“James, I was so looking forward to being a cop, figured I would apply myself just like I did in the military, just like I did in the martial arts. I simply asked, ‘What do I need to do to make it to the next level. What do I need to know and what tasks do I need to accomplish to make sergeant?’

“Even though I thought I was entering a man cave it turned out to be a hen house. I am actually working with bitches. My gung ho attitude, that’s served me well in the military, has turned me into a pariah. Do you have any experience dealing with this kind of thing? And, most importantly, how do I accomplish this without impinging upon my own sense of honor, without knuckling under and playing their womanly games.”

-Mavis

And I thought I was done writing On Bitches?

Well, with more bitches defecting from the masculine ranks every day than graduate from girldom, how can such a line of inquiry ever run dry?

It’s good to hear from you Mavis. With the exception of sports, the military and certain trades—like construction, largely being taken over by Mexicans in my area—masculinity is always regarded as a threat by management and male coworkers. Law Enforcement and work in fire departments does come with military trappings and also dangerous tasks that lend an aura of masculinity. However, there is a huge difference between sports and military and police and fire.

In sports and the military most people are in for a decade or so as the meat that gets run through the grinder of character formation and masculine tempering. A tiny minority will remain as career instructors and aging grunts.

Conversely, in police and fire and other government jobs, people are signing up to get in on the early retirement feedbag. They’re entire career is about the pension.

Comparing the mentality of the military man, athlete and entrepreneur to that of the employee, the cop the fireman and the retail outlet manger is like comparing the narrative needs of the horror fan with the romance reader.

My experience working as a staff member and manager in dozens of retails food operations, many of them unionized jobs where employees would do anything to hang on for the pension [most of these pensions have been raided or longtime union members ruthlessly culled by a Union-Management cabal]. I was headhunted from a private outfit to go into a union shop and work at a level above that which union workers regard themselves as being morally obligated not to fulfill. The bench mark was 200 cases per night and I could do 400. The new, larger markets needed people with private company work ethics and could not function with the minimal output union work ethic. This made myself and other acquisitions [UFCW Local 27 has since banned this practice and bars employers from starting outside talent off at top rate, causing one chain after another to lose ground against non-union outfits as they can no longer cherry pick the best non-union help.]

This situation made me hated based on productivity alone and the instinct was for me and the other outsiders to band together, which was facilitated by the fact that we were usually utilized in Frozen and Dairy, the two hardest sections. Eventually, the ostracism became hard for the other outsiders and they drifted back into the non-union workplace. But I stayed and eventually got into dry grocery—easy street!

I worked this by refusing promotion. I turned down nine promotions, until eventually the other guys saw me as their defacto shop steward. I cut my own deals outside of union channels with the store managers, even training assistant managers, and night captains and doing the technical work for my idiot grocery managers. Eventually, though they all hated me, they trusted me and became addicted to my helping hand. Despite universal hatred of me by labor and management [labor hating me for my high laboring output and management hating me for spurning their advances] I became everyone’s go to guy, the guy that will do the shitty work, the guy that knows how the ordering machine works, the guy that will do the audit that my idiot assistant can’t do, etc. It took 10 years of rocky road to earn five years of clear sailing.

Eventually after 15 years in the chains, a private outfit offered me the top spot. I went from bottom man on a night crew [although I was doing tasks assigned to grocery managers, night captains and assistant managers] to general manager in charge of 110 people. After 4 years doing better at that then men with 20 years management experience, I resigned and became the bottom man on a night crew in a private outfit and happily remain there, having proven that I have no ambition by my resignation. Below are the methods I developed for allying the fears of my coworkers.

1. Realize that most of your coworkers are idiots who see themselves as having no value outside of their current job track and will do almost anything to maintain their spot. A person with a tracking mentality will have extreme resentment for anyone who expresses an interest to advance ahead of them, so never inquire as to how one might advance—ever. Look for advancement in an outside organization. Be a cop in one city, amass an excellent record and apply for detective in another municipality, perhaps a higher-paying, lower-risk municipality than the one you cut your teeth in. If your coworkers believe that you have ambitions inside of their organization they will break out the knives. This static workplace was the final emasculating cut that began with agriculture. You might be a cop, armed like a warrior of an earlier time, but you work with males who are psychologically wounded women.

2. Your ambitious nature has been unveiled so demonstrate to your coworkers that you fulfill it elsewhere, in sports, or in a social organization like a church. Once I began fighting again and making money coaching and writing and selling books—although it was mere change—my coworkers inflated it in their envious mind’s eye and became less threatened by me in the workplace, knowing that I was directing my superior potential away from their job track and sometimes even hoping that if I took one of those promotions I turned down that I might take them along for the ride.

3. When you help a coworker never take credit but bestow credit on him. I do this all the time. Once they see that you are willing to let them take credit for your good work they will often protect you, wanting you around as you have become a crutch.

4. Learn from your coworkers by observation and then compliment them on their best skill. Train that skill until you are better than they are, all the time insisting that they are the best. Once this game wears thin and your boss says, “Hey, Mavis, you’re the best cop we have for kicking in doors.” Insist that you learned everything you know from the asshole that refused to properly instruct you because he was jealous of his door-kicking ability. It is a Clintonian truth you might say, because you learned more from watching the idiot and correcting his flaws than he ever could have taught you.

5. Ask advice, even of those who hate you. If they give you bad advice hoping you screw up, simply thank them and fail to apply their suggestion. You will find some who will genuinely warm to you and others who will try and do you in for putting yourself at their mercy. Tactically—the workplace is a tactical environment from which you are extracting income in competition with others—you gain from this by not seeming as threatening and also by discovering who is after you and who is not, sooner rather than later.

6. Never mention your coworkers’ shortcomings and be sure to mention their strengths, not as direct compliments, but by saying to a third employee, “Hey, Joe is really a great driver.” Since you work with bitches you can expect them to gossip and pass this information around so it won’t sound like you are sucking directly up to Joe.

7. Minimize your verbal output and maximize your physical output, which always, subconsciously gains you respect among men. However, it will draw some of the extreme bitches out after you as they have developed Masculinity Toxicity Syndrome or MTS, the pathological fear of real men by those who left their balls smoking on the altar of the Goddess.

8. If an extreme bitch is acting as your supervisor, then make it a game where you will crush them with your dedication. I do this with racist blacks who act hatefully toward me by being extremely kind and making them choke on their hate. At work I’ve done it by doing more and coming back for my next assignment sooner, wearing down my super’s nerves by making him boss beyond his comfort zone.

9. Keep a journal. By writing down names, times and dates concerning your work performance you will be better prepared to face accusations by the downright evil coworker who will occasionally pop up and try to get you fired just because he can’t stand being in proximity to a quality man. Being able to cite times, dates and details concerning your work record is often all you need to refute later claims, because when people lie about coworkers they generally lie about something they—from the simian vantage of their sub-literate mind—believe to be too far in the past to be easily refuted.

10. Reward the pussies you work for and those you work with who do not go after you by doing them incidental favors without any ostentatious display. These bitches live in a pecking order, a female mind frame which measures many little slights and props that real men tend to overlook as they focus on their goals. Throw the bitch a bone: pick up his hat, buy him a coffee, cover his ass [as far as legally/ethically possible], wish him a good weekend, compliment him on a great effort, whatever it takes to convince him that you are not competing with him, because you cannot. Even if you are going head-to-head for the same position, men do not compete with women, so if he expresses an interest in the position you want, recommend him for it and support him. Come on, Marvis, if your wife and you were looking at hats and you only had enough money for one, you’d buy hers and wait for yours, right? That is the true burden of a man, as well as the measure of his quality: that there are so many bitches and so little time to help them all feel good about themselves while you grin masculinely down.

Good luck, Marvis.