I have a big mouth. I am a very opinionated, very blunt, very honest person. I will tell you that your pants make you look ugly, or that you have snot hanging from your nose. If you smell bad, I’ll let you know, and if you’re pissing me off, you’ll be well aware of that as well.
The thing is, I just don’t have the mental energy to pussyfoot around you. I am going to get my point across and be done with it. I actually don’t like the physical task of speaking, so the fewer words I have to say (usually), the better. Plus, I really have trouble understanding the logic behind building up to something that’s very simple to say.
Just be out with it!
Now granted, I know that this is not really the most commonly acceptable way to converse in our society. Most people would like to be sweet about things and not offend or hurt anybody. I figure that I’m going to offend them somehow anyways (how did I know you had a traumatic event involving fruit salad when you were 9? Sheesh!), so I won’t waste my time trying to avoid the inevitable.
Now, I’m not a total social retard, so I DO know when to reign the bitchy mouth in and put the ‘you’re special, I’m special, we’re all special’ act into effect. That mostly happens between 8:30 and 5:00. Mostly.
However, there was one day about two years ago or so that my happy friendly special way of speaking was totally steamrolled by my blunt, too honest, maybe a bit harsh way of speaking. Old blunt Talea was in full force and taking no prisoners. Or hostages. Whatever that saying is.
Let me set the stage. *Insert Wayne’s World wavy hands and trippy music, triggering a trip to the past*
I was working as an office manager at another job, and was in charge of a glorified telemarketing department, amongst a few other things. Telemarketing sucks, so the turnover was ridiculous. Very few people stuck around for longer than a full week, at which point they realized that the job sucked some big time ass. But, as with any job, there were some folks that seemed to like it, and really stuck it out, despite the humiliation, crap pay and lack of benefits. I watched the revolving door of employees spin round and round until one day, in HE spun.
This particular guy made a big first impression. First, he’s a big fat guy, so you notice him. Second, he’s loud. Third, he seems to know a bit about everything, so he is the King of Small Talk (which earns no points in my book, but did make me notice him while he walked around chatting it up with anyone and everyone). He even managed to throw a few Saskatchewan tidbits my way.
I was immediately suspicious, as was this cat.
Something was off with this guy. Every morning, he’d rumble in, bellowing ‘Good Morning! It’s gonna be a GREAT day!’, complete with the arm swing and everything. He did NOT sit right with me.
Over time, he quickly befriended the big wigs and had them eating out of his palm. My relationship with him deteriorated very rapidly. He just seemed totally full of shit to me. I let him know as much. There was little to no love lost in our relationship.
One of his regular habits that he seemed to enjoy was pulling in members of a seperate but associated division and talking to them in a very hush-hush top-secret sort of manner. Frankly, I just did the paperwork, so I didn’t care what type of crap they had going on between themselves. But after watching him do this and walk away from conversations he’d be involved in to go talk to someone he deemed more worthy of his bullshit, leaving the other person standing there gaping, I’d had enough.
So one day when he pulled someone into my work area (which was solely mine and he had no reason to be in there, but to draw attention to himself), I thought it was slightly uncalled for.
*This is where my big, blunt mouth comes back into the story*
He sat behind me, doing his best stage whisper with another employee. After a few nasty glances in his direction, I piped up.
ME: “You know John, it’s really rude to whisper in someone else’s presence.” (Am I right? I know!)
HIM: *Sitting with his back to me, stops talking and spins around*: “WHAT did you just say?”
ME: “I said, ‘It is RUDE to whisper in someone else’s presence. If you have something to say, I recommend you step out of the office or into an empty room.” *Bug my eyes out, shake my head and lean forward in the universal, ‘uh….yeah….so?’ movement*
HIM: *Wheels his chair over to about a foot in front of me, at volume setting 11: “You know Talea, I have had ENOUGH of your fucking ATTITUDE, you selfish little bleepbleep (*^*%^$*^%*^)(*&^&^$$W#@#!#!$&#*^%(&*^(^&^$^%#^#$%@#@@!# Would you please SHUT UP AND FUCK OFF??”
ME: “John!! That was highly unprofessional!” (In a totally mock ‘aghast’ tone, completely sarcastic, intended only to ratchet him up further)
He was Enraged. Capital E. Bright red, heavy breathing, sweating, balled up fists, En-raged. He got up and stormed out of the area, to the very quiet and very stunned main area. Everybody heard him lose his fucking mind.
Honestly, in my very unflattering cockiness, I was amused. He’d just blown his nice guy cover. I had no nice girl cover to blow, so I’d come out relatively unscathed.
Then he stomped back over for his finishing round. I don’t even remember what he said to me, I’m sure it involved the words ‘bitch’ and ‘fuck’ and ‘hate’ and ‘enough of you’. I just sat there calmly, watching him get angrier and angrier.
After I was called in and told that I would rather work in a janitor’s office with rancid Lysol dripping on my head than work with him again, I thought the ordeal was over.
UNTIL a while ago. While flipping through the channels, I stumbled onto W-FIVE, a lame Canadian documentary show that exposes scams, creeps and weirdos for the safety of all Canucks. I about shit my pants when I saw HIM on the screen.
He was on the documentary for being a professional con artist, which explains the smoothness. He likes to pray on women through Lavalife and lie through his teeth in general, which isn’t the point. He’s been in jail TWICE for assaulting women. Apparently, he has a bit of a rage/temper issue. THAT is the point.
I was retroactively terrified.
I flashed back to that then-funny confrontation and my oh-so-fucking-witty, cool, calm and collected response intended to do nothing but to piss him off more.
Perhaps in this one instance, speaking my mind with no filtering was a bad idea. I probably could have just let him whisper his lame ass craziness to others. But no. Talea had to speak her mind, had to open her big mouth. I’m lucky the bastard didn’t clock me right then and there.
Have I learned to keep my mouth shut since this revelation? No. After all, it was on CBC. Everyone knows Canadian television is garbage. Who the hell pays attention to that crap? I’m a loudmouth, not an idiot.