Your Freindly Neighbrohood Creepster

Posted: 22 March, 2015 in Uncategorized
Tags: , , ,

 

I don’t talk much here about my day various day jobs, but one of them is working as a freelance technical director, running crews for builds, load ins, strikes, overseeing various aspects of shows. I was driving back and forth from the shop to the theatre and had to bring one of my employees with me to help move stuff.

A gorgeous day out, I left the windows down, the suburbs, but plenty of pedestrians out. At one of the stops I look over to my passenger and see him, I don’t know how else to say it leering. I’m not sure even how to define leering, but, like pornography, I knew it when I saw it.

I follow his gaze to the objects of his attention. Girls. Walking, as pedestrians are wont to do, down the sidewalk paying him no mind.

I turned away uncomfortably, parked, and started loading. but we made a second trip and a third, to the shop and back. Almost every drive, he did the same thing. Sometimes even adding it some week salutation. “h-heyy” “sup, ladies”. I pretended I wasn’t there.

Now I have no issue looking at someone I find attractive. But it wasn’t just that. And I can’t put my finger on the difference other than. The way he did it was creepy. A slow, limp wave accompanied by an ingenuine, dopey, I hesitate to even call it a smile, which pushed forward a large top row of teeth, threatening to let his tongue fall out. His eyes grew wide like witnessing the opening of the ark of the covenant. He leaned out towards them in a way that felt invasive.

I should also mention that many of these women were teenagers from a nearby high school running in athletic attire.

On our final trip back I finally say something

-Is that really how you attract women?

He shrugs. -whatta you mean?

-You know, the staring the waving, the “hey ladies?” thing. I mean, does that work for you. Do people respond to it in a positive manner?

-I dunno man. It’s just girls.

I try to think of what next. -I don’t think it’s working, I think you’re creepin them out.

He does a whiney child-wants-a-cookie voice -But the girls here are sooOOo pretty, he laughs, -and it’s not like any of them  work for [our workplace].

The others who worked for me were married or ugly or both. is what he meant.

We’re back at the theatre. I drop in and focus on work. I blast music once we’re inside (zepplin, gaga, zevon, nirvana, My  traditional build mix). I love the part of my job where I don’t have to talk to anyone aside from giving out a to do list. I work till the space needs to be used for rehearsal and I have the creepster clean up while I close up the shop. I go straight from there to the Metra station.

I lay on a bench and read. The other passengers are waiting inside, except a woman on a bike two benches down. I try to brush off as much sawdust as I can each time I turn a page and notice the state of my hands.

-hey man!

it’s him.  I’ve never shared a train with him. I’m always the first one there and the last one out.  He usually catches a train an hour and a half before me, but it’s tech week so everyone works late. He’s sweating through his short sleeve button up. I hate short sleeve button ups. The only people who wear those are guys with NO fashion sense, nazis, and a certain kind of queer (who are the only ones who can pull it off).

I sit up. he sits next to me. He talks about work. asks me if I’ve got anything else lined up after this and he’d be gave if I needed anyone else on my crew. He liked working for me. he said -you’re not a total asshole, you know. You don’t feel like management.

he follows me on to the train. My stop is only two out from downtown so I got a ways to go. I hope in my head, and ask him -so where do you get off?

-oh, I’m on the south side so I change in the loop.

all the way, great.

He’s munching on an ice cream he got from the station. -what’s up, dude? you look stressed.

at least he’s concerned from me. I’m sure he’s really a nice guy. I shouldn’t be such a dick to him.

-oh nothin, I say, -[the director] and I had a bit of a row. I’m pissed with her is all.

-really? She doesn’t seem like the man hating lesbian to me.

-Huh?

I don’t know how to respond. I don’t know anything about the woman’s personal life. We’re not that close. In fairness to him she does have a Dikey look to her, close cropped hair, stout build, plaid. all that. but it’s not like either of us has disclosed our sex lives.

No, you idiot. I want to say. She’s pissed at me because she keeps making changes to the goddamn thing and matches that unrealistic expectations given the time frame we have available to us. My gender has absolutely nothing to do with it and because we are professionals we argued and moved on from the matter. What in sweet fucks name is the matter with you?

but instead I just tell him. -It’s fine don’t worry. we had a professional disagreement. Above your paygrade

-right, he says. we go silent for a while, then he starts talking again. -That [my employee, his coworker, name removed] girl was really [bitchy] the last two days, you know?

Really? is that what you think? because, first, that ‘girl’ is two years older than me. and more importantly she’s ten times the employee he is. and I take her with me whenever I can.

-She’s just had a stressful couple of days, lot of extra work got dumped on her at the last minute and it wasn’t her fault
(the same thing happened to me as a result of spur of the moment artistic decisions made by my ‘man hating lesbian’ of a director). -Furthermore, I know she’s got personal shit going on.

I didn’t elaborate. I like her and her personal life is none of his business.

He did an up down with his head and gave me an ‘ah that’ which indicated that by personal shit I must have meant PMS.

beyond responding at all.

Usually I’m the straightest male in my work environment and I forget how to relate to other straight men who aren’t part of ‘the community’. I’m sure women types hear this kind of talk all the time. I don’t and I forget this is what it’s like behind the curtain. I pull out my book and try to stare at the pages or out the window until I get off. I wish I could correct this guy, but I’m exhausted. I don’t want to keep talking to him. I wouldn’t even know where to start. All I can do is not hire him next go round. It’s not my job to fix each person’s relationship with the world. I’m too damn tired to stop being part of the problem .

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