Tag Archives: that guy

Men Who Hate Women

Too bad I didn’t have this WW crown when I was working there. I could have summoned my inner Amazonian and kicked his ASS!

{Apologies to Stieg Larsson for borrowing his original book title}

I’ve had my mind on comics and comic book stores a lot lately, and so I’ve been thinking about the BEST job I ever had, ever. But because of one guy, it was also one of the most horrible workplace environments, ever.

In the mid-90s, I took a second job at a comic book/collectibles store to make extra money, and to try to forget about how bad my once-awesome-but-now-terribly-corporate video store job had gotten. I used to buy my comics there, and had discussed my rampant Clive Barker obsession with the owner several times, as he always seemed to have several signed books, figurines, etc. (as I found out later, he was good friends with Clive! SCORE). So, when I mentioned that I was looking for something part-time, he thought it would be awesome to have a chick working there who knew her stuff. It was a quick hire. I don’t even remember an interview, really. I had become so chummy with most of the staff that they already knew and liked me.

All of them I guess, except one.

For the purposes of this story, I will just call him “Dick.” It seems appropriate.

Dick had relocated to the fair city of Lynnwood from some small town in the mid-West, and as I came to find out, hated women. Not just a little, a lot. Or maybe it was just me? I guess I never quite figured it out. In any case, Dick was polite and accommodating when other employees or the manager/owner was around, but as soon as we were the only two in the store, he would have me do the most insane things, backed up with the excuse that “the owner” wanted it done. Continue reading


Tantrum-throwing 30-somethings = not cute

Even my drink is frowning at "that guy."

So here’s how I found myself at a bar with a full-grown man stomping up and down like a child, while screaming that I had made the biggest mistake of my life.

It was a week night, and one in which I was engaged in a traveling happy hour—as in, a few friends and I started at one bar and drank our way through a few before ending up at 611.

Anyway, whilst at the second bar, we ran into a few other traveling happy hourers, a couple of perfectly nice and normal ladies with a guy who also seemed just fine. Two drinks in he starts chatting me up…and at first, it’s just your usual bar chatter. “Where you from? What do you like to do?” etc. Then he asks if I want to step outside for a cigarette. I politely decline, and the crazy starts in.

 “Why? What’s wrong with you?”

“Uh. I don’t smoke. I’m actually allergic to smoke, so I prefer to stay as far away from it as possible.”

“I don’t really believe that. No one’s allergic to smoke! Why don’t you want to go with me? Don’t you know we’re meant to be together?”

“….that’s…funny? Wait, what?” Continue reading


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