Prism 2008
Looking backward from 2010-04-03.
Friends,
A couple times each quarter, I’m lucky to meet a new woman who entices me enough (intentionally or not) to make me want to write about. This lady’s name is [Prism], and I’ve known her for nearly two years now. But for the first twelve of those months, I didn’t like her much.
We first met in 2008 at summer camp. She was kind of cute, but heavier than the ladies I generally find appealing. She was generally very quiet, and sometimes, even grumpy, pushy, and condescendingly controlling. She did what she had to do, to fulfill the duties of her counselor job; but nary a stitch more. Indeed, she appeared to not want to be there.
I wondered after observing her for a few days why she bothered coming at all. I mean, the pay isn’t very much and the job of counselor at a special-needs facility like this camp is monumentally demanding. Like with most jobs, but particularly with this one, you really must love it, to do it well. But she didn’t in my opinion; not even close. She’d rarely smile. She’d give curt answers when campers asked questions, and was quick to scold. She never laughed once in 2008 that I saw, though she had all the sessions prior to ours to get used to “our kind”.
Typically, counselors “loosen up” as the session progresses. They smile more and befriend the campers, so that by the last day, some of them even cry, wishing the campers could stay longer. But over time in 2008, she warm up not one bit, and was as rigid and stone-faced at the end of the session as at the beginning. These things didn’t put me off too much however because I can relate. I sometimes get to being very quiet myself. So, I am often misread by others as not caring enough.
But what cemented my dislike her occurred at the 2008 dinner dance, when she insisted that I end my DJ show before all the campers’ requests had been played. This overly authoritarian behavior got me riled up because up until the last twenty minutes or so, I’d played many more songs for the counselors than campers. It was not fair that the campers should go the entire night without hearing their requests too. Further, that pavilion on the green where we held the party, was located several hundred feet away from the closest cabins, and we pointed the speakers away from them as an added step to avoid disturbing sleepers. So, playing a bit later than 9:30 PM would not have bothered anyone. We could have gone all night without problems, except for these artificial issues that she created.
Now if [Prism] is reading this, I hope that she does not bale on me yet, because I have many nice things to her next year. I just need to get this negative stuff out on the table because it was key in how I eventually came to know her (and like her). So stay with me for a little while longer, please. This bashing is almost done. J
Anyway, she relentlessly commanded that we shut down, precisely at 9:30 PM, and kept asking how many more songs there were to go, and saying several times, “Are you done yet? Are you done yet?” You got to be quite a pain, and so you forced me to be nasty back. I hated doing that. But I’d push back again without hesitation, when my dignity is trampled on, as you did that night. You stepped on my toes, and I said ouch!
One thing about me [Prism] should know if we’re ever going to be friends is that I will never tolerate someone scolding me like I’m a little kid, who must be told when to go to bed, take a bath, wash his hands, and such. What she apparently didn’t get was that we were all adults; not children. Yet in my view, she treated some of us with an almost custodial air; fully dismissing what many consider my most attractive attribute; that being my fully-developed, educated, and functioning adult mind. She did not know that I was an electronics technician for two years and a software engineer for fifteen. Or how about that I’ve lead software support teams and helped design money-making web sites? Would she have ever guessed that I’ve been a mobile DJ, computer technician, and published writer for nearly ten years now? Apparently not, because she apparently regarded me as a child who never grew up; always telling, never asking, always demanding, never negotiating, always dismissing, never acknowledging. For future reference, I hope she keeps in mind that I respond well to people who engage me as an equal, respect my accomplishments, and consider me unquestionably worthy of their attention. But I detest those power-lording disciplinarians who assume that I’m beneath them, and have nothing to offer except childish aggravation and burden. Like anyone else, I just want to be liked; that’s all. But if they must struggle to see my good points, then I’d just as soon avoid them.
Now back to the dinner dance, or more specifically, the next day: I saw her in the sun porch while everyone was packing to go home; this being the last day of camp. I don’t remember exactly what she said. But it had something to do with how tired she was because she had to fight with us about shutting down the dance the pervious evening. I challenged, saying that we didn’t go but fifteen minutes past 9:30 and that that little amount of lost sleep wouldn’t make her so tired. She said nothing back; she just kept smiling this notably insincere grin. Her lips were smiling, yes. But I was close enough to note that the rest of her face was scowling. I could see, behind the smile, that she was quite unhappy with me, as she sported this how-dare-you-challenge-me look about her.
Nor was I happy with her. So it was a good thing that the session ended only a few hours later, because if there’d been a few more days to go, she and I might have gotten into some interesting yet distressing shouting matches. But as it happened, my ride came shortly after, and in the weeks that followed camp ’08, I forgot all about her, figuring that as much as she seemed to hate the job, that she’d never return. This would be great.
This often happens in the love quest, where I meet someone intriguing, only to learn later, once they reveal themselves, that they were much better while obscured, as a beautiful stranger. Ironically at times, I’m afraid to get to know pretty women, because almost always, once I know them, I’ve learned things that ruin their initial image of desirability.
More about [Prism] later.
