![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
I've been sabotoged. Somebody put a nail in my car tire and caused a flat. The boyfriend keeps insisting that I'm being paranoid and probably just ran over a nail in the park or something. Must be nice to be him - to always write these things off as coincidences, to live in oblivion to the maddening myriad of conspiracies that rule our lives.
Here's why I'm not being paranoid:
1. It happened on Friday the 13th (of January). Yeah, tell me about. I just happened to run over a nail on Friday the 13th and got a flat tire?!? I don't think so. Everyone knows Friday the 13th is a day of sabotoge and revenge, not "shitty luck" but premeditated acts of fuck-you-very-muchness perpetrated mostly against fairly innocent white women who love too much.
2. The day of the flat, I asked my boss if he had slashed my tires in a fit of rage against me for often being smarter than him and for frequently telling him how gay he looks in anything yellow. He just looked at me and cackled, gayily I might add, while another co-worker (the one who has been putting a card-board cut-out of a puppy in the street in front of his house so he can watch people swerve and almost crash) said, and I quote: I'm the one who slashed your tires. And then blithely continued discussing the merits of whatever crotch-rock he listens to with other co-workers while defiantly ignoring my incredulous stare.
3. When I told my co-worker and friend, Azucena, about the flat tire sabotoge, she smiled and shook her head and said, "Ay, Doro, you are more cuckoo-cuckoo than me. What you gonna do when you get new job and don't have no cuckoo-cuckoos like me to talk to, huh?" Clearly she's in on it too and is merely repeating a scripted response written for her by my gay-in-yellow boss and the card-board puppy cut-out guy.
4. I called my most over-the-top paranoid friend, Dave. I can always count on Dave to find something shifty in every situation. Every click on the phone is evidence that the FBI is listening in, having been tipped off by key words in our conversation such as "This weed is the bomb" or "I'm gonna buy a bunch of fertilizer for my garden and then blow some shit up." And you know what Dave says to me? "You probably just ran over a nail. It happens all the time."
Here's why I'm not being paranoid:
1. It happened on Friday the 13th (of January). Yeah, tell me about. I just happened to run over a nail on Friday the 13th and got a flat tire?!? I don't think so. Everyone knows Friday the 13th is a day of sabotoge and revenge, not "shitty luck" but premeditated acts of fuck-you-very-muchness perpetrated mostly against fairly innocent white women who love too much.
2. The day of the flat, I asked my boss if he had slashed my tires in a fit of rage against me for often being smarter than him and for frequently telling him how gay he looks in anything yellow. He just looked at me and cackled, gayily I might add, while another co-worker (the one who has been putting a card-board cut-out of a puppy in the street in front of his house so he can watch people swerve and almost crash) said, and I quote: I'm the one who slashed your tires. And then blithely continued discussing the merits of whatever crotch-rock he listens to with other co-workers while defiantly ignoring my incredulous stare.
3. When I told my co-worker and friend, Azucena, about the flat tire sabotoge, she smiled and shook her head and said, "Ay, Doro, you are more cuckoo-cuckoo than me. What you gonna do when you get new job and don't have no cuckoo-cuckoos like me to talk to, huh?" Clearly she's in on it too and is merely repeating a scripted response written for her by my gay-in-yellow boss and the card-board puppy cut-out guy.
4. I called my most over-the-top paranoid friend, Dave. I can always count on Dave to find something shifty in every situation. Every click on the phone is evidence that the FBI is listening in, having been tipped off by key words in our conversation such as "This weed is the bomb" or "I'm gonna buy a bunch of fertilizer for my garden and then blow some shit up." And you know what Dave says to me? "You probably just ran over a nail. It happens all the time."
