|Date:||January 5, 2020|
When you grill, you technically do it outside. Doing it inside is a quick way to start a fire or make people short of breath. Both were a bad combination for the story I'm about to share.
It was the middle of the summer of 2002. It was only six months since I was outed, and I was mocking people for the tenseness that came with the inability to have sexual trysts in private. [#a2l46a] once told me, "The people who have at it in public are very fond of each other in private." While Bradish staff did not investigate the conduct I brought up this past January, our actions were under constant scrutiny, so it meant that my peers were just as deprived of sex as I was. I took that frustration out on others. The others started fighting each other. I consistently mentioned this correlation, which drove my former tryst partners upset and contributed to staff looking the other way when I got hurt.
We were getting ready for a special lunch made by then-assistant supervisor [#a5g62d], who I was not on good terms with since the events of January transpired. I made his job harder by riling up my peers for stuff I will continue to say they did, no matter how long they choose to be closeted. I was asked to clean up the dining area and prepare place settings. [#a5g62d] felt keeping me occupied would keep me out of trouble. I quickly got under his skin, telling him that he shouldn't burn the charcoals indoors. "It literally says it on the bag." He didn't like me pointing that out, and I could see he was getting upset. It was about 1:30 PM when I last looked at the clock.
The following events could have occurred in the five minutes shortly after I last looked at the clock. The concussion I sustained by a man three times my weight and height not only made me forget the upcoming five hours, but the five minutes prior to the concussion too. I speculate that one of two things occurred:
As I was carrying out the burgers, someone put their foot out (likely [#p0e90c] , who literally cut someone's chest open with his toenail once), and I fell. [#a5g62d] likely knocked me out because I dropped his pride and joy on the floor.
The second possibility was that I continued to troll [#a5g62d] and had so little respect for him, I purposefully dropped the patties on the floor. He would have then knocked me out for the same reason.
I eventually came to in the living room, about fifty feet from where I last recall being located. The clock said 6:30 PM. It's apparent I was dragged, given the disheveled look of my clothes. [#p4t62m] and [#p9r91i] were nearby when I came to. "You're a crazy [expletive], you know that?", says [#p9r91i].
It's very hard to have respect for an organization that made no real effort to improve the kids they took in, and often left them even more broken going out than they were going in. I have no regrets for how I conducted myself to them, and I'm sure that Westchester County believes that their taxpayer dollars were poorly invested in the Children's Village. I immediately reported [#a5g62d]'s aggression to my social worker, [#a0e74b], and as an act of good measure, I brought it to the attention of people who ran other units on campus to ensure that Tubman Unit could not smother my reports, which they had a habit of doing. I pretty much put it on loudspeaker for all of Wetmore Hall.
As someone who's been on both sides of the coin, it's important that I understand why I was driven to do the things I did. If you're being hurt, make sure you report to a wide pool of people, lest your story be smothered too.
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