Are You Caressing My Scalp? / I Was Simply Attempting To Be Nice...

Back around 2007, I befriended an Aussie via the magic of the Internet.  Scott & I hit it off immediately, and the friendship endured (with fervor) for +/-18 months (it was an email bonanza as we were both fervent writers).

One of the curious admittances that Scott made to me was his willingness to traverse "over hill & dale" (many kilometers) to have his haircut.  Scott was quite scrupulous about his looks, admitting to wanting to achieve "maximum appearance appeal" 24/7/365.  It's important to note that the barber he utilized, he was very sexually attracted to, and as such, especially enjoyed the noteworthy "tactile special attention" he received (perceived?) therein.  

Overall, (according to Scott) this barber was not at all bashful about touching my Aussie friend (around his head and neck) with just enough delicacy to telegraph that perhaps there was moreso there than just a professional rapport.  Was this intentional?  And if so, what exactly served as the motive therein for doing so?

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Back in the early 2000s, I found myself working side by side with a number of young architect interns who just happened to be female.  One young lady ended up - last minute - on an ad hoc design team with Rob, and once we met our (fast approaching) deadline (we were working on construction documents for a large scale collegiate educational building), I chose to give her a "thank you" note for her hard work.  I singled her out in this regard because this was her first large-scale project team effort to be a part of, and she was female.  I had enough firsthand knowledge about women to know that they LOVE handwritten notes.  So that's how I chose to communicate my sincere thankfulness.

I distinctly remember leaving the small envelope in her office chair after quitting time one day, and every day afterwards, our relationship was never the same.

I could see this clearly in her eyes whenever she and I interacted (post-"thank you" note).

Never again did I attempt to express my professional thanks in this way WITH ANYONE.  I became deeply regretful relative to my naive stupidity.

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My barber is around age 60.  I have been a patron for decades.  The haircuts are exceedingly affordable which I particularly like because my hair grows FAST.  In all honesty, I could get my haircut far more than I cyclically do (& no doubt improve my aesthetic consistency).  

A number of years ago, my barber's middle child attempted suicide, and due to the various self-inflicted (gunshot) wounds dramatically reduced his quality of life.  Eventually, this child died (quite young) as a result of these wounds, but the death was drawn out / very, very slow and as such, agonizing to endure (for he and his family).

My heart broke for my barber.  To witness the horror / endure the trauma of seeing one of your children both execute this move / live with the physical ramifications was so, so sad. 

Not long after this child's death (it was a private funeral that few individuals were made aware of), I wrote my barber a letter expressing my condolences whilst offering up an overview of my story (my barber had alluded to some personal trials this boy had endured during his childhood).  Apparently, this letter was very well received.  Enough so that it even sparked some follow-up dialogue (regarding Rob's story) between the two of us, and I was grateful for this.  

It's important to note that my barber has unabashedly stated that my letter is "tucked away inside the Bible" where it can be re-read often.

Wow and yikes.  That was not my intent.

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Over the past 3-4 times I've had my barber cut my hair, there's noticeably been a more unguarded approach to my barber's interaction with Rob.  Especially as it pertains to physical touch.  Now, barbers are like surgeons.  Their job is to touch their clients (albeit with tools in hand for the most part).  But, when you've experienced a longstanding pattern with said barber, and that interaction begins to shift to more intimate and less professional, that's bothersome.  Especially when you know you're fulfilling a need (close, longstanding friendship) for / alongside that person.

In response to all this that I've shared up to this point, let me stop here to announce the following:

One of the most important attributes of my job is NOT HAVING ANY COLLEAGUES WHO AREN'T BIO FAMILY.  

I work alongside my parents.  Eventually, I'll be hiring an employee, but for now, it's simply the three Turners.

I like the safety therein.  

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In closing, when I last had my haircut, my barber's touch (whilst rinsing out my hair, post-haircut) wasn't professionally executed.  Instead, it was moreso tender and delicate.  And because the hair washing sinks are in the "backroom" of the barber shop, there was no one else with us as this occurred.

Am I cursed to become Aussie Scott in this regard?  Was I simply reading too much into this / imagining things?  Those are pivotal questions in my mind as of late.

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Payback payback

I have a friend from college who was screwed over twice by employers who either strongly implied or outright promised (going so far as to allow him to purchase shares of their firm) to provide an opportunity for him to become a majority / controlling owner within their architecture firm(s).  Shortly after the second promise was broken, I had lunch with him (he'd since left that firm), and from there, he proceeded to justify his previous partners behavior by citing their heritage (pedigree).  

& no, I'm not kidding when I say that.  It truly was an amazing attempt of him to save their face.

In the end, I knew it would take time for him to make peace with how he'd been screwed over (especially considering the fact that he & his wife had worked there for well over a decade).

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I worked for almost ten years at a similarly sized architecture firm here in Jackson.  Though I'd no desire to become an owner of my employer's firm, as a young intern / (& eventually) architect, I naturally wanted to be affirmed / nurtured by the ownership (there were four partners).  For the most part, I worked for one of these men exclusively relative to the projects that he was positioned to "stamp" (seal), but I came to know another (temperament) in sort of a backdoor way (as you'll soon see).

When Angie and I eventually reproduced (after being married six years), she quit her job in order to rear our first daughter.  As a result of the subsequent monetary hit, I took over the janitorial work at the aforementioned architecture firm I was employed at.  

It was humiliating work, having to clean both the Jackson and Ridgeland office thrice a week, but I was thankful for it since it helped pay the bills.  At this time, it's important to note that corporate email addresses were just beginning to become normalized.  Hence both the primary (Jackson) and satellite (Ridgeland) offices had a dedicated email address (individual owners / employees did not).  As such, everyone's email came to one distinct inbox for each firm, and it was the heading of the email itself that was used to differentiate intended recipients.

One winter evening, after cleaning the main office, I drove to the satellite branch in order to do the same.  The "front desk" desktop PC was always left on within this office, and a handful of times, I'd snuck a peak at some gay porn therein.  On this particular night though, I noticed within the SENT folder of the email client an opportunity to payback one of the former satellite employees (who'd been sent this particular email) for (asshole) antagonizing a co-worker (& good friend from college) to the point that he chose to quit his position.  

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A week or so later, I sensed that what I'd done had been easily uncovered and therein (to my unexpected surprise) corporately smoothed over.  From there, I simply continued on with my janitorial routine, though never again even remotely considering sitting down at the satellite office's front desk PC. 

I did have a short-lived run-in with one of the satellite office's employees relative to my stupidity (he'd been the author of the email that I had mischievously forwarded), but that curt exchange I dismissed with aplomb.  From there, more time passed.  As a result, I assumed I was in the free and clear.

I assumed wrong.

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What eventually ended my side hustle was a merger of the two offices under one roof (within a newly purchased building).  Therein, that anticipatory conglomerate was simply going to be too large for one man (Rob) to realistically clean.  Plus, my wife had begun her own (at home) part-time work that was now bringing in enough $$$ to help us make ends meet.  

In anticipation of my "retirement" from this 10-month janitorial position, I actually enjoyed the final month or so of after-hours cleaning.  That is until I made that final trek to the satellite office in Ridgeland.

I failed to mention earlier that this office was located on the second floor of a very small office building which had no elevator.  Within the lobby space on the first floor, there was a primary staircase in tandem with one outdoor stair that hugged the rear elevation of the building.  

I vividly recall bounding up those lobby stairs in anticipation of completing my last HOPEFULLY FOREVER janitorial cleaning, but even before I reached the top riser, I could see my very own payback mocking me from the oversized upper landing.

Unbeknownst to me, the satellite office staff had been instructed by the Partner to aggressively dispose of everything possible in anticipation of the office merger.  It was commonplace (this was around 2003-2004) for architecture firms to be busting at the seams with large-scale (24" x 36" or 30" x 42") drawings.  Thousands and thousands of pages of these drawings, more often rolled-up like so many sawed-off cannons.  

In preparation for this, the staff had been given drum-sized industrial-grade garbage bags, and as such had filled well over 50 of these with extremely heavy contents.  There were so many bags of garbage that I could hardly walk from the top of the landing to the office door itself.  

Once I did unlock the office door, yet again I was silently taunted by a plethora of oversized, filled to the brim garbage bags.  They were seemingly everywhere I looked, other than within the private offices themselves.  And each of these weighed well over 100-150 pounds apiece.  

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Forgiveness is not a default reaction of our humanity.  Especially when we've powerlessly observed the pain and suffering of those we love / care about at the hands of those within mutual authority over us (or otherwise).  Bullies, if you will, who indiscriminately antagonize both directly and indirectly.  

I SHOULD HAVE NEVER ATTEMPTED TO PAYBACK A SERIES OF WRONGDOINGS TO MY FRIEND / COLLEAGUE IN ORDER TO PUNISH HIS PERPETRATOR VIA MY OWN HAND.  

Yet, I stubbornly learned my lesson for attempting to do so.  For what comes around goes around.

It took me well over an hour to manhandle all of that refuse downstairs and out to the curb that night.  By the time I was halfway through, both of my arms felt as if they were going to snap off of my torso, and my lower back was screaming.  The bags were mercilessly heavy and bulky.  Though I don't remember any of them tearing open, due to my need to drag them individually from the front stoop of the office building across the pavement to the curb, I'm still surprised to this day that they did not.  

Once I was done, the massive collective of super-sized garbage bags that I had organized adjacent to the street was astonishingly huge.  There's was no doubt, whilst staring at that amassing, that I'd received zero grace from the powers that be.

And as we say here in the Deep South, at that point, I was completely give out.  And ashamed.  And feeling effectively discounted.  To the point of abject mockery.

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What might have happened differently - in reaction to - my stupidity that may very well have reflected better on the Partner in Charge of the satellite office?

It's easy to answer that, isn't it?  Especially if you're a professing Christian.

But instead, he sought to look for the perfect opportunity to eviscerate me emotionally.  All the while clearly relaying how pathetic I truly was (in his eyes).

I chalk up every bit of what little relational savviness I've come to muster over the years to observing the assholes and idiots I had the good fortune / ever present consternation to work / sit under.  I do believe that oftentimes, contrast is the greatest teacher of all. 

It's frightening to wonder how many young professionals eventually find their hopes vanquished via upper management / ownership's manipulated ploys / posturing.  After enduring college, it's a tough row to hoe when one's work setting is silently punitive.

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