings. If you wouldn't invite him to meet your partner over drinks, you need not worry about sacrificing your ethics to appearing agreeable.

At a certain point, there comes a day when, having boot-strapped, ass-kissed, and cock-sucked your way into a position of authority, you, the non-white/straight/dudebro/able-bodied/young person can actually use it.

Oh, please use it, for the little people who have no power and have to take the lashings of dudebro asshattery with patience and resigned wisdom! Don't lapse into uncertain apologia and euphemism! Don't be so effin' agreeable!

Don't excuse! Don't ameliorate! Obliterate!

[There are pom-poms in my imagination at this point.]