Maybe I was born that way, but it could have started with my mother. She came from a large, mean family, and was the designated goat. She was beaten. Although she hated her mom, she lacked creativity, so she copied her mother, right down to the housedresses, cotton stockings, grandma shoes, and long hair rolled up over a “rat.”
When she tried to force those styles on me, I reacted like a Tasmanian devil. She tried to get even; she attempted to set me up for beatings from my father and older brother. That worked pretty well with my brother, but Dad usually got mad at her instead.
When I was in first grade, it reached my tender ears that the bus driver was trying to court and seduce a fifth grader. He intimidated the students into leaving the seat behind him open and reserved for her. She was terrified of the ugly man, but no one would help.
I sat in that seat one morning. The bus driver turned and glared at me, but I didn’t leave, I glared back. We did that all the way to town. The desired girl fled to the safety of the last rows. Then boys took up where I left off, in and out of the front seat, blocking the fifth grader, to her delight. Word spread, and the bus driver disappeared.
I hate bullies.
I was in Quality Control/Quality Assurance for many years, and I was very good, but the job in Carson City was weird from the start. There was an “in” clique much like high school, and they did drugs, had sex on the job, allowed a million a year in product to evaporate, put 401K money in their own NASDAQ accounts, covered for illegals, and ran businesses on the side, using company tools and raw materials. They implied that people had been killed on the property, and I would be next if I didn’t quit. My stubbornness kicked in, of course.
So, they called me a lesbian (not true), and a lush (mostly not true), set honey traps using both sexes, constantly sent me out for drug tests, stalked me with cameras (I thought that was funny), flattened my tires (not funny), cancelled work without telling me, put scorpions in my office (as if!), adjusted my work hours to irregular ending times (6:22 pm), so I would be alone on the road. Oil was poured on my car from an overpass, but I was quick. I didn’t turn on the wipers, and looked between the streams.
They flooded the factory with poisonous gas, there were no alarms, and everyone else was quietly removed. A maintenance worker, who wasn’t in on the crime, ran to my office and rescued me (he was then fired). I was still stubborn, and brought in the IRS to get the creeps off my back. Finally, they threw up their hands and eliminated my job.
What was the reason for all the garbage? Having a successful company wasn’t as important as continuing the games? There must have been real money involved, and not only personal benefits. And I wasn’t the first QC person they’d attacked; I was just the one who stuck around.
In reading the Alaskan blogs, and some from Texas and Europe, I can see that other areas are just the same. It’s more than drugs. And it’s not weapons trafficking; those guys are sharks. The clique in Carson City was a bunch of minnows by comparison. So it must be human trafficking, weak children and women; to my eye, nothing else fits.
I’ve done all I can and moved on. But as they say, there’s no Statute of Limitations on murder.