By mid summer of last year things were pretty bleak for Jonathan and I in SC. Our business had shrunk for various reasons outside of our power and we were beginning to freak out. Well, I was definitely freaking out. The bank account was crazy low, very little was coming in...something had to happen. I began to hatch plans. I started with a website that specializes in jobs available in the horse industry. By using a few different states, I began to narrow down possibilities that I felt Jonathan and I could handle without making us miserable. All of them were fairly far away from Aiken. Ugh. Moving, again. The thought really freaked me out, but I was so sick of living in Aiken and our money struggles that I pushed aside my anxiety. The one job that we kept circling back to was in Massachusetts. We would be working for a semi-retired older professional, who was in need of a couple who could do all aspects of horse care, plus riding, for some older horses of her own and a few for a private client that she would be teaching a few times per week. It sounded relatively easy as far the amount of work, but I knew there were always going to be catches with this type of position. One giant catch was that this particular older professional had a tough reputation. And by tough I mean she could be nasty and very difficult to work for (I had multiple people tell me this before we made our decision). "How bad could it be?", we asked ourselves. After quite a few telephone calls back and forth with this woman, we decided that we'd give it a shot and take the plunge to move up to MA, at least for the winter months and then see where we were come spring. We packed very little just taking our winter clothing, essential kitchen/cooking items, our two dogs, two cats and two horses. We equipped our home in Aiken with a proper ADT system, locked the door one morning at the end of October 2018 and literally drove away to the unknown.
It was within the first week that knew we had made a very poor decision, but we also knew that we had no immediate recourse so we were stuck. The lady was one of those people who you couldn't predict how she was going to behave any given time you saw her throughout the day. Sometimes she was very pleasant and cheerful (it was rare, but it did happen), other times (most of the time) she was horribly mean, degrading and so manaically micromanaging of everything we did in the barn that it made me want to go sit in a corner and cry. I have NEVER been treated so terribly in my life. She would see me sweeping the barn aisle and storm down to me, rip the broom from my hands then proceed to sweep dirt all over my legs while shrieking, "This is how you sweep!!!!". If she saw that I had just wrapped a horses legs she wouldn't even stop, but as she walked by she would sneer, "Re-do those wraps!". I was given "riding lessons" with her, but she never let me go past a trot and NOTHING that I did on a horse's back was correct. NOTHING. Despite my 30 years of being a decent professional rider, in her opinion I wasn't capable of riding her ancient school horse correctly at the walk. It was brutally humiliating and really wore me right down to the core. I started to believe that I was a bad rider, that I should just quit, that she was right and I'd just been fucking it up for years. She was breaking me down. I couldn't do anything right in an industry that I'd been making a living in for decades. Jonathan in some ways got treated better, because she just ignored him. She told him what to do through me, because she said she thought he was mentally handicapped. Wow. Just another little claw into my already fragile mental state. Not one thing about this job had proven to be anything but awful for both Jonathan and I, which was great for our relationship let me tell you. The two of us began to fight a lot. Our frustration and anger came out towards each other, which had never happened to us in 26 years of being together. In my wildest dreams I couldn't have imagined how much of a nightmare taking this job would be. Yet, there we were. Everyone of my friends that I called to complain to said the same thing...LEAVE! But it was more complicated than that, because we needed the money so desperately. We kept telling ourselves to just take in the paychecks and save, save, save until we figured out something else. She started giving us extra chores, like taking her garbage to the dumpster and picking up sticks and pine cones in the driveway. On the day before Christmas I got a text message from her instructing us to "scrub and disinfect the entire barn". Who does that to their employees on the day before Christmas????!!!! You know what? We did scrub and disinfect the entire barn that day. Why? Why did we do it?? Because it was our job and we didn't want to give her any extra reasons to berate us. We trudged out of the barn that night with aching shoulders, broken spirits and cold, stiff fingers. It was an awful cycle of constant degradation and this woman was an absolute professional at it. Just when we thought she couldn't possibly do anything worse to us she began to mess around with our paychecks. One week would be a little short, with no explanation. Then she went away for a couple of weeks, without leaving us any checks at all. I questioned all of it by text, phone, or to her face but it was always a vague answer. We would eventually get the checks, but it was when it was convenient for her. The job was a total disaster, but with money coming in we were hanging on by a thread. When she started messing with our pay, we both started to lose it. Neither of us was willing to go back to SC, so we needed an immediate alternative plan. I'd been looking all along for a different job in the Northeast, but nothing was coming up with the right components. The line we were treading to hang onto our sanity was becoming thinner and thinner. To be continued...
Monday, October 7, 2019
Monday, September 23, 2019
An Unpleasant Situation
This past weekend I found myself dealing with a situation that threw me for a bit of a loop. I'm going to give the most vague description that I can of what went on, because this isn't meant to be a character assassination of any particular people, but merely an observation of what has become normal in the world today.
I work in a busy stable where I teach a lot of lessons. The weekends tend to be particularly busy in the mornings so I feel very lucky that we have a few people, young and old who help get the horses/ponies tacked up and ready so I can concentrate on giving my students a quality, timely riding lesson with no outside distractions. I was passing through the barn aisle on Saturday morning when I noticed someone was intently spraying a specific hair care product way too close to a horse's face/eye region. In fact the mist of the product was upsetting the animal to the point where it was backing up on the cross ties to get away. As I walked through I asked the person not to spray the product so close to the animal's face/eyes and also,not to get it into the mane (a pet peeve of mine). I gave a reason as to why we don't want the mane to ever be slippery, BUT I said it in a way that made the person feel like I was personally making her feel inferior for not knowing this tidbit of information since it's not in the forefront of what she concentrates on as a rider. I swear on the Bible that I never meant to hurt this person's feelings, or make her feel like I was better, or any of the negative, hurtful feelings it caused her. It was an offhanded comment that I made passing through on my way out to the ring. It wasn't premeditated, it wasn't meant to come out harshly, and I will own that it could be construed as a poor choice of wording on my part. I really, really didn't mean it to be a judgmental, or negative comment toward this person. Anyone who knows me well, knows that I have a sharp sense of humor, but in no way am I ever setting out to be mean spirited, or unkind. I'm so far from perfect, but one thing I'm not ever is mean, or nasty, especially to young people who are devoted to horses and the sport I so adore, which includes all of the various disciplines. We have a wonderful group of people in our barn, of all ages.
Later that day, a parent of the person that I made the comment to asked to speak with me and my boss. We were met with a very angry person who informed me that I had told the person in no uncertain terms that my comment meant that they were never going to understand the horse industry. I was blown away. Of course, I defended myself and explained exactly what I had said, with inflection and context included. The anger continued. I was told that I didn't know how to talk to teenagers, that they are very sensitive and take offense very easily so I needed to really think before I spoke. I was told that I wasn't following the example of what my particular barn's motto is and that we'd all better watch what we say from now, because this parent will be keeping a close eye on things. My boss and I sat there and took all of this verbal diarrhea. I clenched my jaw to keep from standing up and jumping down this person's throat, because I realized with all of the anger it wouldn't do any good for any of us. Instead, my boss quietly defended me and I said that I was sorry. I wanted to throw up afterwards. I wanted to throw things. I was incensed that I was rendered helpless, even though I knew in my heart what I'd said really wasn't anything terrible, or personally damaging, but it busted into a young person's ego who decided to blow it out of proportion and tattle on me to get me in trouble. It's a funky time in this world. Not that this sort of thing hasn't gone on since the beginning of time, but the stakes have become higher for repercussions. If I'd been reported for bullying to a higher organization (a too commonly used term in this day and age) I could be suspended from my job, or worse. What if this person whom I "offended" decided to go one step further and say I'd touched her inappropriately as I'd walked by. What then? I witnessed something ugly this weekend. It's a far cry from the learning atmosphere of the stables that I grew up riding and working in. We took criticism and we learned from it. If our feelings got hurt, we had a little cry then we toughened up and figured out what we were doing wrong. We got yelled at and told what to do and we did it. It wasn't all coddling and a you can never do anything wrong type of atmosphere. I'm not saying that is a perfect situation either, but it's a helluva lot more healthy than what I'm seeing now. Any time I've ever given strongly worded advice, or raised my voice it's because the situation I'm seeing could escalate to an injury of either the horse, or the person. Otherwise, I try to be light and informative, without sounding like a bossy bitch. Maybe next time I see something I don't agree with I'll just shut up and allow it to happen, lest I offend a burgeoning horseman's fragile spirit. Riding and working with horses at a certain level isn't for the weak minded. Trust me, I didn't learn to have the grit and conviction to succeed in this business by complaining every time someone hurt my feelings. That's not real life in any business.
At the bottom of my heart, I genuinely was sad and depressed that my eleven word sentence caused a person to feel badly, or angry enough to make such a massive deal out of it. I never want to be directly responsible for doing that to another person. Ever. I would've thought that the person knew me well enough to know that I wasn't being a jerk, it was just the way it came out. Sadly, that wasn't the case.
I work in a busy stable where I teach a lot of lessons. The weekends tend to be particularly busy in the mornings so I feel very lucky that we have a few people, young and old who help get the horses/ponies tacked up and ready so I can concentrate on giving my students a quality, timely riding lesson with no outside distractions. I was passing through the barn aisle on Saturday morning when I noticed someone was intently spraying a specific hair care product way too close to a horse's face/eye region. In fact the mist of the product was upsetting the animal to the point where it was backing up on the cross ties to get away. As I walked through I asked the person not to spray the product so close to the animal's face/eyes and also,not to get it into the mane (a pet peeve of mine). I gave a reason as to why we don't want the mane to ever be slippery, BUT I said it in a way that made the person feel like I was personally making her feel inferior for not knowing this tidbit of information since it's not in the forefront of what she concentrates on as a rider. I swear on the Bible that I never meant to hurt this person's feelings, or make her feel like I was better, or any of the negative, hurtful feelings it caused her. It was an offhanded comment that I made passing through on my way out to the ring. It wasn't premeditated, it wasn't meant to come out harshly, and I will own that it could be construed as a poor choice of wording on my part. I really, really didn't mean it to be a judgmental, or negative comment toward this person. Anyone who knows me well, knows that I have a sharp sense of humor, but in no way am I ever setting out to be mean spirited, or unkind. I'm so far from perfect, but one thing I'm not ever is mean, or nasty, especially to young people who are devoted to horses and the sport I so adore, which includes all of the various disciplines. We have a wonderful group of people in our barn, of all ages.
Later that day, a parent of the person that I made the comment to asked to speak with me and my boss. We were met with a very angry person who informed me that I had told the person in no uncertain terms that my comment meant that they were never going to understand the horse industry. I was blown away. Of course, I defended myself and explained exactly what I had said, with inflection and context included. The anger continued. I was told that I didn't know how to talk to teenagers, that they are very sensitive and take offense very easily so I needed to really think before I spoke. I was told that I wasn't following the example of what my particular barn's motto is and that we'd all better watch what we say from now, because this parent will be keeping a close eye on things. My boss and I sat there and took all of this verbal diarrhea. I clenched my jaw to keep from standing up and jumping down this person's throat, because I realized with all of the anger it wouldn't do any good for any of us. Instead, my boss quietly defended me and I said that I was sorry. I wanted to throw up afterwards. I wanted to throw things. I was incensed that I was rendered helpless, even though I knew in my heart what I'd said really wasn't anything terrible, or personally damaging, but it busted into a young person's ego who decided to blow it out of proportion and tattle on me to get me in trouble. It's a funky time in this world. Not that this sort of thing hasn't gone on since the beginning of time, but the stakes have become higher for repercussions. If I'd been reported for bullying to a higher organization (a too commonly used term in this day and age) I could be suspended from my job, or worse. What if this person whom I "offended" decided to go one step further and say I'd touched her inappropriately as I'd walked by. What then? I witnessed something ugly this weekend. It's a far cry from the learning atmosphere of the stables that I grew up riding and working in. We took criticism and we learned from it. If our feelings got hurt, we had a little cry then we toughened up and figured out what we were doing wrong. We got yelled at and told what to do and we did it. It wasn't all coddling and a you can never do anything wrong type of atmosphere. I'm not saying that is a perfect situation either, but it's a helluva lot more healthy than what I'm seeing now. Any time I've ever given strongly worded advice, or raised my voice it's because the situation I'm seeing could escalate to an injury of either the horse, or the person. Otherwise, I try to be light and informative, without sounding like a bossy bitch. Maybe next time I see something I don't agree with I'll just shut up and allow it to happen, lest I offend a burgeoning horseman's fragile spirit. Riding and working with horses at a certain level isn't for the weak minded. Trust me, I didn't learn to have the grit and conviction to succeed in this business by complaining every time someone hurt my feelings. That's not real life in any business.
At the bottom of my heart, I genuinely was sad and depressed that my eleven word sentence caused a person to feel badly, or angry enough to make such a massive deal out of it. I never want to be directly responsible for doing that to another person. Ever. I would've thought that the person knew me well enough to know that I wasn't being a jerk, it was just the way it came out. Sadly, that wasn't the case.
Tuesday, November 22, 2016
Strangers on a Plane
Recently, I had the good fortune to travel up to Boston for a surprise visit on my Dad's 80th birthday. My middle sister cooked up the surprise part and generously funded my flight, so all I had to was show up. Jonathan and I dutifully left for the Augusta airport in the pitch black dark at 4:45 a.m. to ensure that I'd have plenty of time to make the 6:20 a.m. flight. The Augusta airport is very, very tiny as airport's go. It's like a little boutique airport, with tiny planes and one terminal, but it's very convenient for us since it's super close. I kissed Jonathan goodbye once he made sure that I had my itinerary set and stood in the TSA line. The line was full of groggy adults, a few kids that parents hadn't even bothered to take out of their pj's, and one enormous woman in a wheelchair. This lady wasn't that old, maybe 50, but she was incredibly obese. I always wonder how a person gets quite to that level of obesity. Its not like it can't sneak up on a person. I mean for most people you gain a few pounds and your pants get tighter, you lay of the ice cream and that's that. This level of overweight takes some real commitment. As in Olympic level amounts of food are needed to maintain that bulk. Anyway, this lady gets to the front of the line and the TSA lady makes her stand up out of her wheelchair. Okay, that's fair, but then she proceeds to frisk this woman like she's hiding a machine gun under her gut fat. I was watching this scene unfold, thinking to myself, "Is this normal protocol for incredibly overweight traveler's?" I mean, call me naive, but I didn't know that whomever likes to blow up airplanes sought out the most gigantic passenger they could find to stash bombs, etc.
"Hey, you fatty...I have a bag of Big Macs in it for you if you let me tape this device between your rolls of back fat,"
As I'm still saying What the Fuck in my head, a man behind me starts muttering how ridiculous it is that the TSA agent is making such a meticulous process of searching this poor lady so thoroughly. We both stood there shaking our heads, until finally the heavy woman was cleared to go on. I sailed through security and sat in the tiny terminal to wait for my flight.
After about a half hour, we were cleared to board, but the funky tunnel that connects the airport to the plane was broken so we were ushered out onto the tarmac in the dark, like pre schoolers going on a field trip to the zoo. Climbing the stairs, I checked my seat number again. 23C. Being careful not to clock anyone in the head with my bag I made my way down the aisle until I arrived at my seat number. A man in a business suit was in the aisle seat of my row and he gave me a pained, apologetic look. My seat was the window seat (my least favorite) and in the middle was you got it, the obese terrorist. She gave me a smile and as she struggled to free her ass from the seat she said, "This might take me a few minutes." Why on God's green earth wouldn't this woman request any seat, BUT the middle? Not only for her comfort, but what if I had been a big gal myself? When she finally wedged herself free, I slipped into my seat and looked out the window as she got herself re-situated. It's a good thing that I'm reed thin, because there was quite a bit of overhang infringing on my seat. And then it hit my nostrils, a faint, yet pungent sour scent of flesh that hadn't seen soap in more days than one wants to know. A mild panic reached out from my brain, and I struggled to control my breathing. I was trapped in this seat next to a very nice, but giant woman who smelled like a dishcloth that hadn't been washed in a year. Somehow I managed to keep myself from losing it through sheer mind over matter. I could just scramble over her if I had to leave my seat in a hurry, I told myself over and over again. The plane eventually taxied down the runway and soon we were in the air. I put my nose in a book for the entire flight, while my seat mate played Candy Crush like a boss. Luckily, it was a short flight to Atlanta and we landed without incident. My captor released me from my seat, with great physical effort, and I wished her a good day. Oy, what a start to my trip.
My next flight to Boston was filled to the gills. This time my seat assignment led me to the very back seat in the plane where I learned that I was sitting next to...an infant.
"Hi," I said shyly to the mother. The baby gurgled and wobbled about in her lap. I'm not really a baby person, not that I have anything against kids, but infants aren't my strong suit and I know that flying can be hell on little kids. The mother was very tanned, with her hair thrown up in a messy knot on top of her head. She looked exhausted, but she gave me a nod as I sat in the middle seat. The woman who was in the aisle seat of my row appeared to be around my age. When she sat down she launched into some quick small talk.
"Whew, I'm sweating so much. Hot flashes, " she said with a giggle. "I had to have an emergency hysterectomy six months ago and it threw me into early menopause. I'm always so hot!"
I smiled at her all the while thinking to myself, really? That was too much information to tell a stranger on an airplane. This flight seemed doomed. Caught between a tiny baby and a woman who was telling me intimate details about her recently removed uterus. To top it off the sweaty lady confessed to having a bad cold, otherwise she would be holding that baby the whole flight. She broke out her kleenex, pulled out her laptop and launched into a vigorous game of Candy Crush. Am I the only person who hasn't ever played Candy Crush??? Again, I pulled out my book prepared to be tuning out the wails of an infant any second. Much to my immense relief and surprise that little boy baby fell asleep for the ENTIRE flight! And the sniffling Candy Crusher was so involved in her stacking of sweets that she never opened her mouth again, except to cough.
"Hey, you fatty...I have a bag of Big Macs in it for you if you let me tape this device between your rolls of back fat,"
As I'm still saying What the Fuck in my head, a man behind me starts muttering how ridiculous it is that the TSA agent is making such a meticulous process of searching this poor lady so thoroughly. We both stood there shaking our heads, until finally the heavy woman was cleared to go on. I sailed through security and sat in the tiny terminal to wait for my flight.
After about a half hour, we were cleared to board, but the funky tunnel that connects the airport to the plane was broken so we were ushered out onto the tarmac in the dark, like pre schoolers going on a field trip to the zoo. Climbing the stairs, I checked my seat number again. 23C. Being careful not to clock anyone in the head with my bag I made my way down the aisle until I arrived at my seat number. A man in a business suit was in the aisle seat of my row and he gave me a pained, apologetic look. My seat was the window seat (my least favorite) and in the middle was you got it, the obese terrorist. She gave me a smile and as she struggled to free her ass from the seat she said, "This might take me a few minutes." Why on God's green earth wouldn't this woman request any seat, BUT the middle? Not only for her comfort, but what if I had been a big gal myself? When she finally wedged herself free, I slipped into my seat and looked out the window as she got herself re-situated. It's a good thing that I'm reed thin, because there was quite a bit of overhang infringing on my seat. And then it hit my nostrils, a faint, yet pungent sour scent of flesh that hadn't seen soap in more days than one wants to know. A mild panic reached out from my brain, and I struggled to control my breathing. I was trapped in this seat next to a very nice, but giant woman who smelled like a dishcloth that hadn't been washed in a year. Somehow I managed to keep myself from losing it through sheer mind over matter. I could just scramble over her if I had to leave my seat in a hurry, I told myself over and over again. The plane eventually taxied down the runway and soon we were in the air. I put my nose in a book for the entire flight, while my seat mate played Candy Crush like a boss. Luckily, it was a short flight to Atlanta and we landed without incident. My captor released me from my seat, with great physical effort, and I wished her a good day. Oy, what a start to my trip.
My next flight to Boston was filled to the gills. This time my seat assignment led me to the very back seat in the plane where I learned that I was sitting next to...an infant.
"Hi," I said shyly to the mother. The baby gurgled and wobbled about in her lap. I'm not really a baby person, not that I have anything against kids, but infants aren't my strong suit and I know that flying can be hell on little kids. The mother was very tanned, with her hair thrown up in a messy knot on top of her head. She looked exhausted, but she gave me a nod as I sat in the middle seat. The woman who was in the aisle seat of my row appeared to be around my age. When she sat down she launched into some quick small talk.
"Whew, I'm sweating so much. Hot flashes, " she said with a giggle. "I had to have an emergency hysterectomy six months ago and it threw me into early menopause. I'm always so hot!"
I smiled at her all the while thinking to myself, really? That was too much information to tell a stranger on an airplane. This flight seemed doomed. Caught between a tiny baby and a woman who was telling me intimate details about her recently removed uterus. To top it off the sweaty lady confessed to having a bad cold, otherwise she would be holding that baby the whole flight. She broke out her kleenex, pulled out her laptop and launched into a vigorous game of Candy Crush. Am I the only person who hasn't ever played Candy Crush??? Again, I pulled out my book prepared to be tuning out the wails of an infant any second. Much to my immense relief and surprise that little boy baby fell asleep for the ENTIRE flight! And the sniffling Candy Crusher was so involved in her stacking of sweets that she never opened her mouth again, except to cough.
Friday, January 15, 2016
The Cowboy Way
It was a bright April morning when Kenny, the trainer at the race farm where I was working, introduced me to our new exercise rider. A slim figure, around 5'7 wearing a straw cowboy hat and scuffed boots slipped around the corner of the barn. A cigarette waggled precariously between his lips.
"The name's Jerry," he said, offering his hand. I shook it and gave him a big smile. "Nice to meet you," I replied, stepping back from the cloud of smoke that was surrounding him.
"Jerry here is going to straighten out all of these knuckleheads, " Kenny said. I refrained from saying "about time", since I had to parse out my smart ass comments judiciously, lest I get fired. Truthfully, the string of racehorses had been running rough shod over all of the young girls who'd been riding them over the course of the winter. It was becoming a joke all over the farm on how many times we'd have to yell, "Loose horse!!!" each day, because they literally got dumped multiple times per morning. Jonathan and I had debated about getting on some of the horses, but in the end we decided we didn't want to take any risks on these two bit, flea brained idiot race horses. It just wasn't worth it, despite the frustration of watching them leap, wheel, go sideways and flat out run off with the girls.
I set about tacking up the first set to go out that morning. A tall rangy dark bay gelding would be Jerry's first steed. This horse was as dumb as can be, but he was smart enough to have terrorized everyone who had ridden him for months. All he needed was someone who could sit up there, take hold of him and get him going in a straight line. Jerry walked into the stall wearing his skull cap, jockey bat in hand. He started checking over the tack, muttering about how it should be adjusted, tightening this, shortening that, basically rearranging everything that I had already carefully set up. I kept my mouth shut and silently smoldered. Just give him a chance, I told myself, it's no big deal. I legged him up in the stall and with great pomp and circumstance he shooed the horse out into the shed row and began to kick him in the ribcage, yelling "HAA". The horse shook his head back and forth in protest, but he listened. Soon they were jogging around the shed row, with Jerry hollering, "Coming around, jogging in the barn" before each corner. After a few minutes, he jerked him out of the barn and galloped him up the driveway to the race track. Though the guy had irritated me, by treating me like I didn't now what I was doing as his lowly race groom, I had to hand it to him; the dude could ride.
The rest of the morning went much the same. The naughty horses all got a dose of what they needed, which was a positive, confident ride. With each ride under his belt, Jerry got more and more cocky himself. Crowing about his skills, like a banty rooster. He'd been riding race horses for over twenty years at tracks all over the country. His face was a battle of wrinkles, from years of riding in wind, rain and heavy drinking. Most of his teeth were gone, but he had a fastidiously manicured mustache perched above his upper lip. I suspected at one point in his youth he'd been able to seduce many women with his pretty blue eyes and long lashes, but there was a sense of deep fatigue in them now, like he'd lost too many nights of sleep that he'd never make up.
It became a routine that Jonathan and I would pick Jerry up on our way to the farm, since he had no transportation except a bicycle with a hinky motor that left him stranded more often than not. At a quarter to seven his powerful odor of Irish Spring and cigarettes permeating our car was nearly gag inducing. He began to refer to himself in the third person, using his nickname of "Cowboy". It was so absurd that I'd have to hide my smiles and snorts. As he got comfortable he starting regaling us with tales of his conquests from the previous nights. Often, I had to put up my hand and tell him to just stop. He had no filter. Some days he'd be so hung over we'd have to stop and get him a beer on the way just so he could get through his rides and collect his paycheck. It was pathetic, but he was still doing a good job on the horses. We had to give him that credit. If he was still drunk from the night before he'd get a little uppity and start giving me advice on riding. I'm all for learning new things, but listening to him slurring tips on basics, just made me crazy. Being a groom was already kind of bumming me out from a professional standpoint, but to be treated like a moron by this washed up dude? I've always been a fairly civilized person, but this guy would get under my skin. I started to really let him have it, and sometimes I even shocked myself with what I'd say to him.
"Jerry, just get on the mother fucking horse and zip it!" I'd yell, causing my co-workers to titter and scuttle off.
He'd act all offended, but he never argued back, no matter how mean I was to him. I reckon he was conditioned to being yelled at. You can't be that big of an arrogant jerk, while swaggering from too much beer and not get some payback for it. In fact, he admitted that he was usually the guy at the bar who got beaten up, because he was big enough so it wasn't embarrassing to kick his ass, but little enough that he got his ass kicked.
And so it went for four months, until one morning Cowboy announced that he'd be moving on.
"You two are real decent people, and I want to thank you for all you did for me while I was here," he said, tipping his crumpled straw cowboy hat, a small belch popping from his lips.
I wasn't going to miss him, but he sure was a character, unlike anyone I'd ever met. He was true to himself, for better, or worse, which is more than you can say for some people. He'd created this persona for himself as "Cowboy" and he was going to ride it to the bitter end. We wished him well and he took off, with his bike motor sputtering.
Happy trails, Cowboy.
"The name's Jerry," he said, offering his hand. I shook it and gave him a big smile. "Nice to meet you," I replied, stepping back from the cloud of smoke that was surrounding him.
"Jerry here is going to straighten out all of these knuckleheads, " Kenny said. I refrained from saying "about time", since I had to parse out my smart ass comments judiciously, lest I get fired. Truthfully, the string of racehorses had been running rough shod over all of the young girls who'd been riding them over the course of the winter. It was becoming a joke all over the farm on how many times we'd have to yell, "Loose horse!!!" each day, because they literally got dumped multiple times per morning. Jonathan and I had debated about getting on some of the horses, but in the end we decided we didn't want to take any risks on these two bit, flea brained idiot race horses. It just wasn't worth it, despite the frustration of watching them leap, wheel, go sideways and flat out run off with the girls.
I set about tacking up the first set to go out that morning. A tall rangy dark bay gelding would be Jerry's first steed. This horse was as dumb as can be, but he was smart enough to have terrorized everyone who had ridden him for months. All he needed was someone who could sit up there, take hold of him and get him going in a straight line. Jerry walked into the stall wearing his skull cap, jockey bat in hand. He started checking over the tack, muttering about how it should be adjusted, tightening this, shortening that, basically rearranging everything that I had already carefully set up. I kept my mouth shut and silently smoldered. Just give him a chance, I told myself, it's no big deal. I legged him up in the stall and with great pomp and circumstance he shooed the horse out into the shed row and began to kick him in the ribcage, yelling "HAA". The horse shook his head back and forth in protest, but he listened. Soon they were jogging around the shed row, with Jerry hollering, "Coming around, jogging in the barn" before each corner. After a few minutes, he jerked him out of the barn and galloped him up the driveway to the race track. Though the guy had irritated me, by treating me like I didn't now what I was doing as his lowly race groom, I had to hand it to him; the dude could ride.
The rest of the morning went much the same. The naughty horses all got a dose of what they needed, which was a positive, confident ride. With each ride under his belt, Jerry got more and more cocky himself. Crowing about his skills, like a banty rooster. He'd been riding race horses for over twenty years at tracks all over the country. His face was a battle of wrinkles, from years of riding in wind, rain and heavy drinking. Most of his teeth were gone, but he had a fastidiously manicured mustache perched above his upper lip. I suspected at one point in his youth he'd been able to seduce many women with his pretty blue eyes and long lashes, but there was a sense of deep fatigue in them now, like he'd lost too many nights of sleep that he'd never make up.
It became a routine that Jonathan and I would pick Jerry up on our way to the farm, since he had no transportation except a bicycle with a hinky motor that left him stranded more often than not. At a quarter to seven his powerful odor of Irish Spring and cigarettes permeating our car was nearly gag inducing. He began to refer to himself in the third person, using his nickname of "Cowboy". It was so absurd that I'd have to hide my smiles and snorts. As he got comfortable he starting regaling us with tales of his conquests from the previous nights. Often, I had to put up my hand and tell him to just stop. He had no filter. Some days he'd be so hung over we'd have to stop and get him a beer on the way just so he could get through his rides and collect his paycheck. It was pathetic, but he was still doing a good job on the horses. We had to give him that credit. If he was still drunk from the night before he'd get a little uppity and start giving me advice on riding. I'm all for learning new things, but listening to him slurring tips on basics, just made me crazy. Being a groom was already kind of bumming me out from a professional standpoint, but to be treated like a moron by this washed up dude? I've always been a fairly civilized person, but this guy would get under my skin. I started to really let him have it, and sometimes I even shocked myself with what I'd say to him.
"Jerry, just get on the mother fucking horse and zip it!" I'd yell, causing my co-workers to titter and scuttle off.
He'd act all offended, but he never argued back, no matter how mean I was to him. I reckon he was conditioned to being yelled at. You can't be that big of an arrogant jerk, while swaggering from too much beer and not get some payback for it. In fact, he admitted that he was usually the guy at the bar who got beaten up, because he was big enough so it wasn't embarrassing to kick his ass, but little enough that he got his ass kicked.
And so it went for four months, until one morning Cowboy announced that he'd be moving on.
"You two are real decent people, and I want to thank you for all you did for me while I was here," he said, tipping his crumpled straw cowboy hat, a small belch popping from his lips.
I wasn't going to miss him, but he sure was a character, unlike anyone I'd ever met. He was true to himself, for better, or worse, which is more than you can say for some people. He'd created this persona for himself as "Cowboy" and he was going to ride it to the bitter end. We wished him well and he took off, with his bike motor sputtering.
Happy trails, Cowboy.
Thursday, December 31, 2015
Molar Madness
True to my word, I bravely made myself a dentist appointment. The only time they could offer me was for 8 o'clock this morning. What a gross time to go to the dentist. Up and at 'em by 7:15, I shook off the morning grog, gulped down coffee and mouthwash, put on semi nice clothes, plus shoes without manure on them, and off I went to solve the mystery of my upset molar.
This was my first time at South Aiken Dental. Upon arrival I was given the usual forms to fill out in the gently lit waiting room. After a short wait I was summoned to enter the hallway by a squat woman in her 30's, who informed me that her name was Tina, and I was to follow her. Tina sat me down in a chair, and I began to fill her in on my dental history, which is long and detailed. I've had a significant amount of dental work, from implants, to bridges, crowns, root canals, fillings, you name it. I have two implants that are still patiently waiting for implant crowns, which Tina nicely pointed out that they could do that work for me. I felt like saying, "Great news! Do you want to front me the 3.5k that'll cost to get the work done? " First bristle of irritation.
Tina proceeded to take her tiny mirror and explore my upper and lower teeth.
"Hmmm, them two are a bridge," said Tina. "That ain't a problem."
My eyes popped wide open. Immediately, in my head I repeated "them two" "ain't"???? Seriously??? How about some attention to proper grammar to project a modicum of confidence in your professional skills??? If the lady at the convenience store uses improper grammar it's not a red flag, but the dentist office? I began to feel uncomfortable.
"Ima need to take an x-ray now, Mizz Edel," said Tina with a pinched smile on her pudgy face.
I held my cool while she wedged an x-ray plate the size of a notebook in my mouth. The first one she took was too dark so I was fortunate enough to repeat the procedure. Well, there it was in black and white. The tooth that was bothering me has already had a root canal, as well as the one in front of it. Gee, so glad I spent 1k to save that little bugger only to have it fail me now.
Tina turned to face me with her serious dental person face on.
"Do you brush and floss?" she said in a pandering tone, like she was talking to a 6 yr. old.
"Of course, I do!" I said indignantly. Who doesn't brush their teeth?? Gross!
"Do you know why your teeth have had so many problems? How's your diet?" She leaned down closer to my face for my answers.
I stared blankly at her heavily made up eyes. My mind began to whiz. Do I know why my teeth are so crummy? Uh, I think it's called genetics? Just like some people have kidney issues, or arthritis. I have bad teeth. And my diet?? I took a deep breath and fought back the urge to tell her that I sustain myself with crystal meth, cotton candy and Coca-cola. Instead, I smiled sweetly, batted my eyelashes and said:
"My teeth have had many issues, none due to lack of proper hygiene, or attention. I was born with bad teeth. {I added You Dumb Bitch, but only in my head, cuz I was raised properly} And as for my diet I stay away from junk food, I don't drink soda, or eat many sweets. It's not like I've had all of this dental work, because I find it so enjoyable."
I mean, I'm 5'8 and about 125 lbs. I do not look like an unhealthy person. I let my eyes peruse her figure to let her know that I was taking note of her fat gut and thighs which clearly indicated she visited the drive thru more than a few times per week. Gee, how's your DIET, Tina??? Can you say GLUTTONOUS?
On that note, she took her leave so I could have a private consultation with the actual dentist, Dr. Miranda. He was a baby faced, little Spanish fellow, very polite, and I appreciated the confidence in his voice while he spelled out a few options for me. Turns out an endodontist might be able to save my tooth, but if not he could extract the damn thing.
The best part of the whole experience was paying the bill. I had received a coupon in the mail from this place that offered a $1 emergency consultation. I know, right??!!! You can't use the bathroom at the dentist for less than $50. I could've complained about Tina's bedside manner, but if these people are going to pull my tooth I don't want any behind the scenes scuttlebutt about me being a whiny bitch. Better to just keep quiet and hope that Tina's Big Mac gives her heartburn this afternoon.
Have a nice day, y'all!!
This was my first time at South Aiken Dental. Upon arrival I was given the usual forms to fill out in the gently lit waiting room. After a short wait I was summoned to enter the hallway by a squat woman in her 30's, who informed me that her name was Tina, and I was to follow her. Tina sat me down in a chair, and I began to fill her in on my dental history, which is long and detailed. I've had a significant amount of dental work, from implants, to bridges, crowns, root canals, fillings, you name it. I have two implants that are still patiently waiting for implant crowns, which Tina nicely pointed out that they could do that work for me. I felt like saying, "Great news! Do you want to front me the 3.5k that'll cost to get the work done? " First bristle of irritation.
Tina proceeded to take her tiny mirror and explore my upper and lower teeth.
"Hmmm, them two are a bridge," said Tina. "That ain't a problem."
My eyes popped wide open. Immediately, in my head I repeated "them two" "ain't"???? Seriously??? How about some attention to proper grammar to project a modicum of confidence in your professional skills??? If the lady at the convenience store uses improper grammar it's not a red flag, but the dentist office? I began to feel uncomfortable.
"Ima need to take an x-ray now, Mizz Edel," said Tina with a pinched smile on her pudgy face.
I held my cool while she wedged an x-ray plate the size of a notebook in my mouth. The first one she took was too dark so I was fortunate enough to repeat the procedure. Well, there it was in black and white. The tooth that was bothering me has already had a root canal, as well as the one in front of it. Gee, so glad I spent 1k to save that little bugger only to have it fail me now.
Tina turned to face me with her serious dental person face on.
"Do you brush and floss?" she said in a pandering tone, like she was talking to a 6 yr. old.
"Of course, I do!" I said indignantly. Who doesn't brush their teeth?? Gross!
"Do you know why your teeth have had so many problems? How's your diet?" She leaned down closer to my face for my answers.
I stared blankly at her heavily made up eyes. My mind began to whiz. Do I know why my teeth are so crummy? Uh, I think it's called genetics? Just like some people have kidney issues, or arthritis. I have bad teeth. And my diet?? I took a deep breath and fought back the urge to tell her that I sustain myself with crystal meth, cotton candy and Coca-cola. Instead, I smiled sweetly, batted my eyelashes and said:
"My teeth have had many issues, none due to lack of proper hygiene, or attention. I was born with bad teeth. {I added You Dumb Bitch, but only in my head, cuz I was raised properly} And as for my diet I stay away from junk food, I don't drink soda, or eat many sweets. It's not like I've had all of this dental work, because I find it so enjoyable."
I mean, I'm 5'8 and about 125 lbs. I do not look like an unhealthy person. I let my eyes peruse her figure to let her know that I was taking note of her fat gut and thighs which clearly indicated she visited the drive thru more than a few times per week. Gee, how's your DIET, Tina??? Can you say GLUTTONOUS?
On that note, she took her leave so I could have a private consultation with the actual dentist, Dr. Miranda. He was a baby faced, little Spanish fellow, very polite, and I appreciated the confidence in his voice while he spelled out a few options for me. Turns out an endodontist might be able to save my tooth, but if not he could extract the damn thing.
The best part of the whole experience was paying the bill. I had received a coupon in the mail from this place that offered a $1 emergency consultation. I know, right??!!! You can't use the bathroom at the dentist for less than $50. I could've complained about Tina's bedside manner, but if these people are going to pull my tooth I don't want any behind the scenes scuttlebutt about me being a whiny bitch. Better to just keep quiet and hope that Tina's Big Mac gives her heartburn this afternoon.
Have a nice day, y'all!!
Wednesday, December 30, 2015
Deep thoughts from a shallow well
Have you ever met someone who annoys you just by the very sight of them? One minute you're in a good mood, thinking happy thoughts and then you spot him/her and it's like a switch is flipped. Your eyes become narrow slits, lips tighten and your mood goes dark. You begin to pray that they don't come over and talk to you, but they always do. People like this are akin to cats who sense the non cat person in the room and then proceed to rub all over them, until they are shooed away.
I have one of the above mentioned people in my life. I'm a fairly tolerant person, but I have a low capacity when it comes to listening to someone brag about themselves. It really grinds my gears. This person really, truly has no cause to brag, but they do...shamelessly, incessantly and mercilessly. When it starts up I end up clenching my teeth so tightly I fear they may crack. Because I'm a terrible actor I cannot even remotely pretend to be supportive of the brags that bubble forth from this person's maw. Usually, I mumble something like, "how nice", or "good for you" then I hurry off before I punch them in the throat. I'm trying to be positive about this person appearing in my life as an opportunity for me to grow and become more tolerant and accepting, less judgy. But it's very, very difficult. I've come close to calling them out on the brag-a-thon's more than once, but each time I hold back not wanting to come off like a giant bitch. I know myself. If I react out of hostile emotion I will say things that aren't nice, and I don't want to be that person. I never want to hurt a person's feelings. This person is a harmless soul and perhaps not the sharpest knife in the drawer, so I need to let it go. But it's very, very difficult. We all know that bragging stems from insecurity. I need to find some empathy for this person's insecurity issue. Find a deeper understanding into what the bragging does for this person, not what listening to it does to me. Can I do that? Any suggestions? Most days I'm pretty sure I can manage to pull it off. I'll just have to rearrange my schedule if PMS comes into the picture.
December has been kind of a shite month. Jonathan's Dad had a quick, but serious bout with bronchitis that landed him in the hospital. He's doing great now, thank goodness. We had to say goodbye to lovely old Zeke, the 21 year old cat who was featured in the prior blog. He was doing well and then one day he decided he didn't want to eat. Our lovely vet friend gracefully assisted him over the Rainbow Bridge from the comfort of his window bed. No scary last vet visit for my animals if I can help it. I mean, we know he was incredibly old so his passing away wasn't a major shocker, but it still was very sad. Jonathan made the comment that if he was our child he'd be graduating from college. Cue:floods of tears.
Also in Dec, my horse received a routine vaccine which gave him a terrible reaction so he was very muscle sore for about two weeks. That sucked (more for me than him, since he got good meds and no work). Fortunately, he's fine now, but it's been raining like a SOB in Aiken for the last couple of weeks, which has made consistent training a challenge.
Two weeks ago, one of my lower molars has decided to abscess. I caught it in the nick of time with antibiotics, but that's not a perma fix. It needs to be addressed by a dentist. I decided to give myself until after Christmas to have anything drastic done to it. It's now after Christmas, and I still haven't called for an appointment. I guess it's time to be a big girl and make the call.
And last but not least, our car is having some sort of oil pressure issue. I'm waiting to hear what the report is from the fancy German car mechanic. Gulp. I've done a lot of research on the problem so I know two things. It can be an easy fix, or it will be an expensive fix. Fingers crossed here.
All in all, I'm feeling good about the arrival of 2016. We're really excited about all of the horses we're working with at the moment. Our house has two rooms that are ready for color to go on the walls, to be followed by redoing the floors, which I happen to find very satisfying and fun. It's a good time right now. Life will always have blips and hiccups. Sometimes it seems like enough is enough, but I try to look for balance. Find something good that makes me happy, like making a video of Miles while I'm having a solo dance party (which I promise I'll stop posting those vids on FB). I recently read a meme that said something like, "You don't live once, you die once". It's important to be nice, do what makes you happy and the rest of it just sorts out somehow. At least that's my story, and I'm sticking to it. Time to go call that dentist...
I have one of the above mentioned people in my life. I'm a fairly tolerant person, but I have a low capacity when it comes to listening to someone brag about themselves. It really grinds my gears. This person really, truly has no cause to brag, but they do...shamelessly, incessantly and mercilessly. When it starts up I end up clenching my teeth so tightly I fear they may crack. Because I'm a terrible actor I cannot even remotely pretend to be supportive of the brags that bubble forth from this person's maw. Usually, I mumble something like, "how nice", or "good for you" then I hurry off before I punch them in the throat. I'm trying to be positive about this person appearing in my life as an opportunity for me to grow and become more tolerant and accepting, less judgy. But it's very, very difficult. I've come close to calling them out on the brag-a-thon's more than once, but each time I hold back not wanting to come off like a giant bitch. I know myself. If I react out of hostile emotion I will say things that aren't nice, and I don't want to be that person. I never want to hurt a person's feelings. This person is a harmless soul and perhaps not the sharpest knife in the drawer, so I need to let it go. But it's very, very difficult. We all know that bragging stems from insecurity. I need to find some empathy for this person's insecurity issue. Find a deeper understanding into what the bragging does for this person, not what listening to it does to me. Can I do that? Any suggestions? Most days I'm pretty sure I can manage to pull it off. I'll just have to rearrange my schedule if PMS comes into the picture.
December has been kind of a shite month. Jonathan's Dad had a quick, but serious bout with bronchitis that landed him in the hospital. He's doing great now, thank goodness. We had to say goodbye to lovely old Zeke, the 21 year old cat who was featured in the prior blog. He was doing well and then one day he decided he didn't want to eat. Our lovely vet friend gracefully assisted him over the Rainbow Bridge from the comfort of his window bed. No scary last vet visit for my animals if I can help it. I mean, we know he was incredibly old so his passing away wasn't a major shocker, but it still was very sad. Jonathan made the comment that if he was our child he'd be graduating from college. Cue:floods of tears.
Also in Dec, my horse received a routine vaccine which gave him a terrible reaction so he was very muscle sore for about two weeks. That sucked (more for me than him, since he got good meds and no work). Fortunately, he's fine now, but it's been raining like a SOB in Aiken for the last couple of weeks, which has made consistent training a challenge.
Two weeks ago, one of my lower molars has decided to abscess. I caught it in the nick of time with antibiotics, but that's not a perma fix. It needs to be addressed by a dentist. I decided to give myself until after Christmas to have anything drastic done to it. It's now after Christmas, and I still haven't called for an appointment. I guess it's time to be a big girl and make the call.
And last but not least, our car is having some sort of oil pressure issue. I'm waiting to hear what the report is from the fancy German car mechanic. Gulp. I've done a lot of research on the problem so I know two things. It can be an easy fix, or it will be an expensive fix. Fingers crossed here.
All in all, I'm feeling good about the arrival of 2016. We're really excited about all of the horses we're working with at the moment. Our house has two rooms that are ready for color to go on the walls, to be followed by redoing the floors, which I happen to find very satisfying and fun. It's a good time right now. Life will always have blips and hiccups. Sometimes it seems like enough is enough, but I try to look for balance. Find something good that makes me happy, like making a video of Miles while I'm having a solo dance party (which I promise I'll stop posting those vids on FB). I recently read a meme that said something like, "You don't live once, you die once". It's important to be nice, do what makes you happy and the rest of it just sorts out somehow. At least that's my story, and I'm sticking to it. Time to go call that dentist...
Sunday, November 29, 2015
Top Cat
About a month ago I started to think that Zeke might be losing weight. Well, he's old, I told myself. I know he won't last forever. Then I noticed that he was losing hair.
"It's his thyroid," said my pet savvy older sister, Pam. "Go get him tested at the vet."
Off we went to the vet. While in the examining room I heard the vet outside the door talking to the tech.
"The cat is 21??", he said. "Wow."
Zeke and I left the vet office with a bottle of pills meant to balance his thyroid levels. Within a few days I began to see a difference. His hair started growing in and he didn't look quite so gaunt. Another thing began to change, too. Giving Zeke the half pill every morning began to be progressively difficult. At first he ate them in his food. His appetite was so voracious that he was unaware he was taking his medicine. Then one day I noticed a little white sliver being left behind in his bowl.
"Bastard," I muttered, grabbing the slimy sliver and forcing it between his teeth. That went okay at first, though he didn't like it any more than I did.
"It's for your own good!", I'd yell, as Z clenched his jaws and pawed at my hands. This went on for a couple of weeks, but at least he was getting his meds and looking so much better. Then he started a new trick. I'd walk away from one of our pill forcing sessions, feeling victorious that I'd properly medicated my old kitty, only to return and find the pill on the floor, or in his dish. He'd apparently learned how to mimic swallowing it then spit it out, like a petulant child.
My frustration level reached a crescendo yesterday morning. Zeke is now so much healthier from having a balanced thyroid that he can actually claw the crap out of me. Basically, I have an ancient kitty that I can only medicate while he's sick. Once he's healthy, it's like trying to pill a crotchety, angry mountain lion. It's ridiculous. I can manhandle a 1200 lb horse with no trouble, but this senile, deaf, nearly blind husk of a cat is beating the shit out of me. Don't get me wrong, I'm thrilled that Zeke is doing so well. He's rather miraculous to still be such a force at his advanced age, but there has to be an easier way. After hearing me complain about it last night, Jonathan agreed to help me with the "pilling of Freddy Cougar". We're going to start giving him the pill before his dinner this evening. If no one hears from us for a few days, please send help.
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