Post Lunch Brown Folk Stalk

[I found this partially written posting in 02-2019, but it relates to events to 12-15-2018 and the prior week]

Working at the construction site still, last week. A whole lot less of us trades guys now, as in less of a dude flush around me, especially noted when I get out of elevators or turn corners in the hallways, or transit from the building to the parking garage, or outside directly through the front doors (when open).

A new variation of the stalking coverage is the increased coverage I get with the brown skinned stalkers, aka, trades workers. And this past week this particular stalker sub-population has an almost unerring timing of finding me every day after lunch. (And as regular readers will know, post meal ingestion is a prime stalking occasion). The brown guys seem to find me in the most obscure locations, even on floors where there is little trades activity or even where the room is finished. First it was the rude-assed E. Indians, and it is not just me that complains about them; my co-workers and other trades, and even the assistant superintendent indicated that he has heard many complaints about them. Then the Indonesian guy seemed to find me, all to putter around with something in the same room while I was there for 10 minutes.

12-12-2018
Ben Waters put on a good show at the Dream Cafe, the first of four shows he is doing here. I was later told he was in better form the next three nights as he was tired from his travel that same day, all the way from the UK to here in Penticton no less. His son was featured more than last time, and he put on an admirable performance.

And of course, even with my own seat at my own table, there just has to be one in every crowd, and they "happen" to be next to me, or more accurately, in front of me. The ridiculous high hand clapping, you know (if you are a TI), where they deliberately obstruct your vision (line of sight) of the performers. I don't think I have encountered this before at this venue, but it defies conventional levels of coincidence that this keeps erupting around me at live performances.

Instead of getting the direct stare from the performer, as usually "happens", there was a musician standing nearby, and whom Ben Waters mentioned, but this guy didn't go on the stage for whatever reason. So, the stares in my direction were conceivably for this guy, but as he was only 4' away, and on the lower level, why, the extended looks could of been directed at him.

Then there was the "just stand there" dude who pulled this stunt all through the set-break for whatever reason, but again, it is highly consistent with the arranged fuckery that travels with me wherever I go, and seems to be highly choreographed in advance. I don't quite understand why the Psychopaths need to block part of my visual field, usually on repetitive events. This was most noticeable in 2003-2012 when the assholes would station Fuckwits to block my field of view when I was on public transportation, and made themselves most obvious when the bus was headed to the suburbs in mid-day, outside of commuting hours altogether.

At the show, there was a local doctor [cannot recall the context now, 02-2019] who "somehow" lifted his T-shirt to reveal bare flesh, another longstanding stalker stunt. And at end of show said doctor took it upon himself to shake Ben Waters and son's hand. More of the gratuitous glad handing that I have come to know and loathe.

The show end was interesting; normally the audience (read, arranged Fuckwits) hold back and stay in their seats, and I "escape" and take an immediate departure to avoid the crowd clusterfuck. This time, it was opposite; the crowd took an early exit which I decided to wait out, and I was uncharacteristically mellow about the whole deal and not my usual driven self to get out. This hold-me-in-place stunt allowed BW to hang around some 6' from me after the show and natter to his musician pal, mentioned above.

Back to the work scenario; a final few days before the millwork (cabinets and countertops) support role ends, and an interesting final few days it was. I was at the main entry countertop, with my hand on the corian surface, speaking with my work colleague, and this woman comes up and asks me something about the cabinet installations, and I answer her question, and she thanks me, and then puts her hand momentarily on top of mine, a passing touch and then she departs. And what was the purpose of this rude-assed interaction? Why, to get a "touch" on the victim (bio-energetic interaction) and all the better that it be where the public will interact all day long at a public hospital when it opens in three months, and too, that it occurs on a plastic resin surface.

Enough said, and again, this particular posting is a "find" that I did not finish until a few months later after these events.