Persona Non Grata

I sought in vain yesterday for the ancient Greek appellation for the literary and oratory practice of producing three examples, adjectives, adverbs, etc. “Triad” is all I come up with, but I feel like they would have had a name for such a rhetorical device as that. It’s very disappointing–I feel like I’ve been looking for it for years, and now, at 27, I am still a failure. It is not for me to find.

But that failure continued today when God-Awful-Cunt-of-a-Mortgage-Broker, Allotta Betchin we’ll use as her shortened name, reached out to my civil inquiry on the point of her 2 months of delinquent condo fees with a wholly unwarranted tirade against me, her most poignant description of my person and abilities being “incompetent screw-up”. And Mr. I-Can’t-Get-a-Real-Job-So-I-Call-Myself-a-Consultant-When-Really-My-Wife-Pays-the-Bills takes offense when I begrudgingly grant him access to the office WHEN WE’RE OBVIOUSLY CLOSED. You know something: Fuck you people.

There is something seriously wrong when I have at every turn been polite, professional, and thorough, and you stoop to acerbic name calling–or interacted with you on a near daily basis with congeniality and professionalism and you take a swing when I’m in the rare form of begrudging. I don’t do ‘begrudging’ that often, and when I do, it’s for a reason–probably because I shouldn’t have answered the door for you BECAUSE WE WERE IN THE MIDDLE OF A SCHEDULED FUCKING MEETING, ASSHOLE!

I really don’t like Massachusetts. I don’t like the cities, the roads, the people, the stores–it’s all fucked. I know–I know–you don’t like me either, MA–but could you just go easy on me until I get the fuck out of here? Is it necessary to torture me to the extent that you do? I was suicidal in Jersey, how the hell is MA going to push me over the edge? Arrrgh…


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