Brandon and the Bruised Ego

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I like my job. It’s a good job, it pays well, and I generally enjoy the company of my co-workers. And I’m talking about a little fruit stand that which I work at most of the time. There are people at that little fruit stand that are good at passing the buck.

Even though all signs point to this job being their responsibility they try to fob it off to somebody else and I sit there paying attention to their explanations and excuses. Now I’m generally at the front of the fruit stand so I deal with people that arrive.

And most people have an appointment just easily researched but not all the time and I have to scramble at the last minute to figure out who this person is going to see a lot of the time all they have is the first name. Today’s first name is Brandon. And unfortunately there are dozens of Brandon’s in the directory.

I have to be nice when talking to these coworkers and I can’t say “what the fuck is wrong with you?” so it is at the tip of my tongue and at the back of my throat and I remain silent. I am the low man on the totem pole and I have little or no support to back me up.

I came back from lunch early after going to lunch later. And when I came back I had a message from Yancy about the Brandon encounter. Brandon contacted Yancy with his side of events which are as follows:

Brandon: Candidate arrived at 14th floor at approx ~9:55am for a 10am interview
Me: She was there at 9:45. He did not show up until 10:05

Brandon: Receptionist asked who she was seeing, she said “Brandon” with no last name as Recruiting Team does not give out interviewer Last Names to Candidates for Privacy
Me: This is bullshit. Every other company gives the first and last names of whomever is interviewing.

Brandon: I was already on my way, arrived to 14th fl at ~9:57am to pick her up for the 10am interview
Me: He got there at 10:05

Brandon: Receptionist made a big deal out of Candidate not knowing the Last Name of the Interviewer (Me) (even though AFAIK this is standard fruit stand policy and will not be changed)
Me: Once again, bullshit

Brandon: Receptionist rudely criticized me in front of the candidate, and said I should’ve called to let reception know about this. As just an Interviewer, I don’t schedule these / not responsible for this, and the feedback should be routed to the Recruiting Team, but instead was directed to my individually and rudely.
Me: I suggested that he let me know who was coming so we (the fruit stand) would not have egg on our face. Nothing rude, just an adult chat which Brandon seems to be unaccustomed to.

Receptionist emphasized that I needed to add the candidate as a guest to some system, (VisitAdmin) which again as just an Interviewer this is the first I’ve ever heard of, and I don’t think is my responsibility – should be taken care of by Recruiting
Me: Brandon is basically saying ‘I didn’t do anything wrong’ but then again he didn’t do anything right.

Brandon:All in all it felt uncomfortable:
1) made the candidate feel awkward that she was not prepared for not knowing her interviewer last name.
Me: I reassured her it was not her fault.

Brandon: 2) left a poor impression of fruit stand that we were not prepared (even though IMO we did everything correctly)
Me: The fruit stand is still prestigious. No fruits were bruised though Brandon’s 20 something ego did take a hit

Brandon: and 3) I personally did not feel like i was treated with adequate respect given the situation; and I believe the candidate observed this as well
Me: Classic deflection. I was not treated with respect! I want my Mom! I’m gonna tell!

If people did their jobs properly and informed the fruit stand front desk this could have all been avoided. But they didn’t.

whachagonnado?

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Monday, May 25, 2026, Memorial Day. It used to be a big day growing up. There was the Saddle Brook Memorial Day parade that I marched in once or twice with the Junior Rifle Squad. We trained and rehearsed for weeks beforehand, in the streets around the Saddle Brook American Legion on the Garfield border.

We had a uniform of a cowboy hat, a blue shirt with patches on it, epaulets, and thick navy blue trousers with a yellow gold stripe along the sides. And spats for our black shoes. It was a complete waste of time and only something that was done to make the parents and adults feel good.

People like me who were pacifists but didn’t know it, went along with it or else. We had dummy rifles that we would twirl and present arms as well as throwing them to other members of the Junior Rifle Squad in a hopefully precise drill. Sometimes we caught them, sometimes we didn’t.

Before I was a member of the Junior Rifle Squad I was one of the great unwashed kids who would pick up the empty rifle shells once they cooled off following a 21 gun salute at the top of the hill on Market Street where the Gulf Station used to be. I would collect them with the other children of alcoholic veterans once they cooled off and treated them like they were precious items, not realizing a day later they would be forgotten and more than likely thrown out.

As the hours went past, the adults got more and more tipsy and the kids would be more and more rambunctious. The parade was usually on a Sunday, allowing the Monday holiday to be a day to tend to their hangovers and for the kids to count the days until the end of school.

In the present day it’s been quite a humdrum weekend, filled with rain and yesterday filled with antagonism. Bill was around and that was great. Mike was supposed to come around Saturday but begged off due to the rain. And yesterday, which should have been the replacement day, was also filled with rain.

I went to the supermarket both days alone and while annoyed with Mike who wanted to spend time with Bill, I was a bit relieved. I had the awakening that I was glad things had cooled quite a bit between us. Gone are the sexual games, settling in on friendship, and I expressed that in a text to Mike while talking to him on another social media platform.

Unfortunately, the timing was off. I was in the midst of a good chat with Mike, who spied the other platform expressing my happiness of being friends rather than something else. It derailed the good chat we were having and turned into a spiral of hurt and confusion. We went to our respective corners.

I could not talk to Bill about the situation, and Mike could not talk to his beloved about it either. So we sat by ourselves licking our wounds. Bill and I watched the Martin Short documentary, which was sweet.

Mike more than likely chatted in direct messages to his hundreds of followers, telling them how he would like to be with them doing things that I used to hope we would do to each other. Don’t ask how I know, it was a bit underhanded on my part.

So much so that it takes willpower not to do it again, which would only upset me. Mike and I did have a good long talk before bedtime for Bonzo. Apologies were made and accepted. We are a family, Bill, Mike, Me and the beloved, Wade.

A chosen family that still has the hang ups of a flesh and blood family.

whachagonnado?