The Bitch of No Return

This constructo grapevine nickname was based on the demonstrated fact that if you sent your problem children out with The Arf, they would either come back men or they would not come back at all. The vast majority of these problem children were hot blooded teenage boys who came back as men and a credit to the large HVAC company we worked for. The children I gave birth to were all boys and I grew up with 5 brothers. I have extra insight on the inner workings of adolescant boys. The nickname generated (I believe) from a middle aged Peter Pan who had been shuffled from one crew to the next for over a year because of his adolescant behavior. Nobody wanted to work with him and the home office politicians didn't have the guts to fire him. In a gory tale I donae care to tell this morning, I reduced him to tears on the job site and he never came back. The entire company and any associated crews who had had the misfortune of working with him celebrated while I was left an emotional wreck who wanted nothing more than a hole to hide in and a rock to pull over the hole. Excuse me if I miss the party, folks. The series of events by which I reduced this mentally ill man to an emotional shipwreck wasnae a porno picnic for either of us. Sally Sadist I ain't and donae want to be. At this point, I had already invested in over 20 years of therapy to prevent that all to real possibility.

The home office REALLY wanted their EEO token female crew leader. Knowledge wise, I was ready. Emotionally, the many times I had already been the token hire were weighing heavily on me. It doesn't matter what the home office lawyers are declaring on the paperwork. The construction job site is a world that lawyers of both genders are profoundly ignorant of. Nice try, Ms. Steinem. Now get your fucking political rally off my job site. Your tactics make far more sense in a courtroom than on a construction site.

After I earned my grapevine nickname, the pressure for me to take that promotion grew fierce. My personally respected advocates saw me as a great hope for the construction trades, in general. They were convinced that the same problems that were plaguing me were what made working with your hands a disrespected and harder-than-it-had-to-be career calling. The home office lawyers assured me the respect they demanded on paper would rule the job sites as well. The shades of controversy between were intensly diverse. Whatever the stance, the opinions were as intense as a romantic delusion and needed to be shared with the same intensity. I had to listen to the opinions far more often than the opiners had the opportunity to share. By the end of an average work day, I felt like I was trying to turn screws with my tits. Not the ideal tool for the job. . . My sons were 15 and 11. I amnae proud of the parts of my job I wasnae able to leave at work before I dealt with the daily challenges of adolescant children.

Did I officially quit that job before I spiralled into one of the meanest psychotic break in my psycho portfolio? I really can't remember.

Fast forward 23 years to my current worry that the contractor I hired to build my aeroponics lab and rooftop garden has taken the money and run and. . . Gee. . . Why am I having flashbacks to the Bitch of No Return?

Sorting. . .