The Outside World

I hate it when other people ruin my lovely, cozy, amazing life.  I have a wonderful life.  I have a lot of love, I have amazing sex, and I have a woman who loves me no matter how many sock trees that I try to grow by leaving my socks on the living room floor.  I have a beautiful home, with amazing horses and loving cats. I have an intentional family that buys me curios, and sends me notes that say that they love me every day, that I matter, and remind me how to lead. I have a good honest job that pays me well, and a crew of people that I work with that are smart, dedicated and team oriented.  Overall, I am blessed in ways that many people aren’t.  And I am utterly utterly grateful for those things. 

However, in the other world I am used to being treated differently.   It is a subtle thing, most of the time. People move their kids away from me, people eye me then back away or walk in the other direction, I have seen women move behind their male partners, male partners pull their women closer.  In a lot of ways I am used to that and don’t really mind, it gives me an edge, I feel, an advantage.  But there is a difference between me being treated different, and me being treated in a way that quite frankly stays with me for days.   

And that is where I am now.  

 I am writing this because I have not been able to compartmentalize it since it happened.  

Last Monday we went to the bank to see someone about a mortgage loan refinance.  Now just to preface here, I knew that we wouldn’t qualify- my credit sucks.  But they said that they could do something, they sought me out, so I thought, well, more information doesn’t hurt. But my gut said, don’t go. 

So we arrived at the bank on time, and 15 minutes later were told that we were at the wrong bank, she had not told me were her office was .  We had to dive across town to her find her, and when I was walking in my gut said- don’t do this.  

But in we went.

 I could feel who she was before I saw her face.  She didn’t bother to apologize she just looked me up and down, the same with my slave, and then sat down.  She did not offer us a seat. She was thin, white, and rich- she made sure to let us know about her vacation property in Angelfire.  She went on and on about how she hated Mondays and how much pain she was in due to her jaw being wired shut from being thrown from her horse.  I looked at my slave several times confused. 

She said that she tried to call my cell phone but had the wrong number.  Then sputtered over herself when I said that I didn’t own one, she paused and said “why don’t you own a cell phone?”  I was shocked at the question, it was abrupt, accusatory. I said that we don’t have a cell phone because I don’t like people.  Then my slave tried to explain us a little more she said that we are broke.  I noticed that the question moved the focus away from the fact that she had just lied to me about trying to call. 

 I watched this woman carefully.

 She would talk about herself , just to hear herself talk. When she would tense up she would ask me a question – not to hear the answer, but to hear me say I didn’t know. Then she would relax a little. When I could answer her questions, she would interrupt me, talk over my answer, and make up her own answer. I would have to stop her and explain myself again, not that what I was saying mattered. She would look down every time that I talked. 

She made snide comments about my salary “is that all?” about my schooling “you just went to nursing school?” About my credit "tsk tsk tsk”  as she tapped the papers.  About my home. “You had better not lose that house.” “Why don’t you just sell?” 

Finally when I realized that I had taken all that I could. I took my paperwork, stood up and said “are we done here?”  She didn’t bother to say have a nice day; shake my hand or any of that other perfunctory crap a business person is supposed to do.  She just stood up backed away, and was much relived that we were going.

My slave and I left glassy eyed and confused, I was downright angry and she was trying to put herself back together. My slave in general has amazing social skills, and does much better in situations like this.  I remind her of this often, as I am proud of how she conducts herself, and quite frankly apologizes for my short comings. 

But after that we were both just trying to pick ourselves up.

I felt abused and berated.  I felt like no matter what I said it would not have mattered, and like my hard earned accomplishments were just a wrinkle in this woman’s nose.

It felt alien, and we both stayed in shock for a while. We are still in shock.

My slave bough me ice cream.  I had amazing sex, a few times, that helped- a lot.

But I am still shaken. Weird, huh?