The rotation of my bike wheel was accented by a clicking sound. As if someone was attempting to count the rotations of my wheel by typing a letter on a typewriter. I knew what it was. I didn’t want to be right, but I was.

There was a tack in my wheel. I had bought the bike only three days earlier – I still had no helmet or lock. Now my too small for me, purple girls bike who’s gears barely work has a flat. More specifically it has a hole in the tire that is being plugged up by a piece of metal meant to keep posters on walls.

Was this an accident?

Probably.

I want to assume so, but recently one of the kitchen staff members stopped talking to me. Mario stopped talking to me because I told him to go fuck himself. I told him to go fuck himself because he tried to scare me in the morning. This sounds like I was overreacting, but this person has spent the past six months fingering my asshole while I talk to customers, asking for “besos” every time I need something from the kitchen, and pulling out my leg hair. He has spent the last six months “playing pranks” on me which involve gently stroking my ass when I bend over, screaming in my ear when I’m turned away from him and am trying to do something with hot liquid, and demanding to know how big my penis is and how long I can have sex for. He has spent the last six months assaulting me with questions about my female friends despite the fact that he has a wife at home. Questions like: “Is she your girlfriend?” “Does she want to have sex with me?” and “I like her ass.” I had gotten fed up. I had yelled at him multiple times explaining to him that though I enjoy a good joke, I don’t like being touched by him because it is an aggressive touch – to which he responded by asking if I wanted to fight. I have told him that I don’t find his jokes funny because they only serve to make me uncomfortable and in no way are for anyone’s enjoyment. Finally I told him I wasn’t going to talk to him again.

This coincided with the day that Kyle did the same thing. Kyle works with me and is harassed in a similar manner. One day he wouldn’t let Mario use his bike because the kitchen staff member had his own bike and did not need to use his bike. When Kyle went to the basement to retrieve his bicycle he found the air had been let out of his tire and there was no bike pump to fix it. They got into a fight in brunch when Kyle asked if said kitchen member had let the air out of his tire – a conclusion he arrived at when one of the other members told him that Mario had let out the air as a “chiste.” It was yet again, a terrible “chiste” that was in no way funny but only caused pain.

I’m a big fan of pain in comedy, but that pain should be shared. Comedy is about sharing pain. Bullying is about being the cause of someone else’s pain without being in pain yourself. Mario isn’t a comedian, he is a bully.

Do I think that Mario put a tack in my bike tire on the day he stopped speaking to me?

I don’t want to.

I really don’t want to.

I’m not going to.

But I’m not going to be surprised when it was him because now I have to walk to tutoring appointments and to work and his life is in no way more painful.

This entry wasn’t comedy either. Because it also caused you pain by forcing you read about my selfish bourgeois complaints about my craigslist bicycle being unusable, forcing me to use my unlimited metro pass.