Post by Melinda Rhodes on Nov 17, 2021 20:43:51 GMT -7
I stand on the balcony outside my production office at the very top of the Rebel Star Arena, watching the sun getting low in a sky painted violent and gold. Slowly the lights of the various buildings of the city proper start flickering to life, breaking up the tree lines here and there. I'm feeling in a pretty reflective mood as I light a cigarette and bring it to my lips. A deep drag followed by an exhale billow a noxious cloud of smoke. It's a fucking ugly habit, but one I fall back on when stressed. The long red coat is pulled tight around me as the air begins to chill. Winter's may not be too snowy, but they're still bitter cold in far northwestern Georgia. I can still remember when I was but a general manager of a "galactic" wrestling company. I had fun with it, made a few laughs with a "Captain's Log" or two and who could forget the replica Captain's chair from the bridge of the Enterprise I had made just for specific shoots. I let myself have a little chuckle at the mental picture. It was goofy, but damn was it so much simpler on someone else's dime.
Now all the shots fall on my shoulders and for the near four years I've run this company, I always thought of myself as doing a pretty good job. I at least have a few examples I could point to of who we're not, but at the same time I know I've tripped and stumbled, let personal feelings get in the way of business. There's a reason one of the most successful champions in this company isn't working here and that guilt still pangs my heart because of all the would've, could've, should've's that came out of that exchange. Now this business with Vance Parker....
...Bitter and more broken than I thought by the trials he's had in this biz. He came to me with smiles and charm and it seemed like everything was so friendly. I wanted to take great care with him and really do something special, considering how many have hosed him the fuck over. I mean the prior company he worked for promised him the moon and gave him a slice of imitation cheese for his troubles. I was so thrilled to sign him, give him a comfy pay plan, and then set to put pen to paper on what was going to go down. I opted for patience and the slow burn, but he wanted none of that. I'd tell him the whole thing but he'd just assume I'm some half-ass bitch owner who is making shit up to try and placate him.
I like to think of myself as a fair and just owner, but I have abused my title more than once. Always exceptions to the rule I'd say, but I've fucked up and let my anger get the better of me. I almost did it to Vance. Is it the power, like he says? Am I no better than the bitch who made me, playing power games to appease my ego like her? The thought scares me, because the last thing I want to be is another tyrant wrestling promoter who ignores the fans and the people working for me. I've always tried at least to do the right thing by the people in my company.
Another hit of smoke in my lungs to be released as I flick ashes from the end of my cigarette. I lean forward with my hands on that rail, looking down at the streets below and the cars passing each other by. I don't want to be that bitch. Everyone on the roster that's come to me and stood by me over the years, even people like Bianca and her bitch brigade, deserve better from me than that. What if he's right? I mean I didn't exactly keep Vance in the conversation about his future here and how I was looking to originally build him up and eventually have him go for the big belt, working his way up the standings and having that big payoff, witnessing him go for that big moment that others have constantly told him he couldn't.
Was I mad because I disagreed with his view of me or because maybe there's a grain of truth to it? People don't just feel the way they do out of thin air. You have to have done something to trip their triggers. Fights go two ways, just like any conversation, complete with cause and effect. He's still an asshole, sure enough. Nobody reasonable goes that far and like everyone in this company knows, my office door is open, my number is no secret, and I don't make people jump through hoops to see me. Dude could've come to me well before lawyering up.
Then again, he has a title shot where he had none before, so what have I done? Just taught people that if they bitch loud enough, even if it's a meat grinder scenario, they'll get a shot. Fuck me, what if he actually wins? Goddamn Mel, you are a dumb fucking bitch aren't you?
Another puff of smoke and flick of ashes in the wind. I can feel my anger welling up. I guess next time, just cool your goddamn jets before reacting. I really gotta' learn how to control those impulses. Stop the knee jerk reactions and just breath. People will take advantage of shit like that, just like Vance did. I dab out the but of the cigarette butt on the railing and head back into the office, tossing the butt into the metal bin by the door.
Let's see how this shit turns out. Maybe he'll work it out of his system and we'll sit and talk like a couple of grown ass adults instead of being like a couple angry dipshits trading shots on twitter. I chuckle a bit, shaking my head as I thought of how well that skinny motherfucker worked me. The man's a natural at building heat, I still gotta' give him that much. I guess if I was a completely shit promoter, I wouldn't see that. Fingers crossed that sooner rather than later, the two of us will be able to talk without legal representation present.
Now all the shots fall on my shoulders and for the near four years I've run this company, I always thought of myself as doing a pretty good job. I at least have a few examples I could point to of who we're not, but at the same time I know I've tripped and stumbled, let personal feelings get in the way of business. There's a reason one of the most successful champions in this company isn't working here and that guilt still pangs my heart because of all the would've, could've, should've's that came out of that exchange. Now this business with Vance Parker....
...Bitter and more broken than I thought by the trials he's had in this biz. He came to me with smiles and charm and it seemed like everything was so friendly. I wanted to take great care with him and really do something special, considering how many have hosed him the fuck over. I mean the prior company he worked for promised him the moon and gave him a slice of imitation cheese for his troubles. I was so thrilled to sign him, give him a comfy pay plan, and then set to put pen to paper on what was going to go down. I opted for patience and the slow burn, but he wanted none of that. I'd tell him the whole thing but he'd just assume I'm some half-ass bitch owner who is making shit up to try and placate him.
I like to think of myself as a fair and just owner, but I have abused my title more than once. Always exceptions to the rule I'd say, but I've fucked up and let my anger get the better of me. I almost did it to Vance. Is it the power, like he says? Am I no better than the bitch who made me, playing power games to appease my ego like her? The thought scares me, because the last thing I want to be is another tyrant wrestling promoter who ignores the fans and the people working for me. I've always tried at least to do the right thing by the people in my company.
Another hit of smoke in my lungs to be released as I flick ashes from the end of my cigarette. I lean forward with my hands on that rail, looking down at the streets below and the cars passing each other by. I don't want to be that bitch. Everyone on the roster that's come to me and stood by me over the years, even people like Bianca and her bitch brigade, deserve better from me than that. What if he's right? I mean I didn't exactly keep Vance in the conversation about his future here and how I was looking to originally build him up and eventually have him go for the big belt, working his way up the standings and having that big payoff, witnessing him go for that big moment that others have constantly told him he couldn't.
Was I mad because I disagreed with his view of me or because maybe there's a grain of truth to it? People don't just feel the way they do out of thin air. You have to have done something to trip their triggers. Fights go two ways, just like any conversation, complete with cause and effect. He's still an asshole, sure enough. Nobody reasonable goes that far and like everyone in this company knows, my office door is open, my number is no secret, and I don't make people jump through hoops to see me. Dude could've come to me well before lawyering up.
Then again, he has a title shot where he had none before, so what have I done? Just taught people that if they bitch loud enough, even if it's a meat grinder scenario, they'll get a shot. Fuck me, what if he actually wins? Goddamn Mel, you are a dumb fucking bitch aren't you?
Another puff of smoke and flick of ashes in the wind. I can feel my anger welling up. I guess next time, just cool your goddamn jets before reacting. I really gotta' learn how to control those impulses. Stop the knee jerk reactions and just breath. People will take advantage of shit like that, just like Vance did. I dab out the but of the cigarette butt on the railing and head back into the office, tossing the butt into the metal bin by the door.
Let's see how this shit turns out. Maybe he'll work it out of his system and we'll sit and talk like a couple of grown ass adults instead of being like a couple angry dipshits trading shots on twitter. I chuckle a bit, shaking my head as I thought of how well that skinny motherfucker worked me. The man's a natural at building heat, I still gotta' give him that much. I guess if I was a completely shit promoter, I wouldn't see that. Fingers crossed that sooner rather than later, the two of us will be able to talk without legal representation present.