Not In San Francisco

Work went well today. I'm training a new kid. (Really pleased to be asked to do the honors there.) He's likeable, bright, quick on the uptake, and seems conscientious. But, y'know, it was only his first day.

During Cabinetry building class tonight, the only guy at work that I can't stand did his presentation on table saw jigs. At one point, he passed around a jig he made. He was describing how he built it to be big and sturdy, a good thing as the table saw is probably the most dangerous tool in the shop. And he said, "So I built it with big, beefy handles." I had a field day with that one. "Yeah. Let me get my hands on those Big Beefy Handles." Calculusboy, who was sitting next to me, was in tears, and begged me to stop. I look forward to torturing jerkoffboy henceforth about the Big Beefy Handles on his jig.

Big part of the reason I can't stand him is that he's deep in the throws of what is known in psychology as Reaction Formation, projecting onto others (namely me) something he sees and despises in himself (namely, he's a homo). He has this snarky, mean, mocking way about him in his dealings with me. Which go down every day at lunchtime when he bums a cigaret off of me and then insists on standing there while he smokes it. No social skills whatsoever.

Good phone call with Big after work.

Y'know, I think I'm finally getting a handle on this submission thing. I'm finally seeing it from the inside. Remember the old Nestea Iced Tea commercial, featuring men fully dressed falling backwards into a swimming pool? That's kind of it. Taking the plunge. Scary and exhilarating at the same time. It's frightening to give up control, until you do, and then it's wonderful. There's no place that Big couldn't take me.

Anyway. It's late. I want to try to get my printer working. Not sure what the problem is there. Darn it.

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