How I Got Beaten Up At Work

by pjmcbride

No, not at Dispatch, though never say never, I suppose. Just remember, the only way to get fired from Dispatch is to show up naked, on drugs, and kill a supervisor, twice in a 6-month period. Isn’t that right, Lisa? (I’m addressing UnLovely UnLisa, my UnPaid proofreader.)

You may recall in a recent FB post I mentioned being threatened at a past job, but not beaten up. I also mentioned I once actually *was* beaten up. Of course (of course!) you were all thinking, I’d love to hear that story. But it must be a painful memory, which she wouldn’t want to relive just for cheap entertainment. (And there is no entertainment cheaper than this.) Well, you know how that goes:

Once upon a time, at one of the many demeaning and low-paying jobs I held in my 20’s after dropping out of college for the 2nd time (I went on to do it once more, too–apparently I can’t be educated), I was working late alone. I heard someone come in the downstairs door. This was disquieting, because I’d been given the only key–THAT I KNEW OF (cue creepy music). Two women I worked with came trooping up the stairs. Let’s call them Summer and Ginger, shall we? Ginger was saying to Summer, “You grab the TV while I look for the money.” They were mightily surprised to find Your Humble Narrator there.

I should mention at this point that I did not have a good working relationship with these women. So Ginger proceeded to back me up against a wall and made me listen to a speech about how “you’re stuck-up” and “think you’re better than us.” (I actually did think I was better than people who break into their place of employment looking for money and a TV. I did not, however, mention it at this point.) She then said, “I’ll give you one more chance. Come party with us. We got a guy in the van downstairs who goes for girls like you.” (Stuck-up girls? Girls with no fashion sense? I don’t know.) I mean, seriously? What do you say in that situation? “Wow, I’d love to go bar-hopping, but I think I’m better than you. Please don’t rape and kill me and throw me out of the van.”

Your Humble Narrator is ever-observant and noticed the phone right next to me and grabbed for it to call the police. Ginger had good reaction time and grabbed it first and hit me over the head with the receiver. (This was back in the 70’s, when phones were built like tanks, so it made an impression on me.) Then Summer said, “I can’t pick up this TV by myself,” Ginger turned to answer her, and Your Humble Narrator (ever-observant, remember) saw an opportunity and went *flying* down those stairs to the door. I never saw their getaway driver in the van, because a bus was coming, and I flagged it down wildly.

The perfect finishing touch to this story is that I showed up at my apartment building, disheveled and with a knot on my head, and asked the landlord to let me in, since I hadn’t told Ginger, “Wait a minute, just let me grab my keys” before making my escape. I told my landlord I’d been assaulted, and he looked at me and said, “You probably deserved it.” Indeed.

So, if anyone at work is tempted to hit me over the head because I’m stuck-up, it’s already been done. Oh, and when I first told my husband this story (it happened before we met), he said, “You weren’t ‘beaten up.’ You were just hit once.” Damn purists. On the plus side, he reassured me that I was not, either, a coward for running away, because I was outnumbered.

Now is that more story than you bargained for (or asked for), or what? You are most welcome.

P.S. I enabled a setting connecting this blog to Facebook, and I’m not quite sure how it works, so I apologize if it does anything weird. I mean, anything weirder than what this blog normally does.

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