A Victim’s Perspective
My name is unimportant. All I ever wanted to do in life was help people. I am a metrosexual, so I do not really have a gender. My life was a steady series of pay raises, mailings from my pension plan, vacations in tropical socialist countries, and sexual encounters with socialist women struggling with career angst. Even the power struggles over parking spots, coffee cup storage placement in the dish drying rack, or possession of the toilet cubicle farthest from the one where the diversity of other gendered copulate during break, was nothing compared to the inner struggle I am experiencing today. Or was, until I found the Fenris Badwulf School of Telemarketing Excellence. I discovered that I was a victim, too. This is my perspective:
I was coordinating a Life Skills course for Never Workers. The usual instructor was off on extended disability leave: with only seven years until early retirement, there was not a hope in Hades that he/she would return in time to finish the remaining twenty four months of this college credit course. It was lesson seven of section two: things not to do in the home, er, under a roofed structure. Do not piss in the kitchen sink. I had a nightmare the night before, and was filled with dread on my commute into Toronto from my forested homestead located on the Oak Ridges Moraine. What if some culture celebrates urinating in the kitchen sink? Who was I to tell them that it was wrong? What is wrong that is not right, er, left, in some other culture?
I looked at my class. Half had shown up. Joketurd * was always absent. I bit my lip. Which of the many, er, few, present also celebrated urinating in the kitchen sink as part of their culture? Just because the racist Non-Hyphenated-Canadians do not, does not make it wrong, bad, or not right. Merely suggesting such a thing could get the department into a Human Resources claim; there would be a note in my file; my access to paper clips could be compromised. I bit my lip, again. How could I teach this module subsection of lesson seven of session two? I was aghast.
Student involvement. Ask the students what they want to learn, then test them to see if they can remember what they said. Did they take the dishes out of the kitchen sink? Should one take out the dishes? A survey of cultural diversity. Should one take out some of the dishes? What does one do; what is the correct method; how do I avoid insulting and alienating M’gob from Dropping? He had some detailed opinions about which dishes to keep out of the kitchen sink. I would have to keep an eye on him; when he actually showed up on nights other than the nights when the checks were handed out.
I am a victim, too. I am, I really am. Despite my white skin, possession of the invisible knapsack of white privilege, and lingering racist attitudes that are nauseated by the culture of urination in the kitchen sink (with and without dishes), I too can participate in victim culture. I am not happy: whose fault is that? Where is the parking spot under the eves that I was promised? When do I get the never worker job the socialists promised? Who can I blame for all my problems? What is the reason for teaching illiterates to read? Why do I have to share a classroom with chronic bedbug infested people? I have questions! I demand answers!
I am a victim. My racist culture has crippled my ability to enjoy life, to relax, to enjoy the simple pleasures in life. And if your culture celebrates urinating in the kitchen sink, take the dishes out first. Wash your hands; use soap. I have rights, too. Do not offend my culture; I can do youth crime too, you kitchen wankers.
I, Fenris Badwulf, shared this. I care.