B is also for Bobby.
Contrary to what Frau Cleaver said on Thursday, Bobby, the head lifeguard, and I--though we did have our ups and downs, got along fairly well for a time, perhaps most of the three years he worked at the YMCA.
That is, until the resident Hannibal Lecter at the downtown YMCA began harrassing me (Frau Cleaver, please don't ask me what "harass" means, as in [chewing big wad of gum in her mouth as she speaks] "EXPLAIN WHAT YOU MEAN BY 'HARASS'? TELL ME [hitting the table]").
I think Bobby all along wanted to do what was right and is an upright, if uptight, person (more than I can say for at least two administrators).
At the height of the charges that by I was hitting other swimmers causing problems*, I asked him, "Well, how often do you think he is happening?" and he answered softly after a pause, "Well not really very often."
Everyone has psychological vulnerabilities.
We either don't communicate [me] or communicate poorly in our society.
* As I've stated elsewhere, I see this as tactical, a way to parry my complaints about the lifeguards who were bullying me, making barely veiled racist comments or making me beg in order for them to tell me the time (I am very myopic), or, for example, turn angrily onto me, lead me by the nose and blame me for a situation in which a white woman swimmer exploded at a young white male lifeguard.
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