Cruel Reality, and Anger’s Drive

Yesterday, I got a call from a job that I was interviewed for weeks ago.  I got the job!  It was a great day.  The best I’ve had in years.  For a whole day, I got to feel like I was on top of the world.  And I did.  But it all came crashing back down.  In an instant, I got to feel like the most pathetic pile of shit ever.  Why?  Because the parents had to give me some “helpful” advice for something I need to do right away when I start there.  And that is – explain to my new boss why I’m not pretty to look at.

For those who didn’t know, I’m balding.  It’s not some early-onset deal or anything that, while not great, could at least be explained away.  It’s an auto-immune condition that is VERY unsightly to look at.  And getting moreso all the time.  I am fully aware of my situation in regards to this.  It doesn’t make me feel good.  On top of all the medical garbage that afflicts me, I get to become uglier and uglier.  You have no idea how much it pisses me off.

So I get this new job, and I am on Cloud 9.  Months upon months of failed interviews.  Having to ask the parents for help with rent.  All the failures leading up to now, and I’m finally back!  It’s such a great opportunity.  With this in mind, I figured that I’d go out to the parents for an obligation for friends of the family.  It was a funeral.  Or at least a memorial.  Weirdest one I’ve ever been to.  No ceremony.  No pomp and circumstance.  Just people in an awkward venue talking.  Makes me think that that is what my own memorial will be like, since I don’t want some religious funeral.  I said that I want a wake.  I want all the people to get totally and utterly blitzed, thinking about me.  I want my ashes in a container on the pool table of this bar, since they can’t lay my body out on it.

When I get out there, I am told congratulations for getting the job.  Cloud 9, babes!  Then the conversation takes a hard right.  I am told that I need to tell the boss immediately why my head is so unsightly.  Why?  Because it is so unpleasant to look at that people will think I’m diseased, and this will lead them to complain.  I could end up losing this job because I am not nice to look at.  After all, everyone is always scared that they’re going to get some stupid disease, right?  She believed so.  In an instant, all of my pride and confidence came crashing down.  It takes real talent to destroy someone’s self-esteem the way she did.  I swear, she gets it from her mother.  That lady could do it too.  Hence why I wasn’t a fan of the grandmum on her side.  Weird that I have the only thing that she left to someone by name.  We never did get along.

So, to avoid potential workplace cohesion or losing this job for whatever reason, I have to have an awkward conversation with my employer explaining why my head is unsightly to look at, at a job where I am going to be working with the public all day.  Yeah, this leaves me feeling just great.  Screw how qualified I am!  It all comes down to looking pretty.

But then I remember – yeah, it really does.  Here’s something that people may not have told all of you – life is a beauty pageant.  In the game of life, those who have genetic qualities or enough dedication to reach the height of physical perfection are at a better place than those who don’t.  Women like to claim that they are the only ones with unreasonable standards.  Yeah, tell that to the chubby balding man under 6 feet tall.  I’m at least a mildly-chubby balding man just-under 7 feet tall.  Little mercies, right?

All my life, everything works against me.  There have never been a point that I’m ahead or even keeping pace with all of the bullshit.  Now I have my own mother telling me that if I don’t make things uncomfortable right at the git-go, I am virtually-guaranteed to lose this job.  I get a fucking dream job, and I’m starting at a disadvantage.  Story of my fucking life.  Then she has the balls to say, “don’t get mad,” when I am rightfully-pissed at this.  I wasn’t.  I was furious!  Part of me still is.

Which brings us to my final thought – how do I overcome this?  How do I beat this?  How do I show everyone, including my parents, that I am better than this standard that they all see for me?  Easy – by pushing past it.  I’m going to kick so much ass and take names at this fucking job.  I’m going to blow these people away by becoming the best person who has ever done this job.  Then I’ll get my fucking mojo back!  When I am standing on top of the metaphorical corpses of their efforts, I will be rubbing it in the noses of everyone who sees me as one unsightly feature away from failure.  That’s how I do this!  And so that’s what I’m going to do.  I’m going to kick ass and take names.  I have no other choice.

Many summers back, I was helping the parents work on the foundation of their latest home.  I hated it.  It was boiling hot work out in the sun.  It was awful.  The longer I was out there, the more angry I became.  However, that anger fueled me.  It gave me strength I didn’t know I had.  The job got done in so much less than half the time.  My anger makes me extraordinary.  So that’s what I’m going to do here.  Get angry, and then be amazing.  Smile for everyone, do the best that anyone ever had, and show all the doubters who’s boss.

Until next time, a quote,

“See, skinny, socially-privileged white people get to draw a circle.  Everyone inside the circle is normal.  Everyone outside the circle needs to be beaten, broken, and reset, then brought into the circle.  Failing that they need to be institutionalized.  Or worse – pitied.” – Gregory House, House M.D.

Peace out,



2 thoughts on “Cruel Reality, and Anger’s Drive

  1. Congrats on landing the job, Maverick!

    Sorry she was such a fucking buzzkill, over something that probably doesn’t matter. Call me ignorant, but why oh why would an employer care about that? We have all people of all types at my work, and I only care what you do not what you look like. (We did have to have a conversation with one over their smell, but that’s a different issue)

    The question is are you alright with yourself, not if anyone else is alright with it. If you see that as a problem, are there any positive steps you can take? If it’s patchy or something, what about owning the bald look? (my friend was bald at 19 and he rocks it). I mean, Picard got all the ladies on TNG :P. But if you are fine with it, don’t change a thing.

    You are absolutely right in that in the end, all you need to do is do the best job you can. That’s really all you can do, and have it drive you to move forward. Go kick ass at your new job — Good luck & go get ’em!

    • To be fair, Picard’s bald dome is beautiful. Mine is not. This auto-immune condition is making my balding very unsightly. Imagine scarring tissue all over one’s head. Yeah, it ain’t pretty. But there’s no cure. So I just have to do what I can with it.

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