Ok, so, elephant in the room: my old boss got #metoo’ed in the SF Chronicle two weeks ago. Wild, right? I can verify that all that shit was true.
I know you’re probably all thinking, okay, Pilar, what’s up, what did you do this time? So I would just like to take this time to say, omigod, you guys, no it was not me! I am mere spectator of the sideshow of chaos that is now engulfing a diminishing part of my former life. If you know me, you know that I love being the spectator of the sideshow of chaos in any part of anyone’s life because, yup, I’m still an anarchist. But, I also have to admit, despite being an eager spectator, I still haven’t found the time to go out and buy a new pair of shoes. For when, y’know, I’m dancing on that dudes grave.
The reason I haven’t bought a new pair of shoes so I can dance on my former boss’s (metaphorical professional) grave is because, well…I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it looks like that guy is going to be just fine in the long run. As someone who is close enough to the entire drama to know and hear and see these things – yup, it’s true.
I’ll admit, I find that to be a bit irksome. How can you have your name blazoned across the front of the SF Chronicle as a serious creeper and still do just fine in the world? Like, not even change a thing. He’s basically just going on an extended vacation until we collectively forget that this all happened. I’m kinda bummed.
Although, I’m not really sure what is supposed to happen here. It’s not like he just vanishes into thin air the moment we find out he’s a bad guy, like some movie super villain who evanesces into the ether. Sure, I would like for him to just crawl back to whatever cave he came from. I guess it would be nice if I didn’t have to think about the moral implications of my cocktail as I’m sitting there, sipping, trying to mack on some dude. I mean, yeah, this is capitalism, and there is no ethical consumption under capitalism, but I would like to get drunk and not have to fret about propping up the empire of some guy who makes the world a worse place for me and people like me one $12 cocktail at a time. That would be nice. I’m a dreamer.
But maybe it is that simple. You’d think that after having seen his name in big print on the front page, he would get the message. The message being: DUDE GO AWAY. Stop taking up space. No one wants to hear what you have to say. You’re gross. Nobody wants to fuck you.
Oh, yeah, that’s the new central tenant of my experience of the #metoo movement: nobody wants to fuck you, please go away. Instead of, I, too, have been sexually harassed, it’s more like: I, too, did not want to fuck him, and I, too, wanted him to go away, and I, too, suffered because he didn’t understand either of those two things. Yuck. Gross.
And then, also because he’s my old boss, and he’s still in Oakland, I know what it’s going to be. I’m going to have to see him around somewhere in the near future (because he’s probably not going to take the hint and go away), and, ugh, my skin is crawling and I’m cringing about the vague possibility of having to socially interact with him again. Have you ever encountered someone who’s been outed as a fucking creep or rapist shit head? Oh, man, it’s hard. It’s so fucking hard. It’s always just like, oh, no, please don’t see that I saw you, please don’t come up to me, please don’t open you’re mouth, I’m going to have to shun you to your face and we used to be cool on some level. Please don’t. We aren’t cool anymore. It’s so icky.
Could you imagine having an entire city feel that way about you? Sure, there are some people who understand that he might still have some money (because I hear the lawsuits have yet to begin), so, yeah, there might be some of those neo-liberal ass kissing weirdos out there who are down. But, even then, oh, it’s so gross. All of this is so gross.
Yeah, he’s going to be just fine in the long run (who will remember this or him in 20 years anyways?), but, oh, it’s all so awkward right now. I’ll have more to say about it later because I’m sure this is just the beginning. Watch out for him. He’s going to try to stay in Oakland. And he’s not even from here! So rude.