Changes in the Curriculum

I haven’t read all of your posts about The Biz, but of the ones I have read the tone over time seems to be changing from being pretty matter of fact about your sessions to one of “I can’t believe I’m putting up with this shit.” 

                                                                 —From an email sent to me by a concerned reader

      Yup.  

      I did a little content analysis of recent my blog posts.   The results startled me.  I did not anticipate that they would contain so many references to death (which is odd, since I’m the one who wrote them, after all).  The tone is often angry or morbid.  

      I think it’s time for me to back off. 

  I can’t afford to quit entirely, but there are things that I can do to minimize the stress and unpleasant aspects of my Secret Job.  

        First, I need to keep out of the Studio as much as possible.  The Dungeon Drama is getting me down–truly, I could write a dissertation about its shockingly dysfunctional organizational culture.  I need to work one shift a week in order to keep my locker and session privileges, so I sat down with the owner and we worked something out.  There is a good library two blocks away from the Studio.  When I’m on shift, I am going to spend my time there, on the pretext that I am working under deadline on a research project.  If they need me, they can call me and I’ll be there in five minutes.  They know that they can rely on me to be there when I say that I will be there.  

      Unless something–or someone–that sounds exceptionally fun falls into my lap, I am not accepting new clients.  

     I have an informal ranking system for clients.  This is how it goes:

      I have some regular clients whose company I truly enjoy.   They don’t stress me out at all.  Those guys can stay and see me whenever they want.  

    The “barely tolerable” ones–like Mr. Crocodile Tears from San Fran–were collectively herded out of their “Only See In Times of Acute Financial Distress” gulag at 4 AM this morning, put up against the wall, and shot.  I fired about ten of them via politely-worded email.  Predictably, because most of them are either obtuse or malignant boundaries-pushing assholes, they are already flooding my email box with queries about why they were let go.  I cannot decide whether or not it would be therapeutic for me to answer them in frank and explicit fashion.

    The cure for depression is work.  I volunteered to “Care For Young Trees” in NYC parks.  This means that I dig up weeds, pick up trash, and inspect bark for parasites, with periodic breaks to re-apply sunscreen.  I was going to volunteer at the Adult Literacy program, but until I stop feeling crabby, I don’t think I should inflict myself upon unsuspecting strangers.  

    I feel like this owl:



When I want to feel like this owl:

 


4 thoughts on “Changes in the Curriculum”

  1. Dear Miss Margo,

    That is a very cute owl.
    Good luck on the reconfiguration of your professional life.

    I have to admit that stories about the behind-the-scenes chaos and dysfunction at the Studio are among my favorites. I appreciate your need for discretion about your co-workers, but I love reading about how crazy these women really are. I am not proud of this, but there it is.

    John

  2. Hi John;

    Which owl? I think the one on top is the most cute.

    I don’t think that getting a kick out of all the Dungeon Drama is anything to be ashamed of. It truly begs the question: laugh, or cry? I could devote an entire blog to Studio madness and the various characters who work here. Recently, for instance, Mistress C. had a spectacular fight (again) with another Domme in the locker room (again). If I’d known it was going to happen, I would have recorded the audio on my iPhone. It was jaw-dropping, and it went on for some time, too, until the Russian manager returned from her dinner and broke it up and threw both women out for the night.

    Money was missing out of Mistress “Sierra’s” locker and she’d been complaining that Mistress C. stole it (to be fair, Sierra is probably right about that. C hates her. C put the cockroach in one of Sierra’s boots–remember that one?).

    C was spoiling for a fight all night. Had that glint in her eye. In my mind, I announced an official Tornado Warning.

    C got in Sierra’s face right there in front of everyone and said that Sierra was too cowardly to accuse her of theft to her face.

    Then it was on. You could have sold this fight on HBO Pay-Per-View.

    Miss Margo here, the unofficial Studio Switzerland, timidly tried to intervene early on. C told me to sit my ass back down. I folded like a cheap card table.

    Sierra has guts, I must say. She stood her ground.

    The verbal back-and-forth was shocking and actually kinda funny in retrospect. My personal favorite was when C screamed in Sierra’s face: “Get the hell out of here! Go bleach your hair, or something!” (Sierra’s a bottle blonde).

    Sierra: “Why don’t YOU go bleach YOUR hair?!” (C. is also bottle blonde)

    C.: “I bleach my hair because I’m white trash! Not because I’m a little spic trying to hide the fact that I’m part Peurto Rican! AND AT LEAST I’M NOT MARRYING A CLIENT THAT I MET ON COLLARME!!!”

    For the record, I do not think that C. qualifies as “white trash.” She’s a WASP whose family fell on hard times.

    Drama like this happens EVERY WEEK. Ugh.

    Sierra does not know that C put the roach in her boot. She flipped out when she found the roach, though, and put boric acid all around her locker.

    Ok, I have to get back to work. Bye for now!

  3. Hi Miss Margo!

    I thought the second own was cuter, although maybe I was swayed by the music.

    Stealing money is pretty serious stuff. But as you said, it is like a prison yard.

    I guess knowing backstage dirt on a domme’s ‘issues’ makes me feel powerful. When I think of some of the women I have been a regular client of – – [shudder]. In a way though, it feeds into my sense of unworthiness. I sessioned for a lot of reasons, one was to act out low self-esteem. The junkie, living with a junkie, semi-literate domme who has me under her thumb feeds into that.

    John

    John

  4. We’ve all got “issues;” we’re only human, after all.

    One of the women at the Studio is actually a real, honest-to-God keleptomaniac. She stole my rotisserie chicken out of the fridge. My entire fucking chicken, and it had my name on it! Another time people came from the Drug Store next door to complain about her stealing and tell her that she couldn’t shop there anymore.

    I session for a lot of reasons, too. I think I understand why, now. The confusing, and problematic, part for me is that I can’t seem to get tired of it or “get it out of my system.” The craving is always there. I’m lonely and I want a boyfriend, but I don’t know if that’s compatible with this.

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