There’s not much subtle about me. Last week, a co-worker exclaimed, “I don’t understand you- you’re so blunt!”
“How can it be difficult to understand me telling you exactly what I mean?” I asked.
“I’m not used to it.”
Fair enough. In part because I disdain condescension, I find it difficult to be patronizing towards others. Similarly, because I’m an unimpressive mind-reader, I tend to speak rather directly. Unfortunately, most people are jelly-spined crybabies who would rather hear how awesome they are than the truth. I crave frankness, but it is exceedingly rare. People aren’t generally comfortable giving their genuine opinions unless it’s done anonymously or from a safe distance. I suspect this is oftentimes due to their own tacit acceptance that they don’t know what they’re talking about, which would be immediately revealed in their inability to rationally defend their stance. Of course, it could also be due to the likelihood of me disagreeing with anything and everything anybody says. Maybe others, like myself, don’t like to argue. Maybe others aren’t as confident in their ability to bullshit as I am. I am incredulous to a fault. There is a minority who know more than I initially give them credit for, but I’m not willing to assume their competence until I deem it sufficiently demonstrated.
Conversely, I often fail to understand why anybody would take anything I say to heart. Who really cares about the opinions of others? Others, apparently. I’m not suggesting I’m immune to being offended- that’d be naïve. (My mind travels to an anomalous social interaction with three musical associates during my tenure as a drummer. While playing some game with obscure words that you had to invent and guess definitions for that was far less enjoyable than reading the dictionary, the host casually commented while gesturing toward the other participants, “I think it would be awesome to start a trio with you on piano, you on drums and me on electronics. No offense, Andrew.”)
Not all that long ago, someone I didn’t immediately recognize sent me a friend request on Facebook. I eventually determined it to be a girl I knew only because we ate lunch at the same time in high school. She’d sit across the table from me and bitch incessantly about whatever we had been served. As this was the only contact I ever had with her, I found her extremely annoying. I ignored the request. Now, after realizing my hypocrisy, I feel a bit bad about that.
I’m tangentially reminded of an occurrence in high school when my bipolar girlfriend quixotically declared, “I don’t think there’s anything you could do that would make me mad.”
“That’s absurd,” I retorted. “I could piss you off right now in fifty different ways.”
“I bet you can’t.”
“How much?”
“Five bucks.”
“You know how I’ve been staying after school to work on a computer project? Really, I’ve just been staying after to hang out with Beth.”
“WHAT? IS THAT TRUE?”
“No, of course not- you owe me five bucks.” Suffice it to say she didn’t talk to me for the next two days, and I never got my five dollars.
One of the things I love most about the human experience is how we find unique ways of interacting with individuals as we become acquainted. For instance, whenever Rachel or I would go off on a tangent, the other would loudly interrupt with, “IN CONCLUSION,” which would effectively dissolve the monologue into fits of giggles.
IN CONCLUSION, I yearn to hear the frank opinions of others, although I don’t usually care what their opinion is.
