DRAMA-LLAMA
In case you haven’t heard, all hell broke loose at work with regards to the previously mentioned problem worker (who shall from here on in be referred to as the Wicked Bitch of the West) and pretty much everyone else at the store. There’s a lot of back story behind it all, and most of it is long, and even more of it is rather messy. I’m not going to dish it up for a number of reasons: first and foremost, it’s over, done, and said Wicked Bitch has left the store for good, and; second, I’m not going to give her the satisfaction of even letting her get to me.
After all the crap I’ve had the (dis)pleasure of contending with, this is the first time where I’ve felt a disturbing and profound sense of peace. Petty backstabbing and Machiavellian antics have plagued everyone even remotely associated with the store (and thusly me) for months now, and a day or two it all got flushed down the toilet.
This does not surprise me, not in the slightest. It was due to happen, and quite frankly I’m amazed it didn’t occur earlier, since there were a few moments this summer where it looked like everything was about to go all Mount St. Helens. There’s collateral damage, to be sure, with the Wicked Bitch trying to draw whatever proverbial blood she can in her wake. As far as I can tell, it’s only serving to consolidate those of us who wave good-bye to her and further reinforce the reasons we’re not going all teary-eyed at her fiery departure.
Despite the impressive confrontation that occurred, I found myself beyond caring. I still do. I feel nothing, and instead of what maybe should be some gut-wrenching sensation, I’ve spent the last few evenings calmer than I can recall in a long while. It’s hard to tell if all the prior stress I’ve endured has left me too numb to feel anything, or if it’s just built up a resistance, or if I have truly entered a new and perhaps frightening state of “I really just don’t give a flying fuck about her anymore.”
I’m not sure if what I’m left feeling is ill-will towards the Wicked Bitch. I certainly think very little of her in terms of her character. Hell, with her gone I plan to think little of her, period. I don’t plan on brooding and fuming over what she’s pulled--though God knows (and believe me, I do not say that lightly) she certainly deserves a cold, calculated vengeance and unflinching, unforgiving demeanour from everyone she’s wronged. By the same token, I do not plan nor expect to see much of her for the remainder of my life. After this post, she will occupy barely a shred of my thoughts, my reflections or retrospections. She will become little more than a passing anecdote, where all her sad, sad antics shall entertain those I mention it to.
This is where I wash my hands of her. I have given her my final act of charity, and only a small part of me hopes she chokes on it. The rest of me does not care one way or the other. She’s earned worse than my scorn. I find everything she is is now beneath me, and as such, I plan to walk away from her forever.
Cold, yes, my final thoughts on this matter might be, but quite deserved.
All in all, it’s best if I end things here for today. Any attempt to toss on a glib anecdote or remark will probably fall horribly flat, and leave a sour taste in your mouth. But don’t let yourself think I’m trapped in a dark, unfriendly place and won’t be getting out anytime soon. (You there, the one about to tell me it's not so bad I need the emo eye make-up!) Both Mel and I will recover, and life will go on. Things can only improve from here on in, now that din-dong, the Wicked Bitch is dead.
I’m sure the next little bit of nowhere you stumbled upon will return to its sunnier skies and whimsical tangents. Until then, as a sign of solidarity and support for what we’ve had to endure here, I ask you remove your pants after reading this and wave them over your head.
(Just kidding.)
Labels: drama-llama, the untimely but much celebrated death of the Wicked Bitch of the West
posted by Phillip at 5:35 AM
