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Fired From a Dildo Factory

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Alamy
Alamy

I thought I'd reached an all-time low when the only job I could find was one in a dildo factory, but I was wrong. I could go lower: I was fired from a dildo factory. Even lower: I was passive-aggressively fired from the factory without a word. That's how my 2012 began, sitting inside a small dildo factory, snipping excess silicone from cock rings, ball stretchers, and ass plugs made to resemble baby pacifiers. After the snipping, I stood and washed the products in a utility sink before laying the pieces out to dry on the racks. Often the giant German Shepherd freely roaming the factory would jump on the rack, snatch a mid-sized dildo in his teeth, and haul it off to the corner under the skylight, where he would really go to town on that lifelike penis.

Everyone working there was gay, including me, but they were the colorful homosexuals like you see on reality shows. My bipolar boss Gary was wonderful and sweet one moment and a raving lunatic the next. He often came into work in a great mood, offering to make omelets for all of us. Then he would flip on the fourth hour of Today, and Kathie Lee would say something that would so enrage Gary that his entire day would be shot. Lance was a weirdo who smelled of horrific B.O. and was in charge of pouring silicone into the molds in the back room. Leandro and Ricky were two queeny bodybuilders secretly married to each other. They talked a lot about how "the fuckers at the FDA are lying about the fat content of cottage cheese. Dairy lobbyists have Obama in their back pocket."

Next to this group I was a total snooze. I never had a good story about getting peed on all weekend. I made the mistake of telling them I'd gone church and re-stained my china hutch over the weekend, and I quickly earned the nickname "Beige." I was the Wrong Kind of Gay. Once my boss learned I'd never inserted a piss plug or an anus-tickler into my orifices, it became clear that he had hired the wrong guy.

Gary told me I could take Friday off. I texted him over the weekend, and he said not to bother coming in on Monday. They had a "slow week," and I was free to find other part-time work. The next week he stopped returning my texts. I think I was fired, because six months later I'm still waiting to be placed on the schedule.

Crickets.

Silence is deadly. Why are so many people OK with cutting someone out of their lives without so much as a goodbye? Do women do this, or just men? I've broken a few hearts in my day, but I never shut the men out in silence. I stayed up night after night, trying to figure out the right words to say. I hate hurting another human being, but I know that the least I can do is offer an explanation.

I think people who silently disappear into the vapors are cowards. Those who perform hit-and-runs are cowards. Suicide without leaving a note is cowardly. Dildo factory owners who don't have the silicone balls to fire their employees for "being beige" are cowards.

Around midsummer I met a great guy named Viktor (name misspelled to protect his identity). We dated for a few months and really fell hard for each other. He was one of the first people to watch Red Lodge, and he said that the characters expressed exactly what he had been looking for his whole life. He said he couldn't believe he even knew the writer of such a movie.

Viktor and I vacationed together. He went out of his way to meet my family. He said later he fell in love with them before falling in love with me. The last time I spoke to him, we were making plans for the future. He wanted me to visit him for a few weeks in the fall and, if all went well, consider moving into his place after Christmas. I said, "Yes, excellent plan."

After that cheerful conversation a day went by with no communication. The next day he chose not to reply to my phone message. Hmm. Strange. I decided to check in with him on Facebook, and his page was nowhere to be found. That's when I realized I no longer had a boyfriend and was probably free to cancel my plane ticket to his house.

"Is he still living?" my friend Jon asked. "How do we know he didn't pass away?"

"He managed to block me on Facebook," I shrugged, tapping my finger to my chin. "Perhaps that's what he did with his dying breath."

The valuable lesson I learned this year is that those who aren't man enough to say "goodbye" should be ashamed. Don't be a coward. If you want to cut someone out of your life, just tell them face to face. Give an explanation so that there can be some closure. If you don't have balls, order some online. I used to work for a company that made them in Samurai Small, Military Medium, and Horse-Hung Huge.

Dan Steadman's new gay-themed Christmas movie Red Lodge is available on Amazon.