Chauvinistic, Misogynistic, Sexist...

“The Japanese have six faces and three hearts. A deceitful heart in their mouth to show in public; another heart in their chest that only friends and family get to know; and at last their real heart that nobody knows and that remains hidden in an undisclosed location.”

from James Clavell's book, Shogun.

You probably don't remember the TV adaption. It was soo long ago back in September of 1980. It was a mini-series depicting Richard Chamberlain as an English explorer who finds himself shipwrecked in medieval Japan that was undergoing civil war. Various daimyos were happily killing one another to become the supreme ruler of Japan, the shogun. Chamberlain finds himself becoming a sort of consiglierie to the daimyo Lord Toranaga.

There were other Europeans there vying to play Japanese politics and one Portuguese captain warns Chamberlain, “Beware Pilot Major! The Japanese man has six faces.”

“Huh?” I thought.

After thinking about it, with all my 15 years of experience, I figured it meant being “two faced.” But being that young, I really didn't understand the subtly and nuances of political chicanery, until I really began to associate with and learn about women.

And that's what this story is about, women. Gossip, cliques and that ugly talent they have for bewildering you. (Before half the race goes ballistic on me, not ALL women are backbiting, lying, jockeying little sneaks...some are though...some could win a gold medal too). I admit men can be gossipy but for the love of God, I've seen women relish it, go hard at it like they're storming Normandy beach.

I have seen it countless times since I was a young man. Women who revel in that game of gossip and using it to create new alliances or to bust up ones they now hate. Or women who seek to feather their nests via that route as well. It's a game of King of the Hill. Toss a piece of dead, red meat near a pack of said women and they go at it like hyenas.

It wasn't till I was employed in social services, which tends to employ women far more than men, that I saw this in action and my complete experience with it.

I forget the original reason, but two women, Ann and Nichole wanted to knock down a third, Traci, by building a groundswell of opinion to get the manager to “write her up” over what I don't know. The problem was that they needed another “vote” and someone else who wasn't part of the clique to legitimize it all. I was was the one they targeted.

The leader of this pack of wolves, Ann, was jealous as hell over Traci as she was living the life via richer boyfriends who owned boats and was partying like a sorority sister on the weekends. Ann on the other hand was fast tracking to becoming a housewife. Being a baby-laden donkey to a husband wasn't her idea of the “good life.” Ann's background included barely making it as her Dad repaired farming equipment in backwoods Minnie-ZO-ta. Ann, simply, was envious of Traci.

Ann knew of a past relationship I once had with Traci. She seemed aware that she should steer well clear of digging information up on that, instead, she asked about her current life now, as I did know it. My answers seemed to fuel her resentful feelings on Traci.

“What!? She called out last weekend to go to Block Island with What's-His-Name?!”

“Yeah...she told me she did.” I said.

When Ann was pissed, she would have a slight pout and grit her teeth.

Traci hadn't grown up yet really. She still had a lot of that teen girl conformity in her, add to that also a shallow view of herself and the world in general. Her career hopes aimed at scoring a Golden Nugget of a husband. Traci was a gold digger and was earnest in her bid to win over her latest find, who by the way, had a net worth of about $2 million. In her own way, Traci herself, was into political chicanery. I once overheard the rich boyfriend occasionally call her a “spoiled brat.” So it wasn't just me who thought this. By the way, the rich boyfriend traded Traci in eventually for a newer model when Traci became “too old” at 24.

So, for about two weeks, the wolf pack slyly tried to get me to give an opinion on Traci and use that as the final piece in their puzzle to wreak havoc on her via the manager. I was aware of this as some of the attempts were blatant. I can see when a train is coming to me at full speed. So they changed tactics.

One by one, they quietly came to me, using their best womanly skills to get me to talk about Traci's newer relationship and to open up about my past one with her. Of course, you ask simple, non-threatening questions, ones that don't raise suspicion. Like a fool, I answer them. But that's what you do in a seemingly open and breezy conversation. Add to that lying, twisting your words behind your back, using people you think are benign to crack you open for information then scurry back to report it. It's a whole list of interrogation tricks the CIA would be jealous of to use.

As they suspected, I too thought and agreed that Traci was a brat but it's from a male perspective, and it's not always a lousy trait to have in a 20 year old when she's your summer fling.

“Ron, don't you think this place (our jobsite) is like high school? You know, the gossip and such...the manipulation?” I was asked.

“Yep, at it's worst...this could be Ponaganset High” I told them.

She goes on. “It's so immature...like that time you left Traci behind because she was going to test your loyalty to her or that Pink Floyd concert...you told me she was deliberately late on the pick up and you left her at home because it was starting at 8PM?”

“Yep, when it came down to her or Roger Waters...I naturally chose Roger. I told her she was to be ready for the ride up to Foxboro come hell or high water.”

“She's like that here, isn't she? She's a brat, wants things her way...” I was asked.

Too late. I was on a roll when they got me to speak openly about my true feelings.

“Yeah, she is. But I'm used to that. I know her well.”

The next day Traci wanted my head on a pike and the high school clique that was gunning for her was sufficiently fulfilled.

Of course, since I innocently divulged the fact she was immature, that I provided the final judgment, a male one, amongst a den of women, the manager saw fit to sit Traci down and read her the Riot Act. I then was mistakenly put into that clique and thought a dire enemy of Traci, who in the parking lot after all of this hunts me down and says:

“You PRICK! You're with THEM?”

“Huh” I thought. That's a clueless, male-brained response. Of course it is, I and most of us guys don't give a crap about twittery gossip and games.

“You chose them over me? I heard that you said 'I was a brat!'”

“But your are.” I say. Whoops. Never speak the truth in certain situations!

I took me a week to convince Traci I was deftly managed into talking about her. She finally saw that the other girls of that workplace clique used every trick in the book to crack me open.