"I fucked up really bad one evening and entered one of the maintenance sheds to return some tools I'd been using, and saw the sweaty, pale back of a large man, hunched over and thrusting. He had a tattoo of Nixon on his back, and he was wearing a bull's head mask. He was fucking one of the regular staff member's mouth. He turns to me, I'm just standing in shock, and says quite angrily, "DO YOU MIND?" and I slam the door shut. As I'm closing the door I get a glimpse of my coworker's face and he is crying. I googled nixon back tattoo later and realized that man was Roger Stone, who I'd never even heard of up to that point. I knew I was in deep shit. The next day and for two weeks after I got all the worst jobs - trash pick up, cleaning toilets, scrubbing his boats. It fucking sucked, but I kept my mouth shut anyway. As far as I understood my pay had not been cut so whatever, I'll do the shitty jobs where I'm by myself because at least, hey, I'm by myself. That was fine with me."
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