“ I traditionally don’t hire women, because I don’t want to end up sleeping with them..”
I couldn’t tell if he was calling me while on a motorcycle or the massive engine of his car was purring so loud it revved up the proposition with that much more muscle for his attempt at prowess-driven authority….. It sounded like he was flexing all the way from L.A.
I had heard that line before…when I first got in to the mortgage industry…. I was introduced by a smooth talking ,
very bachelor, very Italian man…we will call him “ The Italian”….for now…
That phone call happened after I had just come in from my last fishing trip in Chincoteague, Virginia….
I was picking fish scales off of my arm and extremely disappointed in the puncture wound a small bastard- skate had inflicted upon my left hand.
It refused to stop bleeding. (Skates have a blood thinner they excrete. This encourages the gash they inflict to continue to ooze blood for three days to four days…
My father said these wounds “really suck”. I have to agree. As a result of this wound, coupled with one a few days prior involving me reaching in to the open mouth of a maaco shark…
Side note> the maaco was dead…so yes,…I was bit by a dead shark, because I was being a deckhand-dumb ass)
….Ended up hosting an infection from what ever sea bacterial fish shit, successfully nested in it due to the fact you can not protect injuries….there isn’t a bandage in the world that will stay adhered to your hands, when they are getting soaked …except for duct tape….which I did use…but still didn’t do much to protect me as the wounds did heal…..
A month later my hand turned purple and red, and started streaking…and I almost lost it…
When I called my Father and told him the news….
His response was
“ well, which hand do you write with?”
….so back to the “business proposal…..
My head balanced my fish bait smelling cell phone, against my shoulder as I was expressing my concern for my bleeding hand, and maybe finding a new job.
The Italian was modest in his approach…He knew he had to be…I rifled through the bull shit men spit at me so quickly that most of the time, past disarming them I also ended up with at least one of their balls…sometimes 2…
…of course that is only to say if their manhood consisted of brazen showy pride that resembled an ape in a suit banging his chest.
Since it is not civilized to hit a woman, I could get away with “emasculating murder”….and yes….I am an asshole….everyone that loves me concurs with this fact.
SIDE NOTE> I do not dislike players…I am actually rather intrigued by their guile…There is a manner of spreading your seed that is your God given right in this world…watching men speak to me or other women with their verbal prowess is like a good show on Animal Planet…I love hunting…being hunted…up to a point…like most things in my life…it depends on my mood..
The businessmen smoothed through the words casually, as if to propose a certain kind of cereal he should maybe have for breakfast, before the big meeting. I almost didn’t even hear it.
That sneaky prick.
“ Well, I am looking for an assistant to work some of my pipeline, and maintain business, so-I mean if-“
Yes….I will be redundant and dig in to the aforementioned statement immediately.
Essentially he was saying he needed an ass.isistant…that he could lay his pipe line in.
To maintain his business of being top dog -that part is the same, now dipped in the correct company ink..
How wonderfully, one can package the craft of their actual motive when dressed in the suit of a business proposal. It’s the nature of how, every one gets fucked when they are being told lofty political worded descriptions to elude the prick of finer details.
Time to trade in my sea bag, for a Gucci purse. I think I can handle that for awhile.... Judging the infection from my oozing wound. I was about to Go from fishing dirty , to saucy sophisticated. Eating flank Steak with gut soaked, hands and a diesel stained jug of water---- to filet mignon , a nice bottle of red wine…....and acrylic nails
I was 22...and decided I wanted to take it easy....
If you wanted to throw me "a bone" that I didn’t have to work to get. I’d fetch it…just don’t ask me to bring it back….for too long. The thing with fishing is
Take the girl off the boat, but you can’t take the sea out of the girl…ever.
so...the story of the mortgage industry, living in a penthouse suite, and being "pretty"..... is extremely relevant, but outlived, by the sadistic thing that happens once salt water gets in your veins...
and so the story goes.....
I want more.
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