Echo

I’m off to Taiwan! Got my new iPod loaded up with almost 1,000 songs, a bunch of books that I’ll probably never crack open and of course, my camera and notebook. We’ll see how much trouble-for-the-sake-of-anecdotes I can get into. I’ll try to post from overseas. In the meantime, be good, no cussing and don’t run with scissors in the house while I’m gone. Daddy has a heart condition.

This pre-booty call agreement (hereinafter referred to as the “Agreement”) is entered into on the _____day of __________, 2004, by_______________________ (hereinafter referred to as “Your Mutherfucking Sex Goddess”), between ____________and______________.

THIS AGREEMENT SHALL COVER THE FOLLOWING RULES AND PRINCIPLES:

1. Calls must be made at least 2 hours prior to the time when the bars close. Anything less will earn you the title of “Inconsiderate Asshole” and your name and contact information will be recorded on the “Wall of Submissive Pleasure” in the Greyhound Bus Terminal Men’s Room.

2. You must arrange for your own transportation and for payment of said transportation. Your Mutherfucking Sex Goddess is not picking your drunk ass up from the titty bar or paying for your taxi.

2. Buying [1] drink does not constitute the price of admission into the den of sexual debauchery. Your Mutherfucking Sex Goddess is not a six-dollar whore. You must purchase at least a [3] drink minimum. [5] if you’re ugly.

3. Do not ask if it’s the biggest Your Mutherfucking Sex Goddess has ever seen. You know it’s not.

4. And taking a running start to ram yourself into your partner will not make it seem bigger.

5. Do not demand to be referred to as “Daddy,” “Pappy,” “Papito,” “Father McGinley” or any variation of the aforementioned. The first infraction of this rule will result in a warning; the second will be penalized by an immediate call to your “Mommy” to discuss her son’s aberrant sexual preferences.

6. The use of toys and other accoutrements will be initiated at the discretion of Your Mutherfucking Sex Goddess. Any that you bring that you’ve obviously used in some other drunk ho is unacceptable and nasty.

7. Do not bring sentimental gifts. If we really liked and respected you, we wouldn’t have let you come over.

8. Do not pretend to fall asleep when Your Mutherfucking Sex Goddess goes into the bathroom to get you a towel to clean up, leaving her to sleep on the wet spot. You will be immediately defenestrated.

9. Do not attempt for a marathon session. Endurance without results is boring and monotonous, and will result in minus 20 points when your performance is round-table analyzed by the girls at brunch the next day.

10. Do not ask us if it was good, or say “That was amazing” to goad us into making a reciprocal statement. If you need to ask, it probably wasn’t.

11. Don’t bother saying, “I’ll call you” as you scramble for your clothes as you leave. Your Mutherfucking Sex Goddess is already asleep and dreaming about someone whom she actually gives a fuck about.

14. Don’t be offended if Your Mutherfucking Sex Goddess does not remember your name. In your drunken state, you probably don’t remember it either.

15. You can not help yourself to anything in the fridge. Unless you want to get a bill in the mail.

16. Freshen up before you show up. Boys who stank, get no skank.

17. You will not revise or embellish the night’s events to put your prowess in a better light to your circle of acquaintances after the fact. You will tell the truth—that you were too drunk to get it up, that you bit Your Mutherfucking Sex Goddess’ knee thinking it was her clitoris and thought you made her orgasm when she screamed in pain, that you burst into tears for no apparent reason during your sixth attempt at making something happen shortly before you fell off the side of the bed and passed out. And that you left wearing her underwear.

The aforementioned rules may only be altered by the holder of the agreement. If the other party attempts to change or alter any terms of this Agreement, it will automatically become null and void and you will then be removed from the BOOTY CALL LIST and deleted from phone memory and email list. In other words, you will be BLOCKED from all communications until your silly ass understands the rules.

Participating Party

Signature_______________________________________
Date: ________________

Participating Party

Signature_______________________________________
Date: ________________

From : Michael S
Sent : Wednesday, May 26, 2004 2:41 PM

Subject : Cheer up

Dear Julia

I love you. I treat you out on Friday, May 28, 2004 to BOBA. OK? I hope you are doing well. You are a great sister and a nice friend.

I’m Afraid of Americans (David Bowie)
Blow (DJ Keoki)
She Wants to Move (N.E.R.D.)
About Her (Malcolm McLaren)
Wichita Lineman (Kool & the Gang)
Time Is Running Out (Muse)
1st Things 1st (Phantom Planet)
Bukowski (Modest Mouse)
Sex (Lovage)
I Shall Believe (Sheryl Crow)
Wonderwall (Ryan Adams)
Lose You (Pete Yorn)
The End of the World (Bill Frisell)
Bound for the Floor (Local H)
Far Behind (Candlebox)
Ridiculous Thoughts (Cranberries)
Closer (NIN)
I Whupped Batman’s Ass (Wesley Willis) [okay, not really, but this song is HILARIOUS]

And of course, I can’t go anywhere without The Bends (Radiohead), White Ladder (David Gray), Australia (Howie Day), It’s a Wonderful Life (Sparklehorse), No Angel/Life For Rent (Dido), Parachutes (Coldplay). Otherwise, I can’t get to sleep.

Damn my Archos player for crapping out.

And if you guys ever wonder why I get so confused about dating, let me direct your attention to what I’m surrounded by at the office. One coworker just had his divorce finalized and is dating a woman he met on jdate whom he declared he loved after a few dates. One met a girl living in China on match.com and will be flying out to meet her, and if they like each other, he’s going to “make her my wife.” One is engaged, but finally found someone else to “marry” to stay in the country (she had asked me to ask Brian who couldn’t believe I called him at work to ask him). One married an ex-lesbian, and they have a baby daughter and are expecting another; he and his wife frequently go out and pick up women at dance clubs to take home for threesomes. He’s my favorite because his stories are crazy. So seriously. I’m just a nice, normal (albeit quirky and antic-prone) girl next door from the suburbs of Northern California. Are there people in LA who just do normal shit?

And by the way…what does the BD of BDSM stand for? I’m trying to respond to an ad.

(i’m TOTALLY kidding)

I dropped Kevin off at the airport today. On the way there, I asked him if he was really going to invite that bartender from the Abbey to Taiwan. He said yes, and lamented at not having asked him if he had a boyfriend. Then again, we agreed that to some degree, a lot of people in LA can be “kept” if you have money so attached or not attached is a flimsy term. That makes me sad. I would never want someone who can be lured by material goods. It makes them cheap. I don’t care how physically beautiful they are, their lackluster insides create a package that doesn’t interest me. I’ve noticed that I’ve met a lot of materialistic people out here. I don’t mean the shallow people whom you expect to be dumb and materialistic. I mean the otherwise intelligent people. I guess being intelligent doesn’t exclude being materialistic. Hmm. I don’t know why I connected the two. Anyway, I hate materialistic people. I don’t like letting people I don’t know well find out what I drive, or see my place, because I want to figure out who they are first and let them get to know me first before that other stuff comes into play. Because I like nice things; I like things that are reliable and beautiful and that make me comfortable, but I don’t like things solely for what they cost or for the sake of what they say about status or consumer superiority. If it’s nice, expensive or not, it’s the same to me. I don’t want people to assume that I’m materialistic, and I don’t want people who are materialistic anywhere near me just because I have nice things. I prefer a guy who drives a Camry over a guy who drives a Porsche (two-seaters are impractical). I prefer someone wearing clothes that look comfortable over a guy wearing clothes that are slick with name brands clearly defined. $10 t-shirts are awesome. I even design my own. I don’t like super expensive jewelry because it can get lost and that’s a lot of guilt. I dated a guy once who was really materialistic–couldn’t stop obsessing about what people had that he wanted, couldn’t get over the fact that he felt I had a better car and a better place than him. He was so concerned with status. He made himself such a little person with his materialism and insecurity, really quite trashy and lacking in class on the inside. I don’t know what I was doing with him. It made me feel guilty whenever I felt hollow from lacking respect for him during the times when he was overcome by these sentiments, which was constantly. But it was a good lesson in admitting some things that I just can’t handle in a partner.

Ah, the procrastination ramble. I’m rambling because I don’t want to go to bed. I’ve been having nightmares the last few nights. But I’d better go so I don’t start nodding off at work again tomorrow.

My mom called yesterday and told me that my aunt’s friend Kevin would be in Los Angeles today and if he could stay with me. They gave him my brother’s set of keys to my place and I met up with him when I got home from work today. Kevin is visiting from Taiwan and is preparing to open a gay bar in the hip downtown area of Taipei so he wanted to check out the WeHo bars and get ideas for decor. His friend Cat picked us up and she’s a total Aries. I mean, fast-talking, aggressive ludicrous-speed driving and very take-charge. It was interesting. I took them to the Abbey, the place next door and then Fiesta Cantina to see if Robert was working. We went back to the Abbey for drinks since they have the best drinks in town. I ordered a blueberry martini for Kevin and had a rasberry mojito myself. The bartender was this lean latino guy and I told him that Kevin was opening a bar in Taiwan and wanted to take a picture of him. So we got pictures of him mashing my mojito, muscles rippling. DAAAAMN. He said he was willing to go to Taiwan for a week to train the bartenders and gave us his number and email. Totally hooked Kevin up!

Afterwards, I showed his friend my place because she couldn’t understand why I spend most of my paycheck on it. I gave her the tour and she admitted it was worth it…I have the sweetest place in LA. The place is pure contentment. You’d have to walk in to understand…there’s something about it. I showed her my bedroom and she was envious…I’m telling you…my bedroom is the best place on earth to wake up. Totally zen and peaceful, especially when the light comes in in the morning. And the California King that you can get lost for weeks in. It’s my haven. The only thing that could possibly make it better would be falling asleep and waking up to the sound of the ocean, waves crashing outside. You would think with my pad I’d be pimpin’…but I’m not.

It’s only Monday but I’m ready for the week to be over. I leave for Taiwan on Friday and I really want to get an IPod so I’ll have music on the trip. But I don’t know if I can justify spending $400. I’m probably going to have my birthday party at Falcon in Hollywood, but I have to confirm…I need to have all this planned out before I go, since I get back the week of the party. But things are good. I sure can’t complain.

Good night, kids. I hope you’re all having a wonderful week.

http://www.takeoneforthecountry.com/

I was on my way to the gym today, stopped at a light, and saw this older black guy standing on the curb outside of Carl’s Jr., dancing to music from a Walkman and taking a streaming piss. Yes, he was boogieing to music with his penis in hand for all the world to see. You couldn’t not look. At least, I couldn’t. I was both repelled and envious…I sure as hell can’t dance when I’m taking a public piss.

Just watched Elephant. What the fuck, Gus? 1. Does anyone in this movie go to class?!? 2. What was with the walking scenes? 3. Eagerly awaiting Elephant 2: The Shower Scene.

Some random driving thoughts as I near a new, improved Version 2.6 chapter of my life. Or, things I’ve learned in the last year:

In better news, I’m cleared for shooting around after tomorrow. And I’m trying to join a couple of softball teams, so hopefully, this will be a nice outlet for my surplus of energy and a way to meet normal people in this crazy city.

I woke up at 11am and had 3 hours to kill before going to my physical therapy appointment for my back, so I went to visit the kids at Starbucks and to read. They were all going to Wango Tango so they were bouncing off the walls hyper (Calvin called and invited me a few minutes ago, but I can’t go. That was sweet of him though.). I read a few chapters of White Oleander—the 14 year old character was learning about the “power” of beauty and so she gave a guy a blowjob for a bag of weed, just to see how it felt. And it didn’t feel good. That kind of made me sad (that whole book makes me sad. It’s so damn honest). So I left and did what I usually do during times when I’m feeling a little bit lost—I drive without a destination, letting my internal radar guide me to where I need to be.

I ended up at Woodlawn Cemetary in Santa Monica. It’s this little cemetery from the 1800s that’s tucked in the middle of the concrete jungle with a Foster’s Freeze across the street. I drove by it and knew that was where I needed to be so I went in. It was peaceful inside and there were two other people there—a man standing still over a headstone with his head bowed, and an old woman with snow white hair walking with a sense of direction. I followed her, about fifty feet behind, wanting to see where she ended up. She paused occasionally to look up at the sky, her eyes so sad, then exited the cemetary through another gate.

I looked at some markers, thinking about who these people were and what their lives were like. I found a bench under a tree next to a “Loving Grandmother,” and sat quietly, with my eyes closed, feeling the energy around me. The energies of older cemeteries are not as strong and aggressive as those where the recently deceased are buried. I think, after a while, those who have passed on become less and less connected to this world, perhaps as those they left behind cross over as well.

I think that when I die, I don’t want people to bring me flowers. I want them to plant something near my grave, so that these flowers can grow and bloom and live. I want to be marked by a symbol of life, not to be honored with flowers that have been severed from their life force and sacrificed to my memory, in order to slowly die where I lay. I hope that in my lifetime, people will understand my dedication to life, and will honor me with life rather than sacrifices.

I think about how, Michael and I are like turtles without shells. We’re ultra-empaths, and we can feel people’s pain without them even realizing it themselves. We reach out with kindness because it’s the only way we know how to reach out. But man do we get burned. I have always made sure to protect Michael and to make him strong to face the world that is often so cruel because of its own self-loathing, because what he gives to this world, pure kindness and love, is something that the world needs but doesn’t always accept. But sometimes I get scared…who will look out for me?

I walked around some more, turning rightside flowers that had been tipped over by the wind and returning cards that had been blown away from their recipients. Sometimes it was hard to figure out who the cards belonged to, and I had to read them to figure it out. One in particular did not have a name, but was addressed to “Mom,” from a daughter who was still so sad over her mother’s death. She talked about how hard it was not to be able to mail her this card or to say the things she wanted to say to her, and how hard it was that this was the first Mother’s Day without her. She wished that she could call her up just to say how much she appreciated her and to say that she loved her, or to hear her mother say, “I love you.” I stood there reading this card, tears falling down my cheeks, feeling the pain of this woman, and how hard separation is. There was no name on the card and it had been blown onto the sidewalk. It was suddenly really important for me to return this card to the right person. I closed my eyes and prayed, silently, Please…I need your help. Please help me find you. I opened my eyes and walked to a grave about 15 feet away. It was somewhat fresh and had flowers next to it, as well as another card. Robin. Beloved Mother. She passed on earlier this year. I’m positive this was the woman this card belonged to; I put the card next to the flowers, making sure it was secured enough to not be blown away again.

Dear Tony:

Thank you for getting back to us today and for your professionalism regarding this unfortunate incident. As discussed, we would like to file a formal complaint against Mr. Mark Carter.

The initial incident which took place in February occurred when Mark encountered Michael in the area by the Tennis room next to the basketball courts. Mark said to Michael in a very caustic, condescending manner, “Why don’t you act your age.” Later, Michael was in a stall in the bathroom of the men’s locker room; Mark was in the room as well and said, “Fuck you” before walking out. There was no one else in this area, and there had been no verbal exchange between the two parties prior to this comment.

Our family was appalled by this incident and reported it immediately to Grace who handled it very professionally and attentively. We chose not to file an official complaint at the time, as my mother (who was the one talking to Grace) could not identify Mark, and did not want to have Michael look for this man as he was very upset. We decided, given the quality of the establishment, that this was an isolated incident and let the issue drop.

Yesterday evening, on May 13th, 2004, Michael crossed paths with Mark inside the club and Mark called Michael a “Butthole.” Michael’s feelings were extremely hurt and he reported this to his mother, who talked to a manager. Michael identified Mark to the manager and they all approached Mark, who claimed that “he had not seen Michael for months” and that he never went into the Tennis room, which was around where this incident took place.

As a former employee of ClubSport of Fremont, I was enraged and disgusted to hear about these incidents. I clearly remember the establishment’s visionary mission statement and the stringent code of conduct in which employees abide by in order to provide a high level of service and experience to members, and as far as I know, these expectations have not changed. So I do not understand at what point and on what level, this type of conduct is acceptable.

Michael is afflicted with autism which makes him act more immature than his peers. Despite this, he works hard at abiding to social rules and at worst, is overly friendly; but he has never acted in an aggressive or threatening manner.

On the other hand, Mark has made multiple severely ignorant, prejudiced and emotionally-threatening comments to someone who is mentally handicapped. Would he just as easily have asked someone in a wheelchair to “walk like a normal person?” Is this any more or less acceptable? And at what point, in a civilized society, is it okay to call people derogatory names without any provocation? Would he have been as equally brazen to walk up to myself, an able-bodied, able-minded adult female, and call me a “Butthole?” Or someone who is his own size and possesses equal mental capacity? Or did he say these things because of the victim’s lack of ability and lack of articulation to defend himself?

Mark’s prevarications about having not seen Michael for months and about never going into the equipment room by the basketball courts added insult to injury. He has seen Michael on various occasions in the past months; we know this because various members of our family, on accompanying Michael to the gym, have watched Michael suddenly stop in his tracks, frozen in fear, because he is afraid of crossing paths with Mark. But in regards to this particular incident, for Mark to say these lies in front of Michael and deny his actions, knowing that Michael is not as articulate and able to express himself, again begs the question…would Mark have dared to lie to the face of an able-bodied, able-minded person who reported his misconduct? Or is he consciously picking on someone who does not have the ability to defend himself? The implications are morally atrocious.

For this type of incident to take place in such an upscale establishment is shocking, but for this type of disrespectful, debased conduct to be exhibited by a member of the staff is beyond belief. Our family has been members of Clubsport for over 13 years, and is accustomed to courteous, professional and friendly staff members. While we do not feel that the actions of Mark Carter are a true representation of the entire staff or of the overall company philosophy, we hope that the establishment will take into serious consideration whether this type of behavior or personality is something it is comfortable with having represent itself.

Well, whatever. I’m just glad I’m home. As always, I want to protect the privacy of the people who are involved in my semi-public life, but one strange issue was how much he looked and acted like a guy I had dated years ago who had seriously antagonized me. Same mannerisms and personality characteristics, but I did a pretty good job of looking past those to get know him based on his own individuality; despite that, sometimes there’s just no chemistry. But what was really cool was that he taught me how to type the braille alphabet (he teaches Braille to children). Seemed like a nice guy.

I’ve decided that I don’t think I really like dating. I’ve never really liked dating. Because in essence, you’re going out with a stranger. I tend to go out with people and I don’t want things to be awkward so I can be a great conversationalist, be attentive and engaging and make them feel comfortable. When in truth, sometimes there’s nothing there and I just want to get up and say, “I’m sorry but this isn’t going to work” and leave. But I never do. The important lesson to be taken is this–I feel more comfortable getting to know someone casually, platonically, and then deciding I’m interested before things go further. Or I prefer people I get to know through friends, or a mutual activity, or at least, we have gotten to know and respect each other somewhat before going out. Because otherwise, I get myself in situations that I’m too polite to get out of. And I don’t like that. I don’t like that at all.

I’m reading White Oleander which is the book I wish I had written, or could write, or maybe someday, will have gained enough life experience and reflection to write. It’s so poetic and truthful and really captures feelings, situations and life with exacto-knife precision.

Love versus Sex.

Supposedly, for a woman: Love and Sex can not be separated.
Supposedly, for a man: Love and Sex are not the same thing.

Sex is just a physical release.
Sex is the offering of your soul.
Sex caters to our most unevolved instincts.
Sex joins two entities into one.
Sex takes away a part of you.
Sex reminds you that you are whole.
Sex is cruelty in its purest form.
Sex is purity in its cruelest form.

So what the fuck is it?

I think sex and love can easily be separated. Because Love is so much bigger than Sex, and Sex can be had without Love just as Love can be had without Sex.

Women: Don’t use Sex to try to get Love.
Men: Don’t use Sex to try to avoid Love.

Now we all get along, Rodney King.

This is going to be short because I’m about to crash out.

I went to the Dodgers game tonight with Andrea and Lauren. My first Dodgers game ever. While in traffic on the way there, there was a clown car of these trashy white guys who kept opening their doors to spit. It was disgusting. So I ended up having a conversation with this cute guy in a bmw in the next lane right behind them, making fun of those guys. It was pretty much an excuse to talk to him but he was nice and looked for me and waved when we split up at the stadium to go to different lots. I had picked up a couple of 40s before the game as a joke, but Andrea and Lauren made me finish mine, which was not something I thought would even be physically possible. Mind you, I’m Asian so half a noraml drink is my limit. 40 ounces is liquid death. The game was good–coolest thing was Alex Cora’s at bat late in the game. 18 total pitches–he fouls off 14 consecutive pitches and then homers over the right field fence. It was awesome. I cheered, even though I hate the Dodgers (c’mon…I’m a Giants fan. What do you expect?)

I got home and went straight to bed, but the phone rang. It was Tony, asking me if I was at the Dodgers game. I said yes and he said that he was actually in the same section as me, at the bottom of the section. He said he and his friend were checking out girls and he said, “What about that one?” and then realized it was me. That’s funny. I told him that I think about him every time I feed my turtle, because he has a tattoo of a symbol of a turtle on his leg. I wish he had said hi at the game; we could have all sat together. We talked a little bit about baseball and he asked, if he got tickets to the Yankees/Dodgers game, if I would go with him. That sounds like a lot of fun; I’d totally be up to it. I’m just a little bit nervous because we’ve never hung out, just the two of us before, and his roommate has told me that Tony finds me attractive, so that makes me feel shy and nervous. It’s usually best if I don’t know these things. Regardless, Tony’s a really, really nice, considerate guy and a good friend.

In other news, I had my back checked out again and the prognosis is that I’m out somewhere between 3 weeks to 6 months as far as doing anything that’s not swimming or the elliptical machine. I’ve been out with a herniated disk since August, but it’s just not getting any better because I’ll go and do something too physically ambitious and aggravate it again. But they’ve got me on a serious treatment plan for the next few weeks so hopefully the recovery won’t take 6 months. I’ve always been good about working hard and returning from injury ahead of schedule. But then again, I’m not an elastic kid anymore.

As for the comments and emails I’ve gotten about Coffee Bean Guy…seriously, it’s just a minidrama that adds a little bit of spark to my day. Not something I take too seriously. But in truth, I think there’s something weird about someone who will stare at a woman but is so awkward about approaching her. Especially when he’s in his 30s (old enough to be more socially acclimated), is very attractive (looks so much like Ralph Fiennes when he was younger that it’s really creepy) and has social “meetings” every morning, which makes me suspect he’s in the film industry, and probably a producer of some sort (he drives a luxury car) so there’s really no reason for him to seem so shy, except that there’s more to this story…like he’s probably married and knows he shouldn’t be doing this shit. Therefore, as curious as I am about what his deal is, I’m not going to be the one to stick my hands into this thing. I’m just going to theorize about what his deal is behind his back. :)

I told her that this reminded me if a time when I was tutoring, and the student was a no-show. I’m required to wait 15 minutes at the student’s house before leaving, so I was sitting on the steps. It was about 7pm and dark when I see this guy who had been walking along the shoulder of the road when I had first driven up. He sees me and walks up to me and asks me if Jennifer lives here. Only my student and her mother live there and I know that’s not their names so I say, I don’t think so. But maybe. He says, he’s a screenwriter who writes with someone who lives in the house. He tells me that there’s no one home because he’d called 10 minutes ago and no one answered. I’m very guarded because it’s dark and there’s no one around because these are these huge estate houses so the lots are really spread out. I don’t even have my cell phone on me. He’s trying to get information out of me, asking about what I was doing there, where I live, etc., but I was being really guarded and sending out signals that I didn’t want to talk. I want to leave but I had a bad feeling about going to my car, so I figured it was safer to stay put and hope the family came home soon. He kept telling me that no one was home because he had called earlier and that it didn’t look like anyone was coming back, and I kept saying that they would probably be back soon, lying that this happened all the time but they always eventually show up. I was hoping to buy enough time until someone showed up because he was starting to make me very nervous, but I felt it was safer to stay where I was. He asked me if he could borrow my cellphone, but I told him I had left it at home. He said, “Maybe it’s in your car. Where’s your car?” I told him that it wasn’t in my car because I had looked for it earlier and realized I had left it at home. He said, “We should at least check and see if it’s in your car.” I told him, “I KNOW it’s not in my car,” but he said, very firmly, “Let’s go check.” At this point, he was standing so close that he was invading my space and getting really aggressive, and it was coming down to, if he had bad intensions, the tablecloth of pretense was about to be pulled out.

Suddenly, the front door of my student’s house opened and this shirtless blue collar guy with tattoos, long wild hair and body piercings came out. I had never seen him before but figured he was the lesser of the two evils. I told him that I was the tutor but he said my student wasn’t home. I was so terrified that he would close the door but I didn’t want to make it obvious that I was scared of this guy, in case he had a knife or gun or something. So I asked him, very seriously, “Can I PLEASE come in and call her?” He let me in and when we’re far enough away from the front door which was still open, I told him, “That guy says he knows someone named Jennifer who lives in this house.” The guy said, “I’ve never seen him before. I thought he was with you.” And I said, “No, but he seems really suspicious.” So that guy goes outside, then comes back in and tells me, “That guy disappeared. I looked up and down the street but I didn’t see him. He must have taken off.” He walked me back to my car which I was so thankful for.

I called my tutoring company that night and left a message about the incident. When we talked, I briefed them about what happened, but the conversation was steered towards mainly the student missing appointments, etc.

A day later, I was still really tweaked. I was telling some friends about what had happened and realized how scared I had a been. So I called my company and told them that I was really upset about what happened. They asked me what they could do, but pointed out that this kind of thing could have happened anywhere (ie. not when I’m at a student’s house). I didn’t feel like they really wanted to deal with it or act like it was anything outside of a creepy incident, even though, I think if anything had happened to me or another instructor in that situation, it would be a BIG problem for them. I ended up agreeing that there wasn’t really much that could be done and got off the phone, but it never sat right with me. There was not much that could be done, but I wanted to be able to get a phone call back. I wanted to be able to have someone sit down with me, and talk about instructor safety. I felt so fucking expendable from the way they dealt with it.

I asked to be taken off this student a few days later, citing major disciplinary problems which was also very true. I had to leave a message with that request and didn’t receive a call back, so I sent an email to follow-up, and didn’t get an email back. I ended up walking into the office and waiting half an hour to talk to my supervisor, for her to tell me that they were working on trying to switch out instructors. I told her that she needed to tell me definitively that they wouldn’t make me work with this student again. I was fuming that there was a chance they would make me go back. They ended up taking me off her, but the trust was already broken.

I ended up quitting that job really angry. And it wasn’t until I just wrote this stream of consciousness description about what happened that day, having originally set out to write an anecdote about scary LA guys, that I realize how scared I was that night and how invalidated and disregarded I felt at having my safety and concerns minimalized and dismissed. I was furious when I left that job, but I’m so good at hiding my feelings from myself that I never really confronted those feelings.

The exit phone call with the owner was almost intolerable. He was taking it so personally, and so focused on how insecure, wounded and vulnerable an employee leaving made him feel, when in truth, I felt like there were so many things that could have been done that weren’t done. I ended up being very diplomatic and kind on the phone, but was still pissed because when I brought up the incident, it was acknowledged but still not discussed. My point was that this company did not do the things to take care of its employees. It’s faux-humanistic. And the psychological infrastructure is a whirlpool of magnetic dysfunction and I don’t know why.