#when I worked retail I had several co-workers

[dailymanners]

When entering any place of business, such as a store or restaurant, if a staff member greets you, then acknowledge them and greet them back.

Although for many jobs it's a required part of their job to greet you, especially retail workers, receptionists, and restaurant workers to name a few, that doesn't make it feel any less dehumanizing to say "Hello!" to another human being only for them to ignore you. Acknowledging staff members and greeting them back is important for acknowledging their humanity, they are, after all, a human being, and not an automated machine.

This is also important when going to check out at a store. If you approach the cash register, and the cashier greets you, you should acknowledge them and greet them back. Cashiers already have to deal with being dehumanized enough. The least you can do is help humanize them by acknowledging them when they greet you and speak to you.

[astramachina]

This question came to me in the shower and has been nagging me all morning: Mike and Cy. A song comes on while they're out in public. One of them loves it; for the other, it's like sandpaper in his earholes. What song is it, and who's having which reaction? (Sub-question: does Cy notice when an offensively bad song comes on the store's sound system or is he too distracted by The Horrors?) OK baiii~

jamie. jamie. i had a moment of just sitting here, bewildered, elated, relieved that Mike and Cy made a pit stop in someone else's brain for a change. and while in the shower too. i have no idea what's up with these two and their propensity to pop up while someone's in the shower (o7s in chat for their friends), but they're seriously going to need to change their modus operandi if they actually want me to put them to paper.

i knew instantly what song it would be, and then I had to verify that its release date matched up and lo! it did. eerily perfect timing for those trapped within the perpetual horrors of working retail in the early 80s.

there are two very different pictures here. one is of Mike, whose experience with music is severely limited courtesy of growing up in a Spanish speaking country. sure he's heard of Michael Jackson (who hasn't), but most of his daily tunes listenings are upbeat, tropical jams. which he loves, of course! all music is heaven sent to him.

but then he moves to the States, and his co-workers/friends start bombarding him with mix-tapes to get him up to speed. it's all well and good, he appreciates it, but the thing about working at the Mall, or any mall for that matter, is that you WILL be fed the same songs over and over. and over. especially during the night shift. gotta stay awake somehow.

then it happens. a very specific song that blasts through the UK charts then spreads to US radio stations like a contagion. it becomes a hit single for a top grossing movie and then suddenly there's no escape. the True Horrors are listening to Bonnie Tyler's Total Eclipse of the Heart on repeat for weeks at a time.

Mike surely doesn't mind it. in his version of events, that's the song that played when he first spotted Cy across the atrium, the scene playing in slow motion like a proper movie. in reality, it was stupidly crowded and he could barely hear what was playing.

Cy fucking hates it with a passion. and Cy's the kind of guy who will listen to anything as long as it helps drown out the mechanical droning of his bunkerhousing complex. he'll take the weird whispering inside his walls over whatever the fuck Tyler's singing about. he doesn't have a problem with ballads or even the song as a whole, but something about the lyrics makes him gnash his teeth.

it also doesn't help that manning the counter at the tech store is slow going which means, yes, he can and he has counted how many times the song has come on now. (at least five times per eight hour shift).

BUT. Cy likes Mike enough to recognize music as the easiest way for them to bond, and he's not entirely sure why Mike follows him around like a lost puppy when Paul and Dana (the other two of their mall crew) are right there and are way more interesting than him, but he appreciates Mike's honest attempt to be friends.

Cy also doesn't like the Beatles or anything from the 60s (long story) but Mike's neither here nor there on those so I'm not counting that.

[broccoliboix5peepeeman]

Midoriya-sensei AU

Part 4: Can I get your autograph?

Part 3 | Ao3 | Part 5.1

When the children were sent home after lunch, Izuku returned to the staff room and used the recess time to take some notes in his journal dedicated to Serenity Hero: Shoto, which he’d brought with him for the occasion.

While he was homeroom teacher for his first grade class, he taught English—his fluency heavily influenced by his obsession with All Might—and fortnightly Quirk Studies to upper elementary in the afternoon, so he had about twenty minutes before his next class. That was certainly enough time to word-dump everything he'd learnt from Shoto's visit, especially given that the staff room was empty for once; no distractions. It was also ideal because that way none of his co-workers could witness the dopey smile plastered to his face as he wrote.

More handsome in person

Doesn't use honorifics uses honorifics with teachers

Ambidextrous but prioritises his right hand

Good with children—patient, accommodating and blunt (in a good way)

Soft-spoken (voice cooler sexier calmer in person) and doesn't interrupt. Good listener

Smile is better in person. He smiled at me six times! Eyes crinkle and he gets one dimple ♡

Izuku had ten minutes to spare when he finally finished, so didn��t rush as he returned the journal to his bag. As he knelt down to get to his locker though, he heard the door open. Expecting it to be one of the other teachers, Izuku chirped what Todoroki had called a "retail greeting", and zipped up his bag without looking up.

'Good afternoon, Midoriya-sensei.'

Izuku almost jumped out of his skin and hurriedly got to his feet to find Shoto standing by the door, watching him with curious dichromatic eyes. Izuku flushed, partly at their intensity and partly because he literally just had his ass stuck in the air.

'Shoto-san! What're you doing here?' He immediately winced and waved his hands in front of his face placatingly. 'Not that you shouldn't be here! I wasn't trying to be accusatory! Of course, you're free to go wherever you want, I just wondered… why here in particular?'

He trailed off with a sigh, but if the hero was affronted or annoyed, he didn't show it.

'Nee- Todoroki-sensei told me to wait here, seeing as I'm talking to her grade 5 maths class next.'

'Oh, I see.' Izuku replied with a nod, only for the two of them to fall into silence. Several seconds passed as he tried to get his mouth to work, shuffling on his feet and rubbing his arm. For years, he'd built up an array of questions for the man in front of him, yet now he couldn't even formulate a sentence.

Luckily, the hero spoke first.

‘You’re really good with kids.’ Shoto looked stiff, if not for his left hand, where he tapped his fingers with his thumb, one by one. Perhaps he was nervous too, not that he had any reason to be.

‘I hope so.’ Izuku laughed awkwardly in response, rubbing the back of his head. ‘Otherwise I’d be in the wrong occupation.’

‘That’s true.’ Shoto scratched his cheek and looked away, not sure how to continue.

‘Thank you though. If it means anything, you’re also good with kids.’ Izuku flashed him a warm smile. ‘Todoroki-san told me you were, so it isn't surprising, but still, I thought I should say.’

‘Nee-san?’ Shoto seemed shocked for a moment. 'She talks about me?'

'Just to me, because we’re friends. She knows I love heroes, and she's very fond of you, so it works out in both of our favours.' He waved nonchalantly, grabbing his water bottle from the table to refill. However, when Shoto remained silent, Izuku suddenly realised. ‘Sorry! I hope that’s okay! She doesn’t talk about your personal life or anything, and it’s not like I’m a crazy obsessive fan… Well, I guess some would consider me obsessive, but not like a stalker! It's more that I’m fascinated by you and I’ve seen all your fights and I like to document heroes in general, but I’m not- I…’

‘Midoriya-sensei, it’s okay.’ Shoto’s lip twitched slightly. ‘Nee-san talks about you a lot too. I know you’re a good person.’

This time, it was Izuku's turn to freeze.

'S-S-She talks about…' He shook his head and laughed nervously as he pointed to himself. 'That worries me. I've done lots of embarrassing things in front of her.'

Like fawn over you.

'She's only ever had good things to say.' Shoto shrugged. 'I always like hearing her work stories, especially the ones involving you. Is it true that you greeted everyone by saying "namaste" for an entire year?'

Izuku could feel his face burn.

'W-Well, yes.' He had to stop stuttering. 'But for good reason, I promise. Has sh-she told you about "Global Month"?'

The hero nodded.

'Each class learns about a specific country for a month, then there's one day at the end where everyone goes around and sees each class's work, right? It's meant to encourage diversity and understanding of other cultures. Nee-san had the Republic of Trinidad and Tobago this year, I think?'

'Yeah!' Izuku brightened, finally refilling his bottle. 'Well, a few years ago, she had Italy and I had India, and because Hindi is one of the official languages of India, I decided to substitute "kon’nichiwa" with "namaste" for the month, to help the kids remember it. So, whenever I saw my pupils in the morning or during break or in passing, that's how I'd greet them, except it kind of became a habit that stuck for the rest of the school year. I ended up saying it to everyone, including the parents and the other teachers. They weren't impressed though, and it's better for everyone if I placate them, so I stopped... I still occasionally use it with Todoroki-san and the older students though.'

'Fuyumi mentioned how the other teachers act around you.' Shoto frowned. 'It's shitty.'

'Shoto-san!' Izuku squeaked, looking around despite the fact that they were alone, before sighing. 'They're not bad, honestly. I've had worse, plus they're professional in front of students and parents, which is what's most important. Other than that, they can think what they want about me… but I still try to be more agreeable when I can.'

Shoto's frown deepened.

'Have you done or said anything to warrant their dislike, other than be quirkless?'

After all these years, Izuku still held back a flinch at that word.

'I mumble a lot and can come across as fake and a try-hard.' He offered weakly. 'I have ASD too, which doesn't help.'

'So do I, but that doesn't affect how they see me.' Shoto responded bluntly and, well, that admission made a lot of sense, thinking about it. 'They're quirkist bastards and you owe them nothing.'

For the second time that day, Izuku was fighting back tears from something Shoto had said. He probably looked like a crybaby—hell, he was a crybaby—and yet he wasn't met with any judgement.

'Thank you, Shoto-san.' He swallowed thickly, flashing him a wobbly smile. 'That means a lot.'

The hero nodded his head in acknowledgement, but otherwise said nothing while Izuku regained his composure.

At a loss for what to say, he let out a wet chuckle. 'You're such a good hero.'

'I sure hope so.' Shoto's lips pulled into a small smile as he echoed Izuku's own words. 'Otherwise I'd be in the wrong profession.'

Despite himself, Izuku snorted out a laugh that reverberated through the staff room.

'That's true.' He giggled, feeling some semblance of confidence return. 'Yet I haven't even asked you for an autograph. My inner fanboy is ashamed.'

'Well, let's remedy that.' Shoto replied nonchalantly. 'You have a pen?'

Izuku's eyes bugged out and he hastily retrieved his journal, fishing a pen out from his hair in the process. When he presented them, however, he registered the surprise on the hero's face at seeing a book dedicated solely to him.

'Ah… I'd explain, but I got nothing. It's exactly what it looks like.' Izuku was bright red and sweating. 'Documenting heroes has always been my favourite hobby—strategies, fighting styles, strengths and weaknesses—even after I was told I could never become one. Sorry if it makes you uncomfortable… a lot of people find it creepy.'

Shoto shook his head, before gently taking it from him.

'I'm not uncomfortable. Any preference where you want me to sign?' When Izuku hesitantly pointed to the inside cover, he clicked the pen and wrote, keeping the message a secret. Once finished, dichromatic eyes glanced at the rest of the page, which probably showed the list of contents and page numbers. 'You're really thorough.'

'Ah… yeah, sorry.'

'Don't be. It's a good thing.' Shoto closed the journal and handed it back to Izuku. 'I hope one day you'll let me read through it. Maybe I'll learn something.'

'Of c-course!' He hugged the book close to his chest, thinking about all the little doodles that would betray his crush. 'It just needs a little… editing first.'

'Mhm.' Shoto regarded him for a moment, before turning away. 'Well, I best be on my way to the next class before the bell rings. It was a pleasure talking to you, Midoriya-sensei.'

'Y-You too!' Izuku exclaimed, bowing low in response to the hero's little wave. Once he heard the door close, he straightened up and frantically opened the journal, only to immediately baulk. 'Holy All Might.'

From one hero to another,

Shoto

090-XXX-XXXX (I trust you won't post this anywhere)

Izuku was glad the school bell drowned out his ecstatic squeal. It didn't even occur to him that Todoroki never did come to collect Shoto from the staff room.

[omegaplus]

# 4,274

My radio station’s grid frees up every Summer whenever students with shows go away for vacation, graduate, or move on. Chances are, anyone planning on staying and wanting extra time or slots will most likely get them. This is why for the past two years Omega WUSB had our busiest and most frequent Summer broadcast seasons. Putting together all these shows and playing tons of music for everyone listening is great, but it comes with a price.

It takes a lot of time to make anywhere from fifteen to twenty shows - and even more. We always have fellow dee-jays who go on vacation and donate their time to us, and last year our program director DJ Joi gave us an additional weekly Monday afternoon slot. That’s on top of our bi-weekly Saturday night slot. Could you imagine how much time it takes to find and grab music across 95-100 different music outlets, audition, and then edit them all through Audacity before each weekly / bi-weekly deadline? Do this at least once or twice a week for several one to four-hour shows and you’ll see how intense and consuming it is. Throw in other projects such as graphic design, writing short stories, and wanting to do several other things all at once such as learning Italian, job-searching, and HTML and I would feel an intense crush and anxiety that lasts all Summer long. Which brings me to this…

Over the summer I decided to treat myself, so I spent $3,000.00 total visiting every record store on Long Island and New York City I could visit. That’s about 575 different albums on vinyl, cassette, and disc currently sitting on the shelf. Divide both the money spent and acquisitions in half and you’ll get 2018’s record-store victory tour added. That’s enough music for me to be found dead under. Most of those purchases were made up of bands and artists I’ve been meaning to check out forever, on top of what I already have over the years.

It’s been getting out of control and for (literally) years I felt I was missing out. I feel left out not getting into artists I should have years ago because ‘just in case’. That goes back to how much time I spend preparing for my radio show. A lot of time is invested checking out all these new finds and editing shows for airplay. I get so involved in making my show that I’m forsaking all these great artists and sounds.

There was one instance where a mutual answered back on an INXS post I made long ago. She didn’t put me on the stake or test my loyalty, but I felt it. Can you believe I’m still feeling guilty about it. Ridiculous? Yes. But I strive to become the be-all end-all music aficionado. Why not? Ambition is in my blood. Another mutual told me not to rush things. Let the finds come to you and enjoy that moment. Then there’s the Roman goth girl: a Depeche Mode fanatic who pushed me to catch up on them. I was so busy with my projects that I have yet to listen to most of those purchases. I promised myself that I would find the time to go through them all plus more. To prepare for that, I’d have to sacrifice a little.

If there was one project to do differently or stop completely, it’s be Ω+. All of my followers of this personal music blog know I’ve been inconsistent for the past six months because of the above-mentioned reasons. I felt the stress of working 40 hours at retail, continuing projects, and wanting to return to others - all on my shoulders. It was too much work (and still is) for too little gain. That’s where I started falling behind on posting.

Even a couple of my mutuals and followers messaged me here asking me if this personal music blog was still going. That told me something. Followers had gotten used to seeing my / our posts on a regular basis; like a co-worker that everyone loves and expects to show up everyday to say “hi!” to, a radio voice you could always rely on after a tough day’s work, or driving by an eatery knowing that’ll be there for years to come when you need them.

There’s other things to take care of and felt like it wasn’t going anywhere anymore. For a while I wasn’t feeling it and didn’t have it in me, so I considered retiring Ω+ once and for all. But I realized something: why stop what I love doing? Why stop putting myself out there? Why stop seeing who’s paying attention and finding connections with my readers? Maybe the only thing I needed was a recharge?

So instead of stopping it, I’ve decided to keep Ω+ going. From this point on, I’ll be giving the same amount of focus on seasonal mixtapes, Omega WUSB playlists, special posts, and so on as usual. I also plan on not putting too much work into the usual reviews as much, but rather they’ll be shorter bursts and “now listening to” posts. Every little bit counts. I’m / we’re still going to do things with Ω+ that no other music blog here has - that is - if they even exist anymore. There’s still some missing gaps when checking the archives but for posterity they will be filled in eventually until we’re back at 100.00%. They’ll also be re-blogged so that we give these posts a chance.

Digitally preserving my entire library of cassette dubs is almost at its end, and eventually I’ll finally have more time freed up to tackle my purchases and unlistened music that I haven’t gotten to. I will audit them for inventory purposes and digitize them while archiving all of my CDr / DVDr’s starting this coming January. Learning Italian, coding, and switching careers are on the horizon.

Our ninth year of Ω+ has come to an end. Thanks to all of my / our followers, supporters, and listeners of all things Omega. We really appreciate it.

Ω+

Omega WUSB

Our Lady Of Omega

VMFX

[forgeofideas]

I am a child who was raised into the faith. My mother has believed in the god of Abraham for several generations. By this, He is the god of my ancestors. My Father is the first convert in his family, he left behind his former faith at brutal crossing of the Mekong River. From the time I could read my father inundated my with biblical teachings. Each morning we would establish a firm foundation of the Christian faith in my life. The issue, however, was that although I grew in head knowledge I was lacking in love. I knew how to read the bible with my head, and not with my heart. There had always been apart of me that knew to treat others with kindness, but it would take me much longer to fathom the depths of what it meant to love one another. Upon growing older I learned to live my words of prayer, something always easier said than done. Even now I still find myself lavishing the Lord with my words, but failing to find Him with my actions. I have realized that the true mark of obedience to God is done by action, not that salvation is achieved by works. My mind was always filled with dogma, ideology and a yearn for knowledge. There is the practical and the ideological. What you think and what you do. In my years as a young adult I have tried to draw this out more and more. I have tried to live more rather than think more. I pray for his guidance everyday. Deprived social skills and lack of confidence are consequences of this. 

When I began to enter the workforce as a nursing assistant, there was a lack of care for training me. I had a very difficult time trying to get a hold of the work environment. For the longest time I was the youngest nursing assistant my facility had. My job required me to care for the elderly, so I stuck out like a sore thumb to both patients and adult co-workers. I eventually did get along with all of them, but the first year was a brutal process of integration. I didn’t work in high school either, so I was thrown into this environment during my freshman year of college with no experience. My tasks included bathing residents, feeding, dressing, physically transferring and cleaning them. Each nursing assistant was given the task of caring for nine to fifteen residents. Many of those I worked with had dementia and physical disabilities. In worse cases there were a few incidents where my patients had even gotten combative with me. Age does strange things to the mind. Keeping track of nine to fifteen patients is difficult enough when all of a sudden one dementia resident deicides to act out. I recall walking in retail places and seeing where all the other young people were. Places like Target, Walmart etc, and seeing them with such lax jobs filled me with envy. I had to deal with stress all day while other people my age would work simpler jobs. 

I did relish my time working with the elderly however. Many of them were from the WW2 era, lots of great stories. Even though some residents weren’t the best story tellers, I enjoyed hearing their experiences. It was life changing seeing human beings at the twilight of their existence. At the same time I was also babysitting my little cousins. They had to be around the ages of 2-3 at the time. Its ironic, really, babysitting toddlers and then going out to care for the elderly. When a child is dropped off at daycare they will cry and shout for their mother. “Where is mommy?” they will say? “When will she come to pick me up?” The child thinks the parent will be gone only for a few minutes after some convincing, but will eventually break out upon realizing they won’t be back for a few hours. Only decades later, a senile man or woman will be looking down the hallway of a nursing home and holler: “When is my son or daughter going to take me back home?” Not realizing that they’ve been placed there until death. 

 An old man stumbles out of his room in the middle of the night looking for his wife in an irate manner yelling: “Where is she!? Where’d that bitch go!?” I look at him and say: “She’s dead and has been dead for weeks now.” He breaks down into tears, only to repeat the same routine night after night. The nurses leave a note for him to try and remember... I’m not sure if he ever did. 

Parents will watch their children learn to grow and walk. 

Children learn in many ways, not just by word of mouth. So although it was never taught to me deliberately, I was raised with great resentment against people who were not of my faith. The Mormon, Catholic and Muslim were all enemies in my eyes. 

[sanrioscreamo]

SPOILERS FOR SEASON 4

This season had me sobbing like ten times man,,, i am happy they covered that issue though. Depression and discrimintion in middle age is barely talked about.

Ton. Just… thirty fucking YEARS to that company to be shafted. This was a guy that worked hard and was dedicated to keeping things running smoothly and cared deeply about his staff. but due to being older and set in his ways, as well as being short tempered and not great at absorbing the latest leaps and bounds in technology, he was deemed old hat,,,

AND KABAE. DONT EVEN GET ME STARTED god the shame that mothers especially go through when theyre also working; if its not ppl telling you to commit to babysitting your kids 24/7, its the idea that having any time off bc of your children is considered you to be not being totally focused on your job and therefore replaceable.

Tsubone didnt get quite as much focus but you could also tell that it was getting to her, seeing co-workers in her age bracket being shafted and knowing she might be next. Seeing Ton reduced to a shell of himself. Having to take up a job in a supermarket after being pushed from his pedestal (no shade to ppl who work at convenience stores or any retail work but it’s disheartening to go from such a top tier position only to be forced out and no one really consider you “forced out” bc you technically DID leave of your own volition!)

CAN WE ALSO!! TALK ABOUT how this show gave a huge middle finger on Japanese companies methods of phasing ppl out of the company without technically firing them. You wear them down with what is effectively psychological abuse tactics, make them feel useless!! But just subtly enough that you can’t be called out for discrimination. Then you can push the narrative that it was THEIR choice to quit and Hey They Got Severance Pay So They Got The Best Deal Possible Really,,, UGH

Season 4 be taking characters that were effectively jokes or villains and giving them tragic character growth AND I AM HERE FOR IT

[salmonthestoryteller]

So, I am a spoiler reader when it comes to stories.  I absolutely will read every spoiler out there on something I am interested in but can’t get my hands on yet. (There’s a long story involved in why I do this, all about a series I wasn’t able to see the end of for years but that’s not the point.)  Obviously, this has included Stranger Things Season 4.  So, I honestly thought I was 100% prepared.

Guys, how is it that among all the spoilers out there absolutely no one is talking about Hopper’s backstory??

Okay, I’m gonna hide some of this under a cut and not series or character tag cuz part of why this affects me is kinda personal, and also because this really needs like a zillion trigger warnings.  I’m not even sure what all tw to include.  Health issues, death, child death, still birth, war, war crimes?

I was not prepared for Hopper’s backstory to involve Agent Orange.  For the addressing of the lies told about it, for the mention of the stillbirths and other severe health effects on the kids of those exposed.  I wasn’t prepared for the link between it and the death of Hopper’s daughter.  I was shaking a bit from that and honestly cried.

Here’s the thing.  Some of my mutuals are aware that my father passed away a couple years ago and that I was his caretaker in the years leading up to his passing.  Here’s something I never really talked about - he was a Nam Vet who had been exposed to Agent Orange and - yes - that was where some of his health complications stemmed from.

Here’s the other thing.  I was working retail at that time, and I would mention it to co-workers when discussing being his caretaker.  Because we talked about our lives, and being his caretaker was part of my life.  At first, I figured it was common knowledge because it affected so many people.   And almost every single time, regardless of their age, my co-workers would stare at me - completely blank - and ask, “What is Agent Orange?”

And as someone who grew up knowing about it, who watched the health complications it caused my father, I couldn’t comprehend how they couldn’t know.  How it couldn’t be something that was taught.  I sometimes felt like a one-woman crusade to inform everyone in our store about Agent Orange, because it was just so wrong to me that it not be known.

Our country committed a fucking war crime.  It spent decades denying the effect Agent Orange had on everyone it came in contact with - from both sides of the war.  Our government still wants to deny that offspring from males who came in contact with it were affected - despite there being studies that show a connection. And my personal experience has been that a large portion of the American public has no fucking clue about it at all.

So, yeah, I’m glad a popular modern show spoke about it.  I’m glad it’s getting that exposure.  I hope this brings it more into the spotlight.  Because it absolutely should not be forgotten and swept under the rug.

I also was caught completely off-guard by it being included in the series, so I’m gonna go cry a bit more.

[lightthewaybackhome]

Sorry this is so long. Probably should have done a 2 parter.

"My darling girl, when are you going to realize that being normal is not necessarily a virtue? It rather denotes a lack of courage!" - Aunt Frances, Practical Magic

 

My whole life, as far back as I can remember, I’ve wanted to be artistic. I’ve wanted to create. I love beauty. I love artistry. I love creation. I love the artsy look: jewelry, tattoos, flowing clothing, and funky hair. It is a personal aesthetic I keep returning to, especially as I get older. As a child, I tried so many different forms of art—painting, photography, drawing— but none of them seemed quite right. None of them got what was in my head out. All of them fell short until I started writing. Writing was a flame, a fire, a drug. Writing allowed me to express what was in my imagination. This is the first thing to understand.

Everyone is artistic and art is everywhere. I’ve believed this as long as I can remember. There are amazing artistic feats in our world: books, movies, video games, paintings, sculptures, and magnificent pieces of music. Yes, art can be very high and very special. But, art can also be found in charcuterie boards, homemade quilts, sourdough bread, cocktails, soup, and all ordinary things if we but look and see. Art can be high magic and art can be ordinary. This is the second thing to understand.

As I’ve embraced being a homemaker, a HearthKeeper, a woman where she’s meant to be, I came across the term domestic artist. As much as I didn’t like the book Eve in Exile by Rebekah Merkle, it gave me this. It gave me the term domestic artist. That stuck with me. It spoke to me because it captured both the first and the second thing. It captured the never-ceasing call to create which haunts me at all times, and it elevated and honored the ordinary in a sprinkling of fairy dust. It said, “Yes, you have to cook today. Three meals plus snacks and drinks. It’s your job, but, but, what if, what if instead of looking at it as some drudgery, some Cinderella enslavement, what if you looked at it as an opportunity to create beauty?”

Not every meal, every outfit, every moment of your day can be a work of art. Some days you just have to do what you have to do. Some days get upended in the opening credits with a broken washer or a sleepless child. Some days plans change. Life changes. One minute life looks like this, and then the next it’s on to something completely different. But, the beauty of being a domestic artist is that you can create art in any of these moments and in any setting. You can find art in any moment and in any setting.

See, the world tells us that homemaking, HearthKeeping, is boring. It tells us it’s pointless. A waste. You could be changing the world. Only dumb useless women keep their homes. And that’s because they’re either tied down by a dictator of a husband or the demands of children or the cultural trappings of their religion. Courage, dear heart. Courage! Homemaking is magic. Homemaking is flexible. Homemaking changes with the seasons and the woman. I, I am a bit bohemian, a bit rustic, a mixture of rugged and romantic. I grew up a tomboy, but have embraced being a woman in her home since I was a child. I love leather and lace. I love cottage-witch aesthetics. I love boots and long flowing things. I like deer heads, linen, skulls, and ruffles. I like feathers and dreamcatchers, but I also love to decorate with open space. I love pies and feeding my husband. But, look at this, one of my best friends is a classic. She loves clean lines, traditional and timeless pieces. She loves modern accents. She loves beachy highlights and hammocks. She’s not into farmhouse, rustic modern, or raw-edged wood. On any given Sunday, she’s in a pencil skirt, simple top, simple heels with her three daughters in matching dresses while I’m in distressed boyfriend jeans, a mullet-tucked top, and wearing my crow skull. We’re very different, but we’re both homemakers who love making our homes.

I have a woman in my life who quilts and that flows out into their decorating. So many of her things are beautifully hand sewn. If she wants it, she makes it. Another friend grew up in Africa and her home is filled with her love of that culture. One dear friend loves plants and grows amazing flowers that she uses to create Instagram-worth bouquets. Another woman isn’t super fluffy-feminine but she has an eye for remodeling and so is constantly making improvements on her home: flooring, painting, and more. My sisters, like me, both enjoy a minimalist approach to decorating and all three of us have a special place for coffee. Both my sisters’ homes are welcoming and peaceful even with kids running around like crazy.

That’s the point, the world tells women to band together, that we’re a sisterhood, that we should go out and change the world, abandoning our homes before we’re relegated to only kitchen and nursery work, but reality tells me that the most amazing women I know are busy in their homes. This is sisterhood. This is where we bloom. It is here that we have flexibility. For over five years, I’ve struggled with chronic health issues. Homemaking lets me decide each day what I can do and how I’m going to do it. Homemaking lets you change what you do for each season of life. Lots of littles? Keep it simple. Empty nest? Explore. Somewhere in between? Keep growing. Lots of energy? So many things you can expand into if you just refuse to believe the lie that homemaking is beneath you. Don’t be normal. Don’t believe that homemaking is a waste of time. Don’t buy into the lie that you are somehow being less than everyone else when you raise your children, love your husband, and create beauty. Have the courage to be strange. We were made for this! It suits us. This is an environment women thrive in.

When I got over my grammar inhibitions and started writing, I felt like my soul came alive. I felt like I’d finally found what I’d been searching for since I came into this world. It doesn’t matter whether I’m writing an epic story or writing about HearthKeeping or just word doodling, writing, words, stories just flow from me. Wonderfully, homemaking is like that for me, too. I want to read books, I want to learn, I want to talk about it, I want to do it. It’s not perfect. I don’t always feel glorious, but I do feel ‘right’ when I’m doing this. I feel like I’m where I belong. I feel like this is a place I can both rest in and grow in. I feel safe when I’m having a fatigue flare up and I feel excited when I think about all that I can do.

A real-life example: Sundays are long hard days. They’re days that generally spike my fatigue and my husband is worn out. They’re both the best and hardest day of the week. When we get home I make a cocktail and we crash. Inevitably, the minute I sit down my man asks for a snack and what we’re having for dinner. For several years, this drove me up a wall. It is Sunday. The day of REST, why is it my responsibility to always make food? Epic sigh. Epic whiny sigh. I would meal plan for the whole week and then wing it on Sunday and Monday, always with poor results and grumpiness on my part. Then, one week as I meal-planned, I realized that I could also prepare for the weekend. Lightbulb. Facepalm. Really? Why had it taken me into my 40th year of life to realize that if I want a quiet, restful, happy weekend, I should just plan snacks, drinks, and meals ahead of time? I’m going to blame it on my chronic health, brain fog addled mind. I’m going to blame it on laziness. I’m going to blame it on being a young homemaker. Some are understandable, some are inexcusable.

Sundays now involve way less stress because I can immediately prepare snacks and know what we’re eating the minute we get home. No more attitude issue. No more stress. Easy and nice.

Did this change the world? Does this matter to anyone but myself? Did my husband even notice? Maybe not, but this is homemaking. This is HearthKeeping. It is my job and my calling. Even without notice or world-shattering consequences, I’m pleased with the outcome. More than pleased, I’m really happy about it. It brings me joy and delight to find a better way to take care of my family. It allows me to sprinkle my Sunday afternoon with just a little bit of artistry. I make drinks, snacks, dinner. I feed my family.

See, one of the lies that the feminists preach is that we’re wasted in our homes. And yet, the majority of the women I know who work outside the home aren’t doing glamorous jobs. They’re not travel bloggers or world-renowned chiefs or CEOs. They’re cosmetologists, retail workers, bank tellers, nurses, teachers, and such. Now, none of those are bad. Working outside the home isn’t bad. (I think each family has to decide what family looks like to them.) Please, please, don’t read that as degrading. I worked retail and I think retail is important. These are all God-honoring employment in which you can strive and serve. I’m not bashing any of those jobs. I have many many dear friends who work outside the home. What I am saying is that I think we as women need to ask ourselves if leaving our homes en masse was worth it. Has it given us all the joy, delight, and fulfillment the feminists promised us?

I’ve done both. I’ve been a co-owner of a business that I helped grow from nothing to something amazing. I’ve worked as an everyday retail worker. I write and am the main editor for a small neighborhood magazine. And I’m a HearthKeeper. I will tell you right now, no qualifications, that HearthKeeping is the most satisfying job I’ve ever had. It not only challenges me every day but it also works with me. The boundaries are what I set in place and so I grow as I can. The work never ends, yes, but it also never ends. There is always something else to explore.

I think being a homemaker is largely attitude. You can buck against what you do, and most women do. Just spend two minutes on Pinterest looking at doing laundry or dishes and the bitter hatred comes pouring out. Look at the complaints women make against their churches: we’re relegated to doing nursery work and kitchen duty. What if, just for a moment, we decided to be Domestic Artists? What if, for just a moment, we tried loving our jobs instead of complaining? What if we thought that dishes meant food and good times and healing of the souls around us? What if we saw laundry as a way to keep beauty and cleanliness around us? What if we saw it as our privilege and delight to take care of the food, children, clothing, cleaning, cooking, gardening, growing of the next generation, and the men of the world? What if we embraced the domestic arts and saw them as truly magnificent, glorious, unique arts? How many of us would be able to say with a straight face that working retail is more fulfilling than managing a small world? Is it more fulfilling to go work in an office than it is to orchestrate a place of welcome, rest, and renewal for your husband and yourself? It might be more visible, but is it truly more long-lasting?

I can say that it isn’t. I can say that I think being a homemaker is uniquely suited for women and that we should have the courage to go against the grain of our world and say no. No, I’m not going to give all of myself to work outside the home when the home is far more challenging and interesting. No, I’m not going to believe the lie that homemaking is oppression and boredom. I will find beauty in the ordinary and I will embrace art in the everyday. This is one of those amazing jobs where it is what you make it. It is what you pour into it. If you think it’s boring or demeaning you won’t get anything out of it. If you think it is challenging and rewarding, you will get the world out of it. You will grow yourself and those around you. Think about what a wonderful thing it would be if we made our homes our careers! If we women really took on the label Domestic Artist in our own individual ways.

[jenniferisacommonname]

Bonus Level Unlocked

This week marks the release of Jason Schreier’s Press Reset, an incredibly well-researched book on catastrophic business failure in the gaming industry. Jason’s a good dude, and there’s an excerpt here if you want to check it out. Sadly, game companies going belly-up is such a common occurrence that he couldn’t possibly include them all, and one of the stories left out due to space constraints is one that I happen to be personally familiar with. So, I figured I’d tell it here.

I began working at Acclaim Studios Austin as a sound designer in January of 2000. It was a tumultuous period for the company, including a recent rebranding from their former studio name, “Iguana Entertainment,” and a related, ongoing lawsuit from the ex-founder of Iguana. There were a fair number of ghosts hanging around—the creative director’s license plate read IGUANA, which he never changed, and one of the meeting rooms held a large, empty terrarium—but the studio had actually been owned on paper by Acclaim since 1995, and I didn’t notice any conflicting loyalties. Everyone acted as if we always had been, and always would be, Acclaim employees.

Over the next few years I worked on a respectable array of triple-A titles, including Quarterback Club 2002, Turok: Evolution, and All-Star Baseball 2002 through 2005. (Should it be “All-Stars Baseball,” like attorneys general? Or perhaps a term of venery, like “a zodiac of All-Star Baseball.”) At any rate, it was a fun place to work, and a platformer of hijinks ensued.

But let’s skip to the cutscene. The truth is that none of us in the trenches suspected the end was near until it was absolutely imminent. Yes, Turok: Evolution and Vexx had underperformed, especially when stacked against the cost of development, but games flop in the retail market all the time. And, yes, Showdown: Legends of Wrestling had been hustled out the door before it was ready for reasons no one would explain, and the New York studio’s release of a BMX game featuring unlockable live-action stripper footage had been an incredibly weird marketing ploy for what should have been a straightforward racing title. (Other desperate gimmicks around this time included a £6,000 prize for UK parents who would name their baby “Turok,” an offer to pay off speeding tickets to promote Burnout 2 that quickly proved illegal, and an attempt to buy advertising space on actual tombstones for a Shadow Man sequel.)

But the baseball franchise was an annual moneymaker, and our studio had teams well into development on two major new licenses, 100 Bullets and The Red Star. Enthusiasm was on the upswing. Perhaps I should have paid closer attention when voice actors started calling me to complain that they hadn’t been paid, but at the time it seemed more like a bureaucratic failure than an actual money shortage—and frankly, it was a little naïve of them to expect net-30 in the first place. Industry standard was, like, net-90 at best. So I was told.

Then one Friday afternoon, a few department managers got word that we’d kind of maybe been skipping out on the building lease for let’s-not-admit-how-many months. By Monday morning, everyone’s key cards had been deactivated.

It's a little odd to arrive at work and find a hundred-plus people milling around outside—even odder, I suppose, if your company is not the one being evicted. Acclaim folks mostly just rolled their eyes and debated whether to cut our losses and head to lunch now, while employees of other companies would look dumbfounded and fearful before being encouraged to push their way through the crowd and demonstrate their still-valid key card to the security guard. Finally, the General Manager (hired only a few months earlier, and with a hefty relocation bonus to accommodate his houseboat) announced that we should go home for the day and await news. Several of our coworkers were veterans of the layoff process—like I said, game companies go under a lot—and one of them had already created a Yahoo group to communicate with each other on the assumption that we’d lose access to our work email. A whisper of “get on the VPN and download while you can” rippled through the crowd.

But the real shift in tone came after someone asked about a quick trip inside for personal items, and the answer was a hard, universal “no.” We may have been too busy or ignorant to glance up at any wall-writing, but the building management had not been: they were anticipating a full bankruptcy of the entire company. In that situation, all creditors have equal standing to divide up a company's assets in lengthy court battles, and most get a fraction of what they’re owed. But if the landlords had seized our office contents in lieu of rent before the bankruptcy was declared, they reasoned, then a judge might rule that they had gotten to the treasure chest first, and could lay claim to everything inside as separate from the upcoming asset liquidation.

Ultimately, their gambit failed, but the ruling took a month to settle. In the meantime, knick knacks gathered dust, delivered packages piled up, food rotted on desks, and fish tanks became graveyards. Despite raucous protest from every angle—the office pets alone generated numerous threats of animal cruelty charges—only one employee managed to get in during this time, and only under police escort. He was a British citizen on a work visa, and his paperwork happened to be sitting on his desk, due to expire. Without it, he was facing literal deportation. Fortunately, a uniformed officer took his side (or perhaps just pre-responded to what was clearly a misdemeanor assault in ovo,) and after some tense discussion, the building manager relented, on the condition that the employee touch absolutely nothing beyond the paperwork in question. The forms could go, but the photos of his children would remain.

It’s also a little odd, by the way, to arrive at the unemployment office and find every plastic chair occupied by someone you know. Even odder, I suppose, if you’re actually a former employee of Acclaim Studios Salt Lake, which had shut down only a month or two earlier, and you just uprooted your wife and kids to a whole new city on the assurance that you were one of the lucky ones who got to stay employed. Some of them hadn’t even finished unpacking.

Eventually, we were allowed to enter the old office building one at a time and box up our things under the watchful eye of a court appointee, but by then our list of grievances made the landlords’ ploy seem almost quaint by comparison (except for the animals, which remains un-fucking-forgivable.) We had learned, for example, that in the weeks prior to the bankruptcy, our primary lender had made an offer of $15 million—enough to keep us solvent through our next batch of releases, two of which had already exited playtesting and were ready to be burned and shipped. The only catch was that the head of the board, company founder Greg Fischbach, would have to step down. This was apparently too much of an insult for him to stomach, and he decided that he'd rather see everything burn to the ground. The loan was refused.

Other “way worse than we thought” details included gratuitous self-dealing to vendors owned by board members, the disappearance of expensive art from the New York offices just before closure, and the theft of our last two paychecks. For UK employees, it was even more appalling: Acclaim had, for who knows how long, been withdrawing money from UK paychecks for their government-required pension funds, but never actually putting the money into the retirement accounts. They had stolen tens of thousands of dollars directly from each worker.

Though I generally reside somewhere between mellow and complete doormat on the emotional spectrum, I did get riled enough to send out one bitter email—not to anyone in corporate, but to the creators of a popular webcomic called Penny Arcade, who, in the wake of Acclaim’s bankruptcy announcement, published a milquetoast jibe about Midway’s upcoming Area 51. I told Jerry (a.k.a. “Tycho”) that I was frankly disappointed in their lack of cruelty, and aired as much dirty laundry as I was privy to at the time.

“Surely you can find a comedic gem hidden somewhere in all of this!” I wrote. “Our inevitable mocking on PA has been a small light at the end of a very dark, very long tunnel. Please at least allow us the dignity of having a smile on our faces while we wait in line for food stamps.”

Two days later, a suitably grim comic did appear, implying the existence of a new release from Acclaim whose objective was to run your game company into the ground. In the accompanying news post, Tycho wrote:

“We couldn’t let the Acclaim bankruptcy go without comment, though we initially let it slide thinking about the ordinary gamers who lost their jobs there. They don’t have anything to do with Acclaim’s malevolent Public Relations mongrels, and it wasn’t they who hatched the Titty Bike genre either. Then, we remembered that we have absolutely zero social conscience and love to say mean things.”

Another odd experience, by the way, is digging up a 16-year-old complaint to a webcomic creator for nostalgic reference when you offer that same creator a promotional copy of the gaming memoir you just co-wrote with Sid Meier. Even odder, I suppose, to realize that the original non-Acclaim comic had been about Area 51, which you actually were hired to work on yourself soon after the Acclaim debacle.*

As is often the case in complex bankruptcies, the asset liquidation took another six years to fully stagger its way through court—but in 2010, we did, surprisingly, get the ancient paychecks we were owed, plus an extra $1,700-ish for the company’s apparent violation of the WARN Act. By then, I had two kids and a very different life, for which the money was admittedly helpful. Sadly, Acclaim’s implosion probably isn’t even the most egregious one on record. Our sins were, to my knowledge, all money-related, and at least no one was ever sexually assaulted in our office building. Again, to my knowledge. On the other hand, I’m pretty sure we remain the only historical incident of corporate pet murder. The iguana got out just in time.

*Area 51’s main character was voiced by David Duchovny, and he actually got paid—which was lucky for him, because three years later, Midway also declared bankruptcy.

[trials-by-blood]

Umm...I always see Yautja being paired up with someone strong and skilled and stuff. I was wondering if you could write something with any Yautja being with someone who is shy, meek, and a little chubby. And when they're alone or think they are they sing along to music and dance even though they can't.XD Sorry if I'm asking too much or anything...

Fegris, the dump world where the unwanted are left to rot and crumble.

  This was once a world where the yautja would crash their obsolete vessels so that they could not fall into use by the other space faring races. Ships were not the only things they left behind. Exiles, heretics, or anyone who upset the balance of their society were also left to wither, but not all did.

  In the following ages, other peoples would use Fegris as a place to forget their burdens. The Faceless Ones unloaded their collected specimens here when science deemed that their time of usefulness had ended.

  Now generations of humans, yautja, clade, mind eaters and all manner of invasive species build their cities here, clinging to half remembered mockeries of their mother cultures. Here, all Forgotten busy themselves mining ore, seeking pleasurable escape, stripping precious metals from ancient wrecks, gambling, farming, extorting, building, destroying, breeding, killing.

  One of the few honest livings to be made anywhere, the food service industry, prospers here. Organic people must eat, so this work will never die.

  Heather, an old name from an old world no one can recall, worked for her room and board at what would best resemble a mall food court. It wasn't a particularly hazardous occupation, so long as you don't taste-test the food or stay long after the coalition of retail outlets close.

(OOC: Okay this ran WAY longer than I anticipated and I had to make the choice to cap it off at 2,500ish words. I’m sorry if this TOTALLY misses the vibe you were hoping for, I kinda got carried away. Oops)

  Once, she'd made that mistake. Even her cold hearted rock-sucker of a boss told her not to bother finishing the cleaning if it meant staying after hours, but she hadn't listened. Heather hadn't wanted to leave her work half done and risk losing her job and newly acquired living space on her first day. So she'd stayed to wipe down the counters and load the trolly cart with the leftovers for the cooler. The reward for a job well finished was stepping out into the market spaces abandoned by customers and workers but repopulated by the local Yautja Bad-bloods and their rivals, The Cranium Skaggers. They were working through a territorial dispute.

  The Skaggers were human, but barely. They injected enhancement serums, most barely tested, directly into their brain tissues via an implanted port installed at the top of their shaved heads.

  Heather had stepped out of her safe enclosed little work area into a street brawl, and was pinned between the doors she'd only just locked and the carnal violence of the city. One of the yautja, who's vision was... not like hers, must have mistaken her bright heat signature and rapid heart rhythm for a Cranium Skagger.

  Oh, she tried to run when she saw him move on her with his unhuman, talon tipped hand outstretched to seize her. Heather had dropped her bag, the keys, the silly hat which matched with her uniform, and she ran but he was fast, so horridly fast for something so big, heavy, and grieved with bulky armor.

  It only took him three strides, thud thud thud, to reach her and tangle his terrible claws into the back of her long tunic. She was thrown, landing hard, disoriented and crying out as deep, raw pain shot up her left hip and into her pelvis. Something was broken.

  She saw him, her attacker, and the blades attached to his dominant arm glistening with the blood of Cranium Skagger's, but she didn't even think to cover her face. All she could do was scream for help.

  Her plea was answered. A great clawed fist smashed across the Yautja's mask with such force that his yowling face was revealed as his helm was torn from him. Next, skulls collided with a clapping of flesh so sharp, Heather thought someone had cracked a whip above her.

  One Yautja had begun to fight another. That was when she did the sensible thing, curling her arms over her head and making herself as small as she could.

  She survived that night. That battle resolved itself as she lied on the ground trembling and weeping in terror, but her savior stuck around after all the others had left. He put her things next to her, and waited until her boss came to collect her and get her help. The yautja must have gone through her communicator for her contacts.

  The fractured hip was easily and painlessly repaired but the procedure had completely drained her savings. To her shock and mild horror, someone had wired to her account credits in the exact amount to replace what she'd spent at the Urgent Intervention Facility to fix her leg.

  When she returned to work, who was there at the food court? The yautja who'd stayed that night. He stood out like a broken finger, the cleaned hand bones and torn out skull ports of Skaggers littered about what he wore like grim badges of honor. The sight of him watching her enter her workplace sent a chill up Heather's spine.

  This kept up for weeks, until The Indecent was months behind her. She'd go to work, and he'd be there, just watching. Heather's co-workers weren't fans of her admirer. Yagon, the young clade boy who took the morning shift before her was the least fond of the yautja lingering around.

  Today, as Heather stepped past her bad-blood observer who had decided to lean against the wall next to the employee entrance, Yagon was peeking out from the door to keep a watchful eye on her as she came in for her shift.

  Yagon chittered irritably, antennae vibrating as he took off his smock and hat so he could scratch his double claws at the translator hanging on a lanyard around his the joining of his head and thorax.

  The voice emanating from the little box was monotone and purposefully slow so that it could be heard clearly as he continued chirping and tweeting.

  "You know what that creep does all day waiting for you to come in? He listens to recordings of you singing on your shifts."

  Heather cringed. That was creepy. She'd had a feeling that he'd been able to hear her sing to herself from where he usually hung around, but she never thought he'd record her. It felt incredibly invasive. She briefly imagined confronting him about it, but thought better of it. He could crush her skull between his hands as if it were a brittle little Skitterling egg. She hunched her shoulders and hugged herself a bit.

  Yagon then turned and dropped the claws of his primary arms on her shoulders.

  "I can file an anonymous report for you. Please? I don't want to come in to work one day and find out something happened to you."

  Heather sighed, trying not to vividly imagine how an exiled yautja might retaliate to that.

  "N- no, I think that would just make things worse, Yagon," Heather tried not to whimper.

  Yagon finished folding his smock and hat into his bag and left, but not before offering twice more to file that report.

  A few hours passed and Heather caught herself singing a handful of times as she fell into her work routine but always stopped when she remembered who was listening. It felt awful, being observed so closely and denied the personal freedom do anything without fear of having it recorded for some stranger's entertainment.

  Again, she thought about confronting the yautja watcher, but couldn't help the violent catastrophes imagined with the idea.

  She felt like she couldn't make a noise or do a thing for herself to make this crappy job the least bit bearable without putting on some bizarre show for Captain Cranium Crusher out there! Heather's frustration built and built until she couldn't take it anymore.

  The walk-in cooler. It was sound proof, right? The moment she finished the lunch-rush line of customers holding out their trays for their greasy food, Heather tore off her gloves, tossed them in the general direction of the trash chute and turned on her heel to stomp her way to that cooler door.

  Heather glanced over the counter to confirm the Skull Collecting Jerk was still out there haunting the seating area. There he was, arms crossed against his chiseled chest, ass planted on a chair that could barely hold his weight with his big ugly sandled feet propped up on one of the tables. Bastard.

  She pulled open the thick insulated door and slammed it behind her. First she simply bellowed angrily, stomped her foot, slapped a bag of single serve condiments as hard as she could manage, doing anything to break the severe edge from her frustration.

  "UGH! WHY ARE YOU EVEN HERE? WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!" She tore off her work smock and threw her hat on the floor to stomp on it, "I'M JUST A SHORT, ROUND, NOBODY WHO SHOVELS SLOP ONTO PLATES SIX HOURS A DAY. I'VE NEVER EVEN BEEN IN A REAL FIGHT! I'M NOTHING! WHY ARE YOU WATCHING ME? WHAT THE FUCK COULD BE SO INTERESTING ABOUT ME?! STOP WATCHING ME, YOU ASSHOLE!"

  Then, spitefully, she sang her favorite song, watching the misty puffs of her breath dissipate as her heart pounded.

  Now, she felt cold and her throat hurt from belting out her very favorite lyrics so harshly. It wasn't fair, she shouldn't have to be reminded of that night every afternoon on her shift. It sucked, and somehow she felt guilty for being angry even though none of this was her fault and she knew she had every right to be angry. So Heather curled up and cried in the cooler for a half-hour at the helplessness she felt. It felt gross, and she knew by now there had to be a never-ending line of pissed off customers outside. She was afraid of confrontation and couldn't ever imagine herself actually standing up to anyone. She could already tell that she'd be crying in her apartment after work too. Whob wouldn't after the verbal abuse she'd no doubt suffer at the service counter from customers tired of waiting.

  Miserably, Heather stood and steeled her resolve to go back out there. With a deep, shaky breath, put her smock back on and fixed her hat.

  "I'll get through it because I'm good at getting through it," she told herself to make it easier to reach for that door.

  Chur-clunk. Chur-clunk. It was jammed. Oh no the cooler door was stuck. Heather put her weight into her next push, then her entire being into the push after that.

  "Oh GODS I'm going to freeze to death!" she wailed, pushing at the door again with everything she had.

  Frustration, anger, helplessness, now panic. She didn't want to die alone of hypothermia at work.

  There was a bang and a great dent had appeared in the thick door. Before she could figure what was happening, the door was torn completely from the reinforced hinges. Heather shrieked and fell squarely on her bottom.

  There he was again, who else would it be coming to her rescue and staring coldly down at her through the dead lenses of that helmet.

  In one swift motion he lifted his left arm and clicked away at the keys of his gauntlet computer with those claws. The hologram display showed Heather a collection of files marked with icons she recognized. They were just cropped, slightly fuzzy pictures of her name tag for work. With a few more taps of his claw, all of the icons dissolved. He deleted them. He'd deleted all of his recordings which pertained to her.

  "Oh, shit, you heard all of that," Heather whimpered, clutching her head with both hands in mortification. He must have heard what Yagon said earlier too.

  He said nothing, made no noise. He just stood there like an imposing statue for a few tense seconds before turning to stride away.

  She wasn't fired for the broken door and spoiled food. Before she could even collect herself from the floor in the cooler, her boss was wired a credit transfer for "damages".

  Later as she heard of his generosity, it also explained the mysterious funds appearing in her account after the hip procedure. That had been Him too.

  Her "admirer" didn't come back after that, which was a relief for the first week or two. After a while she found herself over thinking the whole thing. Yautja were notorious for being socially incomprehensible. Heather wondered if he just pitied her so much after one of his own kind damn-near destroyed her that he felt responsible for her continued safety. Or, maybe he was just a stalking sleeze-ball. She tended to flounder between the two conclusions, but one thing was certain, he was respecting her boundaries now and she appreciated that.

  After nearly a month, she decided that the best closure she'd get was accepting that the entire ordeal was some bizarre misunderstanding, totally on his part, and he did a few nice things but that didn't make up for the weeks and weeks of discomfort he'd inflicted.

  More time passed, Heather became more comfortable with her new job, and she very nearly forgot about that Yautja. The only time she remembered him were on cold days when her hip would ache, but it was pleasantly warm out on the afternoon she came in for her shift and found Yagon agitated with his antennae twitching so fast one might expect them to fly off his head. Heather looked around, hoping that the cleaning she couldn't finish the night before hadn't upset him. What she found was... Unusual, and she certainly hadn't left the thing there last night.

  It was a skull, from what she wasn't sure, sitting there on the counter by the check out scanner.

  "The Creep is back. This time he left a name with that." Yagon's translator couldn't read the inflections in his speech, but Heather could tell where the translator omitted expletives.

  "W-hat was it? His name?"

  "Stone Fist was the direct translation. I can't get the translator to say the correct pronunciation in his language and he made a scene about it until I threatened to call security. You know what that thing means, don't you?"

  Heather nodded, she knew what it meant. Everyone did. She couldn't tear her eyes away from the empty sockets of the skull. It was as if it were staring through her being.

  "I can still file that report, Heather," Yagon offered again.

  "Don't, I mean... As long as I don't take it, then nothing happens. Right?"

  "As far as I'm aware? I think that's how it works."

  If Heather didn't touch it, he wouldn't come back. If she took it home, he'd follow her home because accepting an offering like that was an act of giving permission to pursue courtship.

  Working with that lifeless skull watching her was eerie to say the least. She covered it with her hat midway through her shift so she didn't have to look at it. At the end of her shift as she fiddled with the patterned key to lock up before she left, she considered the skull one last time. No, She wasn't taking it, but she'd leave a note. Two notes actually, one to ask Stone Fist if he would consider an actual conversation before anything else, and a second note to apologize to Yagon for asking him to speak with Stone Fist again.

To Be Continued?

[saltymcsaltything]

Honestly, Pratchett's takedowns of stereotypes and the defiant courage of his characters in playing out those themes are possibly the most endearing qualities of his work for me, and that is saying a lot because his works are a deep and abiding passion of mine - one of my longest autistic special interests - and I love everything he has ever done.

I want to share the story of what Pratchett meant to me and my family, and how much we miss him. It's a bit long, but it is very emotional for me and I have bittersweet memories.

My brother introduced me to Pratchett via Neil Gaiman - he was a comic store worker who spent much of his paycheck there before he even got home, and he had bought tons of Vertigo titles. He devoured Sandman and let me borrow them one summer so I could do the same. My Mom even made him plushies of baby Death and baby Dream that were frickin adorable.

He happened to find Good Omens on clearance (absolutely criminal for it to be in that bin). By the time he discovered it it was out of print in the U. S., so we had one hardcover and had to share once he told everyone in the family that they would love it. And we all did, the entire family devoured it, and then devoured it again every few years. It demanded repeat reading because so many beautiful little details are hidden away until you've read it at least once, and reveal themselves when revisited. I remember entire lines word for word even years past my most recent reading. We all loved it, but we didn't know anything else about Pratchett's works. Discworld was only just getting reprinted in the US, and we did not have access to the Internet at first and were unaware of its existence.

I stumbled on Men at Arms browsing the tiny book section of the BX of the airbase where I had spent a large chunk of my childhood. I was excited to try something written by the mysterious co-author of the beloved family treasure that made the rounds repeatedly, and I read it in one might and needed more immediately. My brother read it, felt the same, and we made it our mission to scour local bookstores for any of his previous books in stock that had yet to be reprinted by the new publisher. We found less than half of what made up Discworld at the time, of over a dozen and a half books we found maybe 6 more to add to Men at Arms. But we wanted them all.

Getting them would be a bit of an ordeal.

By that point I had started college and we had dial-up internet finally (I majored in Computer Science and commuted, so being able to login remotely to the school network let me work on assignments at home, which justified the expense). We were pretty broke - 2 kids in college at the same time since my brother was in year 6 when I was a freshman at the same school meant not a lot of spare cash around, and my Dad's job out of the military hadn't paid him for several months because the company was collapsing. My brother and I had found online retailers in Canada and the UK that had what we needed (for context, Amazon was basically brand new, and only sold books and only US titles). The problem was the prices for paperbacks were higher, the shipping was also expensive, and the UK retailer charged VAT on international orders, which I don't think they were supposed to, but I could be wrong.

The Canadian books were only slightly more expensive and shipping was okay, but we only found enough to bring the missing count down to 7. The UK seller was priced at around $10 per paperback when the US prices were around half that at the time, and with VAT and shipping 7 paperbacks were over $100, which was a small fortune. We pooled our money and ordered them anyway. We needed them.

It was so worth it.

I think at this point I have read all but the most recent Discworld titles at least 3 times. I also have everything else he has ever published that is in print or was in print anytime since the early 90's. I love them all, but the Witches and Tiffany Aching were always my favorites.

They were also my mom's favorites. We talked about the Tiffany Aching books for hours on the phone when we were reading them. I had moved 1600 miles away from the family out of college by that point, but Pratchett was part of the glue that kept me connected.

I was incredibly blessed and privileged to hear him speak at the National Book Festival in 2007. It was a little hard to hear with all of the background noise (thanks, autistic audio processing issues) but I remember him joking about finding DC confusing and disorienting and having trouble remembering which hotel he was in. It was before he had been diagnosed, so none of us realized the gravity of that until later. In hindsight it was heartbreaking and I still start to cry thinking about it.

My family has its own history with Alzheimers and other forms of dementia. I have lost two aunts to Alzheimers and I found out when looking through my mom's computer for the will after she passed from COPD in 2020 that she had been bookmarking websites with lists of early signs of dementia. She was 75 and quickly approaching the age when her aunts were both diagnosed. His diagnosis was a shock and it hit us hard. We all loved his work and we loved his wit. We didn't know him personally, but we all would have liked to. It felt so much like he was a kindred spirit for us, his humor and his scrutiny of society and his love for humanity were very much in tune with the values my family shared.

His works spoke to us because he put into words the things that we thought about and talked about. My parents were slightly older than the hippy generation, but they took the social consciousness of that to heart as they were building a life together, and unlike some of their contemporaries, they never let it go. Rather than hardening their hearts as they aged, they softened, and they were by no means hard hearted to begin with. My brother's and I are no different. Pratchett's works took on the biases and prejudices and in many ways he was ahead of the curve. There was acceptance of life in all of its many splendored forms.

I felt akin to Cherie Littlebottom even before I realized I was trans and non-binary. I wanted the courage to present more feminine instead of feeling stuck in the default box that never fit me. He put my discomfort and my fears into words and I saw pieces of myself in them.

That acceptanve extended even to the strange, small, meek creatures with strange habits that are volatile and can become frightening things. Creatures that reflected what I felt inside for decades, having to hide my anger with the world and be meek and passive so that I wouldn't be treated like a monster, and yet I was still hated. I don't know if he intended to capture the fears I felt and the hostility I faced as an undiagnosed autistic child, teen, and adult with a deep fear that something was wrong with me and that I was crazy because of my intense emotions and terrifyingly angry outbursts at those who tried to hurt me, but I felt seen and reflected nonetheless.

But I loved the Witches and especially the Tiffany Aching books the best. There was something about them that felt even more real than all of the other amazing characters. My mom and I both saw aspects of ourselves in Tiffany and Granny Weatherwax. When The Shepherd's Crown was released, neither of us could bare to read it for months. It was the last book. That alone was going to hurt, but somehow we both knew where the story was headed, and when we finally did read it, we weren't surprised with the ending, but it still hit us hard. We both cried. We cried on the phone to each other, we had finished it only a few hours apart.

I'm crying now remembering that day.

It's not an accident that the book that I got signed at the book festival was Wee Free Men. It is something I treasure. It is a tangible memory of a wonderful person who touched my entire family, and who we all miss so much.

what I really like about Pratchett's work among all the other things, is that he basically opens all his books with exposure and "here is an immuable, very eternal law upon which the world is built" and then he spends the rest of the book trampling on that law

"it is impossible for a woman to be a wizard, so we're going to follow this wizard girl's journey"

"dragons are gone forever and dormant, here be no dragons. say hi to this one lady dragon tho"

"nobody can resist elves. that's why Magrat is going to deck their queen in the face"

"everyone knows women can't fight"

"everyone knows golems don't have souls. they all have names and personalities and-"

"all dwarves are men. then they were introduced to gender"

"Death is eternal and unchanging. Let's see what happens when he goes through all major human development stages in reverse starting with his retirement"

All in all "here's this thing everyone knows is true, here's why it's bullshit, here's how untrue it is, and here's how nobody is going to learn a lesson from being shown that this law of nature is bullshit. We all know people never learn right. or do they"

[lostmoonbunny]

Greetings from a Panini World

Yes, I did call this a "panini". I'm hesitant to use the word "pandemic" as I feel many of us have a knee jerk reaction to hide from everything once hearing or seeing that word. However that's the current stat of events. The year? 2021 Where I am located its very much so post quarantine and society has attempted to "return to normal" but its impossible. Between the anti- maskers, anti-vaxxers, and everything else it truly is impossible. "What do you mean?" you ask, well allow me to take you on a journey of a human that has gone through this "history in the making" and share what its been like since January 2020 to September 2021 from the eyes of someone that lived it. -I will preface this with saying, there will be gaps, I have trouble with object permanence, concept of time, and I have memory issues due to past concussions so bear with me as we stumble through the memories of my experiences.

So here we go... Let's travel back to January 2020.

2020..Ahhh the big year of "Clear vision".. HA! No, not today. What I remember was being concerned about this horrible virus but didn't think it would make its way to where I lived.. ( I would be unsurprisingly corrected shortly after this.) I worked, had my birthday, and it was quickly February. The virus was quickly spreading and making its way downtown walking fast faces past.. oops..sorry I got sidetracked, it was making its way down throughout the nation. We celebrated my partner's birthday, and soon after the month was over. February always flies by. March...ahh March, this is where everything started changing for me. Many states were shutting down around us fairly quickly too. ( I have opinions about how the US should've shut down sooner, but we're not here for politics...but yes it should've happened sooner.) My partner, younger brother and I made a last minute trip to the next state for a day trip. Which was fun don't get me wrong but the places we went to shut down for the state's quarantine the next day. My state would follow barely a week later. I was furloughed. That..that was an experience. All of us received the same message as it was a group message. It stated that we were all effectively unemployed ( so we could apply for benefits if we chose to) and that if and when we reopen that they hoped we could come back. I immediately messaged my boss and the boss that messaged us all and double checked learning that I was on the "short list" for rehires. That made me fee a bit better but I was still sad. My partner was considered "an Essential worker" so they worked through the entire lockdown. I swear Animal Crossing New Horizons is one of the only things that got me through that.. from this all the days blended together till June. Not don't get me wrong, plenty of things happened on a personal growth side that was beneficial like I started going to therapy, got even closer to my cousin that lives on the west coast, I played with my cats and dogs more, I caught up on sleep, all sorts of things but the way it had to happen sucked. Also in this time period, my favorite uncle contracts the virus and is put in the ICU on a ventilator. I don't remember how long he was in there but he made it. He is now healthy and survived the virus. So lets fast forward to June. My place of work reopened under specific guidelines. Now I don't know if I've ever mentioned this but I live in the southeast. The southeast, in summer is AWFUL. Its hot, its humid, and then if it DOES rain that humidity just goes up and it gets worse. To give you an idea while the temperature might say its 84 degrees F but the real feel might be 95F. I don't know why they don't just say 95F but that's how it is the southeast... So imagine if you will mid June, being reopened with special rules, masks required for everyone 5 years old and older, and no buildings but restrooms open to the public. The amount of rude, hateful, uncaring people almost made me lose my complete faith in humanity, and its not very high to begin with. Also for context, I work in retail. I feel that says enough there. These rules extend till the end of the year and into part of 2021. While all of this is happening the US is having their presidential elections and everyone has crawled out of the woodwork that you had hoped would stay there. At this point I'm hoping for the best because we really need a paradigm shift in society. We need to truly need to change as a society and in many way, catch up to the rest of the world. I finally gave in a got to tiktok and realize that it is very much a time devourer. I've realized that I feel as if the term "Cassflux" fits how I feel about my gender best, and fully accepted my journey on the path of being a witch.

Lets move in to October, October I ( and my partner) travel to Texas (cautiously) for my cousin's socially distant wedding and our anniversary. That was amazing and the slight escape from reality was truly needed. On our way back we made a stop in NOLA and it was a fun visit, but I realized my baby witch self hadn't veiled or warded myself nearly enough and it got all of "spidey senses" all out of wack. knowing now what I should've done, I do want to go back. The rest of the year went by both incredibly slow and yet in a flash. The US elected a new president, I was working as hard a possible to avoid the virus as much as possible and my partner had gotten a new job with a different company that was making them more happy. So this brings us to 2021. This is the year that I feel that I am truly coming into my own despite living in the middle of a global Panda Express. January brings my turning a landmark age and celebrating it with a new hair style, new outlook on life, progress made in therapy, more self acceptance, and just overall more happiness. The world is still the same, better, but also worse. The vaccine is being produced, distributed, and made accessible. February brings another birthday with my partner's birthday. March rolls around and we jokingly celebrate our work's closing a year prior and then continue to work. The vaccine is made available to retail and food workers so I go and get the first round of the "Dolly Parton" vaccine with my co workers. (If you were wondering its Moderna) We go and receive the second dose later at the correct time. April and May kind of blend together for me because that the ramp up for the busy season at work. June & July are busy but everything is moving forwards. I finally take a step more into the current era of technology and upgrade my phone and computer. ( After several years of going back and forth of not wanting current gen tech or not, because that stuff be expensive!) I reconnect with an old friend and we have a much healthier friendship.

August....hecking August.. We are short staffed at work, busy as heck! My partner is also hecking busy by being called in for almost every problem. The world is deffo changing. The US is in a state of nah nah a boo boo with vaccinating vs not, virus outbreaks having an uptick, universities starting back, Texas deciding that the government gets a say in a woman's reproductive rights... sorry I'll try to not get political. My ( like many others) using tiktok as a means of escape from this reality.. I'm so beyond mentally exhausted by everything that I just want to be somewhere that I can breathe a bit more easy... Its deffo not the southeastern US. September: I. am. exhausted. Working a bunch. Dealing with people doubting the virus, the usual Karens and Richards, counting down my days to vacation. My partner is beyond exhaustion. They've worked more in the past six weeks that they have in two years. The 20th year of 9/11 comes and goes. Not to sound like a country song, but remembering where I was at the moment the planes hit is something that has stuck with me...despite my concussions. I was in my English class and its was between classes and they had the tvs on. So many parents were coming and calling their kids out the school got to the point they weren't going to let kids leave.. ( if the parents complained enough they did.. I was a poorer kid in a more affluent school) My parents weren't going to take me out of school so I finished the day out in a state of confusion, not understanding the gravitas of what was going on, and not understanding was the emotions I was feeling watching the crashes were. I don't claim to even comprehend the emotions of this date to people who lost loved ones in the crashes, or in the oncoming days of the country going to war, I just know how it felt as a child to see something so major happening. I feel its like the kids now living through this panic at the disco. [[If you read this and you lost someone due to either of these horrific events please know that I in no way am invalidating or belittling your feelings or experiences. I merely am trying to describe all of how I feel throughout 2020- roughly current day 2021 and these are the things I was thinking and feeling on this particular day.]]

The days start to blend again as I attempt to countdown the days till my short vacation. Once that starts I get to finally relax as does my partner. The amount of sleep my partner has gotten is incredible and they deserve it dang it! This brings us to today, The last day of September 2021. This are changing at work and I'm not wholly sure of how I feel but I know it will be an interesting discussion for me to have with my therapist coming up. That's all I've got for now.. Hopefully I'll pop back in sooner to give more perspective on what its like living through all of this chaos. Just keep moving forward.

[northwest-cryptid]

Something I've learned from my time as a manager (and also my time working retail as everything under management) is that leading by fear will breed nothing more than rebellion. Leading by respect will harbor unity and teamwork.

This isn't a hard concept to understand, the people who worked the hardest for me were the people who saw me taking the initiative to help them with their daily jobs; the people who came to respect me because I would outright tell them that I get paid more, I'm higher on the corporate ladder; and therefore I need to be doing more than them.

These people saw me as a co-worker and not as some loud mouth boss who would boss them around; because I was. I was a team player, I wanted my workers to feel respected not for the sake of productivity but because they're human beings who deserve equal respect regardless of their job title.

If something NEEDED to be done, well guess what; as the MANAGER it is my responsibility to ensure that it gets done. I need to MANAGE the situation, that's my job; not yelling at everyone to make it happen while I sit on my ass getting paid a ton of money to micro-manage everyone.

I was once a part of a wonderful happening at a workplace that I shall not name since it's a larger chain but essentially the wait staff had gotten fed up with managers yelling at us because we'd been working our asses off all day. So when a manager told me to hurry up and clean faster I had told him "there are gloves right next to you, if it matters that much; put them on and give me a hand." He tried to talk back to me but another waiter nearby literally just said "no, fuck you man. We're doing this our way today. What are you going to do about it? Fire us all? Then who is gonna clean around here, you? Yea that's what I thought." The entire rest of the day tables were cleaned and ready for guests, the kitchen ran smoothly with food getting out to customers on time, and the wait staff took regular breaks, we made more in tips that day by a large margin as well. It got to the point the management went to the higher ups, brought in the general manager who took one look at the place and actually just said "I fail to see the problem, they're doing their jobs, customers are happy; we're making sales."

If you try to enforce punishment, if you try to lead your workplace with an iron fist and harsh rules all you're going to do is tell your workers that it's you vs them. That they should resent you, that they should band together against you; and you might think "great yea they're going to learn unity from their hatred of me!" No they won't.

They will slowly learn to hate each other, because one of them will be the first to slack off and not fear punishment, that person will be labeled as lazy and it will put extra work on the others who maybe can't afford to lose their jobs. Now they're at each other's throats, no one is happy to work with "this guy" and eventually someone will quit over it, now you're short staffed and no one is going to put up with your shit forever because guess what, they can get another job. Especially if you're a low paying retail/food service job, and no your tips don't matter trust me.

A good manager who cares about their team and works alongside them and actually carries their weight can take the most dysfunctional group of misfits and make them into a proper team who can run a place so well no one has to even lift a finger to do extra work.

I have managed several locations and stores from big name retail shops to mom and pop adult stores. I used to be humble and say that I'm no expert on how these things should go, but that I'm just doing my best. However given my years of experience in the field I can safely say that actually, no; I am something of an expert at this point.

This goes for all forms of "authority" whether it's school teachers, managers/bosses, or even parents.

If you're someone who shows support to your team in a tangible way; and you lead not by fear of punishment but by respect for your people and their well-being. You will find much more success in being taken seriously, being listened to, and actually getting whatever it is you need done, done.

the whole concept of authority is hysterically stupid to me. "i'm in charge so you have to do as i say!" no i don't lol

[enigmawrappedinhypocrisy]

Do you think Barley's working a crappy retail job? He's in his gap year but he still needs money to fix Guinevere and fund escapades. I can just see him in a uniform shirt he hates and had to get his tattoo done around, has to be covered by his sleeve, getting told off by his boss to tidy himself up more and having to use his "big guy" vibe to help his co-worker deal with an unruly customer.

❀✦ Master List✦❀

So I have a couple headcanons about this, (And It miight be me projecting but I think it works) 

★

I don’t think Barley goes to college, not that he’s just taking a year off. (Maybe that’s how it starts though). 

I think he probably doesn’t think he’s ‘college material’ and would rather any school money goes to Ian, who he knows will do so, so well in “Willowdale”. 

And that he spends so much time working to help contribute to the household, he doesn’t think he’d be able to do both.

He tells his mom it’s what he prefers to do anyway... so she wont feel bad- she still does. 

However I can totally see him going to night classes once he’s a little more stable. 

Maybe with his s/o’s encouragement?

★

I’m also married to the idea (mentioned in someone else’s fic) that he works in a garage, as a mechanic. Perhaps just as part of a deal- you can use my stuff to work on your van if you put in x hours a week in the shop.

I’d also see him needing to have more than one job, in which case i’d definitely say retail.  (Maybe a gas station/convince store? )

But also also, I’m not sure he acts like he hates it. 

Barley doesn’t love it, and always comes home exhausted but he generally seems okay when he’s there. 

The bosses/corporate totally suck but he loves his coworkers, always trying to lighten the mood and lend a sympathetic pointed ear. 

(He knows everyone’s relationship problems, and their dirty secrets... and gives the best advice...) 

(I’ve worked with a few boys like this, and they’re a treasure, always making you feel better after a rough day.)

I feel like the bosses will eventually give up about his tattoos or looks, giving in when he proves that keeping him on as a worker is better than losing him over something like a tattoo that’s mostly covered anyway. 

“Look, just hide it when the dm comes in...okay?” 

★

I think he’s a ‘people person’ so he’s probably nice to most of the customers, even if they’re not always nice to him. (A lot aren’t) 

Several of them, he knows by name and will take the time to chat with them. 

They might even complement his buttons which he’d put on his name tag or lapel, whichever works. 

( Another thing his boss gave up arguing about, But the uniform sucks and is really boring... so... )

But as mentioned, Barley loves his coworkers, especially if they were younger and maybe more sensitive to the abuse that seems to be accepted as commonplace in the service industry. 

They’re all his children and you can’t talk to them like that! 

If someone is really causing a problem he’ll step right in. 

First, he’d attempt to mitigate the problem. (Sometimes another person stepping in, especially if they were male, is enough to change the whole tone of an angry customer. )

If they persist, or get nasty, he wont hesitate to tell them to leave, or make them if they wont. 

The things people say (and do) to retail workers... 

He’s not gonna stand by and let this person, whoever they think they are, threaten his girls, or worse...

Barley will call the cops if he has to. (Even if he usually gets hassled by them when they do show) 

Once the customer leaves, he’d do his best to comfort the coworker, and make them smile again.

 No one’s allowed to be sad on his watch!! 

Not if he can help it! 

★

A/N: I’m super sorry if it seems like i’m discounting your headcanons. I don’t mean to... Just thought i’d share mine... Hope they’re okay.... 

[pyrodarknessanny]

Whilst the topic of treating women with  respect is a hot button issue at the moment it got me thinking about my own experiences in life. and whilst I can say that I am one of the lucky ones who’s not been assaulted   things have happened around me that  had they gone differently  my story would be very different indeed. it also saddens me  that I know so many close friends and family who were not so lucky , many of them were children when they were first abused. and yes I do know  “not all men”   but   as the brothers , fathers , uncles , cousins ,friends and co-workers  the weight of this falls on you to call out  the  unacceptable behaviour of your peers. I’m going to list this instances in chronological order. and keep in mind that  I am a  goblin , short, weird , don’t care for looking nice and makeup and such  but still  ive been put on the spot numerus times in the past by  “nice guys”™ high school , senior years .   met some one I thought was decent online . we had an on again off again  video call thing going it spanned years  and started innocently enough  however in the latter years  when I was super depressed it turned quite toxic and manipulative   where he would refuse to   pay attention to me, controlling the calls , there was a time zone difference  so I was up till 4am most nights  hoping that this person would be around.    When we did get into calls  he had me doing  increasingly  dangerous things .   he’d even convinced me to  send him a  substantial amount of money of the last 12 months of our contact.          I’ve since cut them off  cold some years ago now but   they’ve certainly had an impact on me

 In between this on again off again online thing   when I was single I’ve and no less than 3   older male friends  try to hit me up because their  partners at the time were out of town. one even messaged me one night when I was high and tried very hard to convince me that it would be a good idea to drop round.       I don’t talk to any of them now but  each one I told to stay faithful to their partners and denied their offers.    

Also in high school - this happened at my  part time job. boss had a mate who would often sell him stuff for the store ,  bit of a flipper. one of the other senior staff thought it was FUNNY  to tell him that  I was fair game. so this guy who is well in his 40’s   would seek me out at work and harass me. usually when I was at the back of the shop bagging the bulk produce into smaller retail portions. mind you I’m  an 18 yr old autistic person .  had to find excuses to  avoid this person   make it look like im working  in the areas that had security cameras on them or   hope that there were customers so he couldn’t  talk to me.       I had spoken out about this  to the boss and  the owner of the business ( as it was one of his friends)   but they  all thought it was a harmless game. guy bailed me up at the back of the store one afternoon as im bagging  up animal feed.  Store was dead quiet  so not a lot of escape options   I had had enough of it by that point  and put him in his place.   Fortunately  for me he was a little old Asian man  had he of been some one of my dad’s stature  that scenario would have played out MUCH differently.  

Hey now speaking of family! growing up in an abusive household sure dose   wounders for building character huh? im on good talking terms with my family now but growing up  was interesting.

Our house hold was one of hard disciplines.  We didn’t just get smacked we got absolutely belted.

Or our things were broken… actually it was only ever MY things that got trashed out of discipline. my 4 brothers always got off Scott free. Whenever there was a fight or argument ? it was always me that was in trouble  regardless of the circumstance.

Good lessons to teach the kids eh’

My real dad  was off the sceen,  we were more or less raised by our step dad but   when he got an upper management job at his place of work , shit at home  got  bad.    The abuse turned from physical   to psychological .     nothing was ever good enough.   You were always trash  or a disgrace. and praise was only ever given to  the brothers.          So  yeah more good lessons  for  impressionable teens.   shitty ex #1 -  met them at a convention , seamed like a reasonable kind of guy we hit it off and it was great.    Very quickly realised something was off about them. tried very hard to control me .  would say one thing and then do something else entirely. caught them out on numerous lies and on more than one occasion said some very concerning things about minors.       Moments that stand out the most .   was staying at my place for a party , either a birthday or Halloween .   at my house with my family and close friends , had the gall to try and control my behaviour  because  he thought I was being too weird , he did this in front of my mother and best friend.     Another time , it was my birthday and he promised  to buy dinner out . started out as  we would go to this fancy casino restaurant .    ended at a Mc Donald’s with me catching the train home by my self  fuming.     I should have ended that one much sooner than I did but I didn’t want to come across as “mean” or unreasonable  so it let it drag out for another 6 months before I told him to fuck off.

 Dude then proceeded to cyber stalk me and  several friends there after. he was super bad at this and  finaly backed off when I threatened to call the cops. YEET!

 Shitty ex #2 -  technically we only dated for a few weeks decided that it didn’t work for either of us but stayed good friends .        had to tell them  frequently  about what things were and weren’t appropriate  for the friendship afterwards ,    eneded turning into one of the biggest narcicists ive ever seen.

 Miscellaneous things.   Im mentioned before about peer pressure and that its on the boys to call this shit out when they see it. I’ve had  to be the voice of reason for a number of male friends   when they were getting  a bit too obsessed over  girls who had zero interest in them.        One guy in particular  could not leave it alone  , this girl he was white knighting for    was a friend from school , she had a partner but he  swore black and blue that   he could “save her”  from making shitty decisions.     I think he eventually gave up on her when she ripped him off over some digital art that was a trace job and he lost  a good sum of money but   it was disturbing to hear just how obsessed he was with  her.

[paulinedorchester]

Hodgson, Vere. Few Eggs and No Oranges: A Diary Showing How Unimportant People in London and Birmingham Lived Through the War Years 1940-1945, Written in the Notting Hill Area of London. London: Dennis Dobson, 1976. Reprint (as Few Eggs and No Oranges: The Diaries of Vere Hodgson 1940-45), with a new preface by Jenny Hartley, London: Persephone Books, 1999.

Winifred Vere Hodgson (1901-1979) was born in Edgbaston, Birmingham, into what seem to have been shabby-genteel circumstances. On the one hand, after her father’s death in 1907 her mother was obliged to run the family home as a boarding house in order to make ends meet; on the other, she was educated at King Edward VI High School for Girls before reading history at the University of Birmingham. She was a niece of Thomas Vere Hodgson, the marine biologist on the H.M.S. Discovery during its voyage of 1904-6.

After graduating, she taught for several years at – wait for it – L’Istituto Statale della Ss. Annunziata, Florence, Italy, where – wait for it again – Edda Mussolini was among her pupils, and then for several more years at schools in (apparently – I’m a bit confused about this) Folkestone and Wimbledon. Deciding on a complete change, in 1935 she answered a “positions available” advertisement placed by a philanthropic body. Thus began her career as a social welfare worker, which seems to have been deemed important enough to have kept her from conscription during the war.

The organization for which Hodgson worked, the Greater World Christian Spiritualist Association, was located at 3 Lansdowne Road – still standing, this building was referred to at that time as The Sanctuary – and served primarily the Notting Hill and Holland Park areas, both of which seem to have been pretty down-at-heel at the time. They operated a night shelter for homeless women and gave grants of money and needed goods to the poor. (The Greater World, as its staff called it, doesn’t seem to me to fit the definition of a cult, so I’ll refrain from making any value judgements; you can read more about it here and here. It is still active.)

Hodgson’s job involved a good deal of secretarial and clerical work, but she also worked directly with the association’s beneficiaries as well as making nice with its benefactors. She often spent nights at The Sanctuary, either to be present for the women sheltering there or, once the war began, to take her turn as a fire-watcher. Although in her diary she always expresses gratitude for any free time she had, the job clearly brought her a great deal of satisfaction:

Went to see one of my poor old souls today. She has been getting a bit of chair-mending to do, and was better. She dreads the winter – as last year she was compelled to beg in the streets; but now we shall help her. The dread of complete destitution is terrible.

Like Clara Milburn, another wartime diarist whose output was published in the 1970s, Hodgson wasn’t writing primarily for her own benefit. Mrs. Milburn kept her diary with an eye to creating a record of the home front for her son, Alan, an officer in the British Expeditionary Force who was taken prisoner in Belgium in 1940. Miss Hodgson initially wrote for a cousin, Lucy Hodgson, who when the war began was in England on sabbatical from her job as an education officer in what was then known – to some people, at least – as Northern Rhodesia, and returned there in the Spring of 1940 “with grave misgivings,” according to Vere Hodgson’s introduction to the book.

Hodgson began sending installments of the diary to Lucy, who returned them to her and also sent parcels of cheese, tea, and other rationed foods. At some point Vere began mailing the pages to a round-robin of friends and relations, the last of whom would then send them on to Africa. (Amazingly, only one installment went missing.) Another thing that Hodgson’s diary has in common with Milburn’s is that she didn’t actually use printed diaries, allowing her to write very long entries at times.

The diary first came to public attention when Hodgson answered another advertisement, this one from the journalist Leonard Mosely, who was looking for first-hand accounts of life in wartime London as source material for his 1971 book Backs to the Wall (which is clearly something that I need to read). He quoted her entries for September 3rd, 1939, and May 7th, 1940. This resulted in a request from the publisher Dennis Dobson that Hodgson prepare an edition of her wartime diary as a whole. According to a publisher’s note in the Persephone reprint, “This she did, cutting by about three-quarters and editing substantially.” Since the reprint runs to 590 pages, one has to wonder what the original was like!

Few Eggs and No Oranges begins on June 25th, 1940, with the announcement that “Last night at about 1 a.m. we had the first raid of the war on London.” Air raids were at the very center of Hodgson’s war. She details, blow by blow, each and every raid and alert that she experienced. Indeed, she offers so much granular information on raids – where bombs fell, how many people were killed, etc. – and other topics that British newspapers weren’t permitted to discuss in any detail that it’s a wonder that the diary was never censored on its way out of the country. (At one point she reports that the censor returned to her a letter that she’d sent to a friend in Canada, so clearly this was something that really did happen! At the same time, she records many major events of the war all over the globe, seeming to assume that Lucy won’t have heard or read about them and leaving me wondering whether Northern Rhodesia can really have been that isolated by 1939.) Her preoccupation may have had something to do with the fact that she always found herself living on a building’s topmost floor: when the war began she was renting a room in a boarding house at 56 Ladbroke Road; in October, 1941 to her great delight, she moved to a “flatlet” across the street at 79 Ladbroke Road, the process of furnishing which she recounts with relish. Among other advantages, this allowed her to shelter friends who needed it: one of her friends was bombed out three times over the course of the war. To be sure, Hodgson did develop a good deal of sang-froid: “Very blitzy indeed last night,” she remarks off-handedly on January 10th, 1941.

When bombs weren’t falling, Hodgson simply recorded everyday life, often hilariously:

Spoke my mind to the cat. It is disgraceful that all the Cats have joined some sort of Pacifist Organization. To keep a cat in these awful days of food scarcity, and then have to catch the mice yourself, is a bit thick. I explained this to our animal.

As you might guess from the book’s title, food was another of Hodgson’s central preoccupations. There seem to be two conflicting narratives about food rationing in the U.K. during and after World War II. One is that pre-war Britons were overfed on a fatty, starchy diet, and that the nation’s overall health improved as a result of rationing. The other is that rationing was not only damaging to the nation’s morale, but led to widespread borderline malnutrition. Hodgson was inclined to the latter view. She repeatedly details all of the edibles she’s having to do without (fresh fruit was a major lack), either because they’re simply unavailable or, in the case of unrationed goods, because their prices have skyrocketed. On the other hand, she takes great joy in her own and other people’s ability to make whatever food could be had go further. (She writes about her Auntie Nell’s jam-making activities with obvious pride.) And whenever she had a windfall she was happy to share it.

And about those windfalls: Hodgson gleefully records each of the “gifts” of extra food she received from retailers – which included oranges that only children were supposed to get – and items bought from roadside vendors on trips out of London. It’s really quite shocking how common fiddling the system seems to have been, and how unrepentant people were about doing it:

Went for my bacon ration and while he was cutting it had a word with the man about the Cubic Inch of Cheese. He got rid of the other customers and then whispered, ‘Wait a mo’.’ I found half a pound of cheese being thrust into my bag with great secrecy and speed!

Then going to the Dairy for my butter ration I was given four eggs and a quarter of cheese!

Despite the housing and food problems she and her friends and neighbors had, Hodgson seems to have enjoyed a lively social life throughout the war, with neighbors, co-workers, former pupils, visiting relatives, and complete strangers she encountered over lunch at the Mercury Café. She saw plays at the Mercury Theatre and wrote about them as well as the films she saw. (She seems to have had no objection to American adaptations of British literature – How Green Was My Valley was a favorite – but did complain that American films were too fast-paced for her liking.)

Hodgson’s answer to the iconic question “Is Your Journey Really Necessary?” was nearly always an emphatic “Yes!” Throughout the war she made frequent trips to Birmingham to see her mother and sister (there, too, she recounted air raids and the damage they caused); to Brede, Sussex, where two more aunts lived; and occasionally to other places in search of fresh air, quiet, and a change of pace. Although she makes note of the bad travelling conditions that she often endured, she almost always persevered.

Her politics are difficult to pin down. She idolized Winston Churchill (“The bravest of us all!”), even though his policies led to the internment of a close friend, and on weekdays she read The Daily Telegraph. But on Sundays she read The Observer and The People, and once Germany invaded the Soviet Union she became a great fan of the Russians. Hodgson was also enthusiastic about Americans: she expresses equal admiration for Roosevelt and his 1940 opponent, Wendell Wilkie, and remarked that “Really the Americans seem to give the best Postscripts,” after hearing one from Dorothy Thompson in August 1941. (She seems never to have actually met any Americans, however.)

On religion, too, she is very vague. She greatly admired the altruism and sheer energy of Winifred Moyes, the founder of the Greater World Christian Spiritualist Association, and at least in the published version of her diary she never criticizes Moyes’s Spiritualist “meetings,” but neither does she ever seem to have attended one. She appears to have been only an occasional church-goer, more often listening to broadcast services. However, she did regularly read her horoscope, as well as Edward Lyndoe’s predictions in The People, and was irritated by a Mass-Observation report that disapproved of the finding that 40% of the British public had some degree of interest in astrology.  

A couple of aspects of Few Eggs and No Oranges did make me uncomfortable. One is Hodgson’s enthusiasm for what could be called “air-raid tourism”: as soon as possible after learning where bombs had fallen during a recent raid she went to have a look at the damage, telling her readers about what she saw. This seems to have been a popular pastime, as she rarely seems to have been alone in her rubbernecking. People probably wanted to be reassured that others were worse off than they were, which is understandable but doesn’t make the behavior any less creepy.

And then there are the bits that brought me right up against the limits of my Anglophilia. On several occasions Hodgson mentions off-handedly, and for no apparent reason, that someone she encounters is Jewish: “Met Ivy [Croucher, an actress and elocution teacher; she’s the one who was made homeless three times] coming back from her lunch at the Grosvenor with her Jewish pupil.” Later, during a visit to Birmingham, she notes that she “got four [oranges] from a Jewish trader by spinning him a yarn.”

What exactly is the point? Did she enjoy inducing the produce vendor into actions that could easily have landed him in court? How did she even know that either of these people were Jewish? The distinctive dress of those now known in the U.K. as the strictly Orthodox would have been a rare sight at the time, especially away from London; and if Crompton’s pupil was eating at the Grosvenor Hotel, as is implied, then he or she can hardly have been Orthodox at all. And then there’s this:

Went to see The [Great] Dictator today. How I enjoyed it! Superb satire! For all its tomfoolery written with a profundity of serious purpose. The speeches of Hynkel, half-German, half-English, are there. People who understood German were even more convulsed than I was. ... The palace scenes, where Hynkel did not waste a moment, were all in the spirit of German thoroughness. But Mussolini in real life does not smile so much. All done by an East End Jew! [emphasis added]

One hardly knows what to say — other than “Wrong on both counts, sweetheart.”

When Persephone republishes a book, they don’t simply reprint it from the original, but set it into type anew. (Their reprint of Mollie Panter-Downes’s London War Notes 1939-1945 features a row of tiny U.S. flags at the top of each even-numbered page and a corresponding row of British flags on each odd-numbered one.) The original Few Eggs apparently included illustrations that aren’t in the reprint. All we get is a hand-drawn map of Notting Hill and Holland Park; while beautiful to look at, it’s reproduced here on such a small scale as to make it essentially useless. I’m slightly sorry that I didn’t try to find a used copy of the original publication.

Nevertheless, I enjoyed reading Few Eggs and No Oranges, and recommend it to anyone who’s looking for a (very long) first-hand account of the British home front.