Caricatures & Stereotypes

It's one of the great ironies that every now and then one comes across a person who reminds one of where a stereotype of a personality originates. When this happens, it is so very hard to treat that person with respect, with compassion, with even a straight face. In fact, I find it downright hard not to stare at them in a horrified/appalled/intrigued trance, wondering what utterly predictable thing they'll do next, forgetting that they are in fact a sentient creature, not some lab rat. A creature who can respond, maybe slap one in the face. That kind of thing.

This then was very nearly my undoing in the midst of my first triumph in Trash City. A chance to show my chops in the workplace, take on some responsibility, send some unproof-read faxes, lick a few envelopes off my own initiative. You know what I mean - put it out there. And it was all going just fine until The Mayor turned up.

Imagine The Mayor of a small time town, an E.B Farnum if you will, a local boy made good. Someone with a touch of the TV smiles about him, someone to whom no vote might be too small to chase, no photo op too demeaning to consider NAY demand! Imagine that here in Trash City he likes to know that his name is gold, that he's the man, he's your *mate*. And he is, for he is The Mayor. It's a blue-singlet town, an old style safe Labor seat (with a white flush of Pauline Hanson washing through it every few years) and it's grass-roots party politics all the way. The doctrine of the separation of powers is really only considered a suggestion in Queensland. Really, every pollie seems to consider themselves a benevolent *father* (dictator sounds so harsh) who doesn't need to be encumbered by all those useless rules that lesser mortals must swelter under.

Forgetting all that I had learned in life, in politics and in corporate survival, I made a mistake. I barred the entry of a minor to a licensed premise. Sorry, let me rephrase that: I momentarily interrupted the consumption and enjoyment of a future voter, and a person of influence in the life of an existing voter. Fool. Fool that I am I made it worse when questioned by TM - I said it was the law.
Well.

There is no other law than HIS whim - clearly my wits had fled. I was caught in a dance, not quite as old as time, but certainly not too much younger: it was a predictable crash in slow motion. Floating above my stupid, possibly pointless body, my soul watched and could not stop watching as this simple scene unfolded.

1. Happy People
2. Future Voter given boundaries for behaviour
3. [no complaint WHATSOEVER made by anybody]
4. Storm cloud over brow of TM
5. Question
6. Statement
7. FURY
8. Deferment to senior officers
9. FURY PLOTS REVENGE
10. Staff continues to run event and go on to bump out 2 hours after TM's departure

Epilogue:
1. He calls for my dismissal
2. Senior officers protect me on the grounds I am *still*useful*
3. Grudging acceptance

End of Scene: Applause

Have you every met a petty tyrant? It's fascinating to see how they manipulate, threaten, sulk, bully and fake their way through life. It's not pleasant at all to physically be near, or indeed to experience working with the kind of people who can survive it. It's also constantly intriguing that someone can be such a stereotypical [expletive] and not seem to have any self-conciousness about that at all.

Another day - another facet revealed of this mysterious gem: the Sheltered Workshop of Trash City.