There was a “salsa party” at a community center near me, and I thought, “Aw, h*** yeah! Free chips and salsa!”

I spent all day impatiently waiting for the crunchy goodness that was going to be chips and salsa while I’d maybe chat it up with new faces.

I came to find out as I arrived people that people were salsa dancing and no chips and salsa were waiting for me.

That is all. Pure disappointment.

I work at a community center in the same small town where I grew up. The community center has a lot of activities and classes for people of all ages. In this part of the world, people tend to be very friendly with each other, even if we don’t know each other at all.

My girlfriend grew up in a very different culture, where people generally mind their own business and don’t do things like make small talk with anyone except close friends or family. She has moved to my hometown with me but is still struggling to adapt to the overall friendliness.

She comes to the community center to pick me up for lunch. We end up walking out with an older gentleman I’ve seen a few times going into and out of a “Technology For Seniors” class but never actually talked to.

Gentleman: “Ah, what a beautiful day out!”

Me: “Yeah, it is! Good day to be working outside instead of stuck in the office.”

Gentleman: “Good thing, too — these old bones like the weather, even just for the walk out to the car.”

Me: “I hear you. If you need a hand, we’re heading out to the parking lot ourselves.”

Gentleman: “Ah, I’ll make it. Sucks to be getting old, but that’s life. I guess I can’t complain too much.”

Me: “You’re on the right side of the grass. That’s a plus on its own.”

Gentleman: “Very true!” *Gesturing to the car we’re now walking past* “This is me. You two take care now!”

Me: “You, too! Enjoy your day, and see you around next time!”

He gets in his car, and my girlfriend and I continue on to her car. After we get in, my girlfriend turns to me.

Girlfriend: “Who was that man?”

Me: “I think he’s taking a class, or maybe he’s the instructor or something.”

Girlfriend: “You mean you don’t know him?”

Me: “Not really, I guess. Why?”

Girlfriend: “You make that look so natural, talking to somebody you don’t even know.”

Me: *Laughing* “Welcome to [Town]!”

She’s getting better at the general friendliness around here, but things like small talk with random strangers are still a bit of a struggle.

Years ago, I volunteered with our local LGBTQIA+ community center as its executive assistant. As such, I helped assemble the center’s annual awards ceremony to honor volunteers and advocates within our community.

One year, the Board of Directors decided that, in addition to the certificates we created and printed out for honorees, we would also obtain official certificates of appreciation from the office of our state’s governor. It was a surprisingly easy process: log onto the governor’s website, find the section for ordering letters and commendations, fill out your contact information, give the name of the person being honored and why, and specify when you need the certificate.

As per the Board’s directions, I was purposely vague about the reason “why”, since our state’s government was (and remains) staunchly homophobic and transphobic. Under the justification section, I merely wrote, “In recognition of [Honoree]’s volunteer work and advocacy in the service of the people of [State].”

The certificate requests were accepted without question and sent to our offices in plenty of time for our event.

Fast forward to the night of the ceremony, where we presented a certificate to one of that year’s honorees: the leader of our state’s largest trans advocacy group. She came on stage and gave the certificate a bemused look as we handed it to her.

Honoree: “I’d like to know how you managed to get me a certificate of appreciation from the governor, considering I’m suing his a**!”

Indeed, her group was part of an ongoing lawsuit against the State over a series of civil rights violations against trans people. Everyone at the ceremony had a good, hearty laugh about putting one past the State for once. Maybe the folks at the State need to pay more attention to who gets a certificate with the governor’s name on it. Then again, let’s not give them any ideas…

CONTENT WARNING: Pet Death

I’m the one who submitted Flee From The Fleas, and I have an update! Be warned: it’s not for those who care about animals.

I had already long since quit the community center where “Flee From The Fleas” took place when, by happenstance, I ran into a woman and struck up a conversation with her. It turns out that she was an employee there the year after I (and several other coworkers) left.

She told me that in mid-spring, since she started, she and two new hires noticed all kinds of bug bites across their legs and body. It took several weeks, but she caught a flea in action. [Coworker #2] then mentioned everything that I had been through the two previous years, and it was like a lightbulb for all the new staff.

They immediately went on a hunt and caught several more fleas each, and they presented them to [Maintenance Manager], who was still working there. He immediately denied that there was any flea issue and continued to dig his heels into denial for weeks.

During that time, the entire day staff nearly revolted as more of them were susceptible to flea bites. Yet [Maintenance Manager] refused to do anything about it and insisted that one of the staff was bringing in fleas from home — the very thing he accused me of, and I hadn’t stepped foot in the building since the day I quit. Of course, this led to a whole lot of bitterness from the new hires who didn’t like being told that they “just needed to clean their houses” and the flea problem at work would go away.

This went on for two months. During that time, two employees found fleas in their cars and/or homes. [New Hire #1] left work one day and was halfway across the parking lot when she discovered a flea attached to her face.

The woman I was talking to did all she could to gather further evidence and tracked down a likely suspect: one of our long-time regulars. During her conversation with the man, she discovered that he had a flea infestation from the fifteen cats he owned. 

During the course of the eight weeks when this whole situation unfolded, the woman learned that three or four of the man’s cats actually died from complications brought on by the fleas in his home. It also resulted in a call to CPS as there was a child living in that home. (Due to the private nature of CPS investigations, none of us knows what happened after the issue was reported.)

Yet despite these facts and the fact fleas had been an issue for three years in a row, [Maintenance Manager] continued to insist that it was a problem brought on by the staff themselves. He finally allowed the place to be fumigated simply because he was sick of hearing complaints — not that he ever believed the validity of the complaints. 

The woman I was talking to also quit shortly after this incident.

Related:
Flee From The Fleas

Our library rents its space from a community centre. One of the many services we provide is that we have a few study rooms that can be borrowed for a few hours at a time by organisations that need a meeting room.

A couple of years ago, we were contacted by a non-profit adult education organisation who asked if they could borrow our largest study room for a few hours once a week for a class they were giving. We said sure, no problem. They asked to come see the room, and the following conversation happened.

Educator: “No, this is much too small. We need a room for about twenty-five to thirty students and a teacher, as well. Don’t you have any larger rooms?”

Me: “Sorry, this is the largest room we have. We have a couple of others, but they’re all smaller.”

They looked around the library as if hoping another room would magically manifest itself.

Educator: “Are you sure?”

Me: “Yes, I’m sure. This is all of the library you’re looking at right now.”

Educator: “Because I know there’s a large auditorium in the building…”

Me: “Yes, that belongs to the community centre. If you want to rent that, just talk to them.”

Educator: “They don’t loan it out for free, though.”

Me: “Afraid not.”

Educator: “Well, we can’t afford that. What if we move that wall?”

Me: “Pardon?”

Educator: *Points to the wall of the meeting room* “I know there’s another meeting room right next to this one. If we take out that wall, we’d have one big meeting room instead of two small ones.”

Me: “Well, first of all, that other meeting room belongs to the community centre, so you’d have to pay rent for it. Second, that wall is a solid brick wall, and taking it out would require a major renovation of the building.”

The educator looked hopefully at the — I cannot stress this enough — BARE RED BRICK WALL.

Educator: “Are you sure?

Me: “I’m pretty sure that’s a load-bearing wall, so yeah.”

Educator: “Oh. Well, if this is the best you can offer, I guess this room will have to do if they really squeeze together. So, can we book it for two hours every Wednesday?

Me: “Of course.”

Come Wednesday, about half the number of promised students showed up. The teacher that the educator had booked never turned up, though, and we had to deal with the students’ understandable anger at this. We tried to get in touch with the educator but never heard back, and we cancelled the future bookings.