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.

3 Responses to “A Victim’s Perspective”

  1. marc in calgary™ Says:

    I rent a basement suite, the entire basement is mine, surrounded by concrete and small windows on one side, storage of valuable items, tools, implements of my work and hundreds of T-shirts.
    The italian lives upstairs, with the old bird that owns the house and never married.
    The italian is new this year, he replaced the drug addict “Tanis” that I lent small change to in order to buy a cel phone, she spent it on drugs. All of it.
    One day I went upstairs to collect the National Post™ and while she sat on her couch she lifted her black dress and offered to pay my money back. The police have visited here a few times this year, looking for Tanis. She still owes me, I don’t lose sleep over it. The italian was a drug addict of some sort. He plays music from his homeland that I can hear plainly for about 12 or so hours a day, I’m starting to like it, although I don’t understand it. The only english songs he plays are “Across the Universe”, which he also sings in a key only he can hear correctly, and some garbage song by The Doors.
    Thank God they’re dead. They’re dead right? They’re not making any more of that are they?
    It wasn’t very warm here when I moved into the basement. It was warm upstairs though, I’d been upstairs to pay the rent, always on time, and it seemed warm. As a plumber with some experience in heating, I couldn’t figure out why for the first month. The furnace seemed to kick in regularly. I’d checked the filter and inside the furnace just to ensure it wasn’t full of 60 years of “mouse dirt”.
    I thought, do I have to heat this shit hole too? This can’t be right. One day I was searching through my collection of T-shirts and the furnace started, I looked up without thinking of it, and looked into the vent / heat register, and noticed a cloth behind the vent opening. I removed the cover and upon further inspection, found that all the vents were covered, so as to force the warm air into the main floor of the house where the Italian and the old bird lived. Isn’t there any regulation to ensure that illegal basement suites paid for in cash only had to be heated so the tenant could rest his weary bones at night? I realized that only me is going to take care of me in this basement. What to do, what to do…

    I removed the dish towels that had been placed into the venting, and just like magic, started to sleep through the night in warmth, it reminded me of being married again it was so warm, although quite a bit more quiet except for the italian singing. I found other ways of warming up the basement, I removed the vent from the back of the electric clothes dryer, I connect it while actually drying clothing, although I forgot to once and came home to find condensate dripping down the laundry room walls after a load of jeans were dried. Some nights I just turn it on for an hour with the vent removed and the sweet, soft electrical heat from the dryer warms my bones, I find the motor sounds quite soothing, while 1 wet towel makes it smell like I’m in a Downey™ dream .
    I bought an electric mattress warming pad, it fits under the flannel sheets and it automatically turns off after 10 hours, although lets be frank here, I don’t pay for electricity and that mattress warmer is on for +20 hours a day. When I return from my day, it’s ready and waiting baby.
    The former (first) owner of this house had redeveloped the basement, they had some venting work done to the furnace, added a humidifier for the dry cold winters and such. It was done “old school” with a type of flashing attached to where the old holes were. These came off easily, as did the old humidifier, both of them left holes of about 30% of the venting that was going upstairs, and with the newly opened vents I’d unclogged I found it quite toasty down here in winter, I enjoy my new found warmth, actually looking forward to the return of winter now that I’ve beaten this cold.
    I went to pay the rent late in the spring and saw that the italian was sitting in their living room, it was April yet he still had a sweater over his shirt although I didn’t really put it together with my heat adjustments, let’s be frank here, I’m warm and maybe the italians just need to get used to our idea of “spring”. Perhaps he should learn to like long underwear before next winter starts too, it’s the canadian way.

    I’m joketurd in calgary™ , and I’m warm.

  2. Fenris Badwulf Says:

    Your sharing of your story brought tears to my eyes.

  3. Stevo Says:

    Good of you not to push the towels back to block other portions of the heating system.

    Just saying.

    It was nice of you not to put the towels back into the airducts to block other airways.

    Just saying.

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