Richard Pryor said it best in his rendition of Mudbone on his 'Bicentennial Nigger' album .... "How long?.... How long must this bullshit go on?...."
If you haven't heard the routine, you'll not have a clue as to what I'm referring. If you have heard the Mudbone routine, you'll not only understand what I'm saying, but what the great Mr. Pryor was saying and the accent he used while verbally portraying a southern Baptist preacher fed up with the bullshit that life, and those seemingly in control of our lives, doles out to each of us on a daily basis.
I now ask that same question... 'How long must this bullshit go on?...." as I face not only minor personal dilemmas but major issues facing both me and those closest to me.
"But, Jeff...." you may ask.... "what can be so bad as to reach a point of decisiveness that may or may not affect your future and reality as you know it?"....
Or maybe you're not asking that question, but now you know where my head is going.
I'll start with the mundane, my own personal circumstances. To me, my circumstances in life are nothing more than mosquitoes
It is now 1:53am. In twelve hours I will be sitting in front of the desk of a man who considers himself my boss and superior. That's an entirely different blog. He will begin the conversation, as the newest head of our floundering organization, by expounding upon the company's expectations. Yadda, Yadda, Yadda, ho hum, ho hum, it's off to 'work' we go... again. His zest for bringing new blood into a broken artery will soon be replaced by his disdain for my own expectations and experience. Then, the Hell that is waiting for me will be unleashed due to another's dumber than shit decisions that occurred this past weekend that circumvented the entire organization's directives.
Oops. I shouldn't question a man in a suit. STFU. Apparently, corporate america hasn't had enough of me ... yet. I imagine that I'll be told directives, shown pie charts, reminded of chains of command and given a 'mutually understood' agreement that non-compliance to the rules will result in some type of punishment or, *gasp* termination. Please. Really? I plan on carrying into this farce of a meeting a copy of my personal resume that will most likely scare the bejezzus out of the one who calls himself my superior.
How long must this bullshit go on? How long must I play by the rules of corporate structure and those placed in power who would be better at barking for the Yak Lady at the Loudoun County Fair? (I speak to you, David, Mr. F&B guy... you make people like me appear as genius (which I am) while you further dig your hole to obscurity).
Now... whew ... I'd like to change gears a bit. However, the topic of controlling, self-loving , grandiose individuals remains the same.
Doctor's office receptionists .... what a fuckin' waste of time it is to talk to these people. Apparently, a high school diploma and one semester a community college studying bookkeeping or medical transcription is enough to steer a patient away from answers and, more importantly, needed medication.
Since when... nevermind... dumb start to a dumb question...
So, doctors now rely on office note-takers to dispense medical advice and rely on their own judgement as to when seeing the doctor, or simply speaking to a nurse... a fucking nurse.... is necessary.
A bit more background... my wife, love of my life, soulmate and best part of me was just today given a diagnoses as having Lyme disease. After my joke of 'will you be tangy when I lick you?' I learned that the receptionist ... yes, the one trained to answer a phone.... told my wife that she can see her doctor in two weeks at an additional cost of $150. A visit that will consist of, get this, picking up a prescription to treat her condition.
1). Two Weeks.
2). $150
3). It was a fucking receptionist. Not a nurse, not the doctor, but a woman who's lot in life is to record the practice's voicemail message and accept credit cards for payment when insurance says, "This place isn't worthy of coverage by our company."
Red flag. By the way, I'm a bit pissed off, can you tell? Controlling others through smiling intimidation, whether a receptionist or employer just doesn't sit well with me.
How long, how long must this bullshit go on? The answer is right in front of us.... always has been and always will be.... The bullshit will go on as long as we allow it to go on. It's about control. Who has the control? You? Me? A dumbass receptionist? A shit for brains F&B director?
The answer is easy and hard to swallow.... the only one who has control of circumstances in ones' life is the one living it. That's you. That's me. Done, end of story. The bullshit ends when we claim our lives as our own, despite the circumstances.
Bluntly, fuck those who disagree. My life, your life, is not their domain. I want answers now and medications now for my wife so that she can be healthy and happy. Not two weeks and $150 later. Yes, fuck that.
I also want to be taken seriously for who I am and what I've done and can do by those who apparently view me as nothing more than a number not wearing a suit. Put me in a suit, I own you. Test me mentally, you will wither away in a heap of dung piled with beetles (not you, the reader, but those who claim to have superiority over me).
I rarely speak this way. I never, ever, toot my horn because, quite frankly, I'm not as limber as I once was... haha.
But enough is enough. How long must this bullshit go on? No longer for me. Or, my wife. Or, for anyone else I care about.
I call you to the mat, control. You and your minions who smile to my face while plotting my demise. As another wonderful, insightful comedian, Steve Martin, once said in 'Planes, Trains and Automobiles', .... 'You're fucking with the wrong guy...."
Amen. So let it be written, so let it be done. And, oh yeah, holy shit.
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