Returning to High School After College

A couple of weeks ago I invited over a close friend for dinner. Back in the day, we met by bumping into each other on the dance floor at someone’s bar mitzvah since our big sombreros from the DJ were covering our eyes. Actually, I don’t know if that’s true, but hey, it’s possible-- we did meet in the seventh grade.

Anyway, since we’ve known each other through the years, I guess I can say that we grew up together. We’ve also watched our friends mature as we have right along with them. Likewise, we’ve watched a disgusting percentage of the kids we used to see each day in public school NOT mature. You’d think that years after they moved away from home, graduated from college and, for some, started work in the real world, they would have, I don’t know, learned to have a little class, tact or-- dare I say it-- proper social skills. And, once again, folks, R. was WRONG.

We were sitting at the table eating dinner when my friend, E., described a situation that came up when she was home in our Connecticut suburb days earlier. She was out with her girlfriends and they stumbled upon this boy who was always known as a “popular kid” at home. He was always adorable, and I know for a fact that I recognized that even back in the sixth grade when I probably still thought he could infect me with some gross disease simply because he was a boy. (Little did I know, that really was true but, fortunately for me, I never put myself in a position where that could have happened then.)

Anyway, this boy, Ben, always knew he was cute and knew he ran with a crowd who considered themselves admired by everyone else. As expected, especially in a snotty town like mine, his attitude followed suit: he knew that he was highly regarded and, for that reason, apparently didn’t feel the need to talk to or even respect those he considered “beneath him.”

Ah, yes, I know, the classic story of the popular kid with an attitude. Most of us can relate, no matter where we grew up. But, unlike the situation that most of us face, kids from my town, never grew out of this attitude. We didn’t ever all “bond as a senior class” like the students in so many other places did once they realized that they were all equals. No, people like Ben have remained arrogant and still consider themselves better than the rest of us-- even if they’ve gained 38 pounds since high school and spend all day smoking pot and watching Lost.

Anyway, E. runs into Ben and he immediately gives each of her friends a hug. I guess he had deemed them not only worthy of affection, but also not so far below beneath him that he could--OH MY GOD-- touch them! After he went down the line of the three friends, his eyes landed on E.

“I guess I have to hug you too,” he said, as if she should consider it an honor that he’d even speak to her.

“You don’t have to be so awkward,” she replied, without missing a beat. (GO E!!!)

What she said was both right and wrong. She was right to call him out on his bizarre (read: exceptionally snobby and unacceptable) behavior. But how she labeled it was wrong. He wasn’t awkward; he was just a douche. A douche with an ego from the sixth grade. One that should have been gone by the seventh or, actually, never even existed at all. So he had a cute grin and came to school decked out in Abercrombie from head to toe twelve years ago, but does that give him the right to be so rude now? Of course not.

Believe me, when I actually lived at home I was used to people either ignoring me completely or insulting me to my face just to feel powerful. But now I’m years removed from my town and, come on, it’s still happening! That much no one ever prepared me for.

Just last week I experienced my own “hometown” moment. I ran into a girl who grew up in my neighborhood who happens to live in my current area of the city. When our eyes locked in passing her head immediately did a 180. No, I didn’t have some heinous wart growing out of my face. I wasn’t even wearing a mismatched outfit or walking with my hair a mess. (Although maybe she would have thought I was actually cool if my hair were a sex hair mess? Would she even believe that a girl as pathetic as me could ever be even kissed by a man?!) But she refused to even look at me, even though she obviously knew damn well who I was.

So what did I do? I followed E’s example. I called her out on it. I shouted to her with a bright, beaming smile, acting as if we were friends. (I can just imagine her gagging herself with a spoon at the thought of me even fake-labeling her as my “friend...”) I know that I never did anything wrong to this girl; rather, it’s her insecurity. And, in a way, it even makes me feel sort of powerful that she feels that my presence is significant enough that, if she were to acknowledge it, I could ruin her reputation in a city of millions of people.

Funny, but I’d almost argue that we’ve had a role reversal. E and I are the ones who are going through our lives carefree about who we talk to. People like Ben or the girl I mentioned have to worry about who they even make eye contact with, in fear that it could somehow lessen how others think of them.

Well, let it be known, we already think less of you. We think less of you that you don’t have the courage to get over your high school bullshit and to act like a decent human being. And for that I think that people like E and me can smile and be glad that we’ve grown up while leaving all the popular kids in the memories of their middle school photos. Personally, I’m just glad that my social peak wasn’t when I was twelve years old. That would have just been pathetic.

Used to Being Used

If you’re in the mood to read something light and perky, this probably isn’t the post for you today. Maybe Google “smiling puppies” or “I just got laid,” but don’t keep on reading.

Why? Because I’ve got a bone to pick. Or, let’s put it this way: a lot of my friends want to pick this very same bone, but I’m going to do it on behalf of all of us because, well, no bone really deserves the invasion of that many digging fingernails.

I think I always had this idealized version of social life floating around in my head-- that by the time we graduated high school we would be over our petty gossip stage, that past middle school we would stop backstabbing each other. And, you know what? I thought we’d stop using each other-- especially using the people we consider our friends-- because I thought that by now we’d be mature and socially aware enough to know that people would catch on to our behaviors.

I was wrong. Very wrong. So wrong that I should probably be embarrassed to admit that I thought people would get past this stage.

How could I have thought that people would actually grow up and start treating each other well? Did I really think that people would treat me as I wished to be treated, and that people would consistently have genuine intentions when interacting with me?

As I’m writing I’m realizing that you might have no idea what I’m alluding to. In a quick and simple explanation, here it goes: people use each other. For all things. During good times and bad, during childhood, adulthood and even old age. It’s a sick fact of life, but it’s definitely a true one.

“Friends” have ulterior motives in their interactions all the time. “Uh, hey, could you translate this into French for me? I mean, I know we haven’t spoken in months, but you’re good at French and I’m not...” or “I know I’ve failed to include you in any social activities recently, but like, my car broke down, and I really need a ride to the shop... if you could please help me out this one time...”

A personal favorite was when someone I knew tried to get in touch with an old friend. Why did he want to befriend her again? To use her dad for his business connections, of course. Obviously neither the girl or her father would have caught on. Because no one has ever tried to benefit from her father’s good fortune ever before. No one has ever tried to benefit from a super wealthy man ever ever ever before. Who would think of doing such a thing?!

Or, recently, a girlfriend was complaining about how annoyed she was with a guy friend, J, because he had asked her to do a favor for him past midnight during the middle of the week. She explained that she did out of empathy, that she considered what it would be like to be in his shoes-- locked out of the house with a broken car-- and without anyone to help out.

So, J. had the guts to let her phone ring when she could have easily been sleeping, but did he ever even say thank you? No. He didn’t as much as utter a word of gratitude.

Now, I personally would have been forever indebted to her if she drove me across town in the middle of the night. Apparently, though, the rest of the world doesn’t think that way. It’s OK to only come crawling back to someone when you need them, rather than enjoy their company in both the good and the bad.

The kicker, though-- at least to me-- is that J. really has no idea that my friend knows he used her. He’s probably going on with his daily routine, driving down some Yellow Brick Road in that car that she helped him get fixed. My friend, though, is simmering at work over the fact that she actually considered J. a friend, all the while he made it clear that they’re only friends when it’s convenient for him.

What really gets me, though, is just that-- the people who use us are too socially incompetent to know that we know. (Does that remind anyone else of that Friends episode “Does she know we know she knows!?”) It becomes abundantly clear when someone is just asking me for a teeny favor because they need my help and not because they’d ever reciprocate.

Don’t invite me to your bridal shower (and not the wedding!) just for the gift, and don’t ask me to cover your shift at work just so you can hang out with that cute boy you just met. Just don’t. And, if you do, try to make it a little less obvious, k?

Before you ask me-- or anyone with any social awareness at all-- to edit your cover letter because I’m such a good writer (enough with the flattery, it doesn’t work) or to help you move when you have no intention of helping me (we all know I’m not a big, strong girl) realize this: we’re on to you. We know what you’re doing.

Maybe you’ll get away with it on occasion, but deep down, we’re aware of your intentions. Some people will fall for your stunts, and, hey, I applaud you for being that sly that you can get away with such actions. But anyone with an ounce of self dignity and awareness won’t. The beauty in the situation is that the more you do it, the more likely the naive souls you’re taking advantage of will realize what you’re doing. And that, my friends, allows me to end this post with some optimism and, yes, a real smile-- the goofy kind, like of the class clown who just caused the class to burst into laughter. Because, hey, wouldn’t it really be funny if all the people being used caught on and stopped allowing themselves to be used?

And it all all works out in the end...

You might be wondering why I haven't posted in well over a month. Since my last post I have quit my first job out of college and been hired to work as an executive assistant to a doctor/scientist at a local hospital. It may sound silly, but this whole transition thing has drastically changed my daily attitude toward going to work and my notions of how people act in the workplace.

I like to think that not everyone knows how awful my last job was as a bilingual paralegal at a law firm. I sincerely hope that my opinions and complaints didn't permeate all of my social interactions. But, as can be imagined, those close to me definitely were aware of my unhappiness.

Here's what it breaks down to: I had a horrible boss for nine and a half months of my life. And when I say horrible, I mean disgusting, inappropriate, mean, nasty, you name it.

Micro-manager to the core, this man would eavesdrop on my phone conversations and correct the words out of my mouth, citing my tendency to be "too nice" and "too polite." He'd watch me go to the bathroom in disdain, as if how could I become unchained to my desk on his time? I'd arrive in the morning to answer the phone to his screaming voice-- how dare I include the subdivision of an insurance company when addressing an envelope? That's not the way the mailman wants to see it and certainly I was going to lead to the ultimate poverty of each and every one of his clients because the mail would not end up in the right place on their behalf.

Maybe I most enjoyed when he called my cell at 9:30pm on a Saturday, only to grill me about my caseload, or when he'd ring me just as I left the office, shrieking about my unacceptable behavior of forgetting to take a file out of the file cabinet. "Completely unacceptable," he'd say, "and it's going to be noted in your personnel file." Yes, my personnel file, the one that was so far buried under all of his disgusting mess that he wouldn't be able to find it for evidence if he decided to sue me for royally ruining his life.

Sometimes dealing with this irrational man even became funny. When he took his week long vacation to the Caribbean, he called me the first day at 4:15pm, right before our office closed.

"I want you to call me at 4:15 every day for the rest of the week," he explained. "You didn't do that today, but that's OK because I didn't tell you to."

Right. I forgot that I was supposed to develop mind reading skills in college.

Anyway, that's over and done with. I've moved on to a much better place, where I find myself surrounded by cheerful coworkers who invite me to happy hours and lunches. (It should be noted, however, that my former co-workers are amazing and we've stuck by each other through thick and thin-- love you both!) I have also learned to appreciate the subtle gestures in life: I smile internally every time my new boss politely requests my assistance and I appreciate each and every time he thanks me for my help. I'm no longer told "JUST DO WHAT I TELL YOU," but rather spoken to respectfully, as if I'm a real person.

When I think back on it, I realize that beyond learning a lesson in how to treat and manage your employees, I'm mainly happy that I got the last word:

One Monday, well aware that the evil presence in my life was waiting god-knows-where for his car to be towed, I decided to give him a call to announce my departure. He wanted, of course, to know why I made my decision, and I explained that it was because of his lack of any sort of common decency toward me.

"I really don't appreciate you saying things like 'You don't remember who this lawyer is? I should send you to go be a waitress so that you learn how to remember things!'"

It's like dude, I got a college degree, and from a much better school than you ever went to, so you can stop insulting my intelligence right now. K thanks.

Unsure of how to respond, he made some sort of sarcastic comment about how he hopes that I "have a nice life" but that I "have some growing up to do."

My response?

"I hope you treat the next person you hire better than you treat me."

I proceeded to clean my desk, being sure to discard of my thousand newly-printed and expensive business cards that he just had printed for me.

Karma's a bitch, aint it?

XOXO,
RC