You ever hear of someone having a “kind face?” Well, I don’t know if it’s that or something else about me, but it seems as though every time an acquaintance of mine needs to have a serious heart-to-heart about my problems and how they’re negatively affecting those around me, they always come to me. As if I’m the guy who can magically make all my problems disappear.
Honestly, if I have to hear one more person complain for hours on end about every little destructive detail of my personal life, I’m going to scream!
It’s like I can’t turn around in this town without another needy friend or coworker wanting to vent to me about some new crisis that I’m going through. One day it’s, “Jeff, please help me, I need you to realize that you can’t control your anger,” and the next it’s, “Jeff, if you keep showing up to our Tuesday morning marketing meetings reeking of alcohol I’ll have no choice but to fire you.” Jeez people, can’t you take care of my deep-seated issues on your own?
I don’t want to sound like a jerk here, but it’s a bit unfair to expect me to be there for you whenever some horrible thing that I’m directly responsible for happens to come up.
And the thing is, I don’t come to other people with my issues. So why do they come to me with mine? You see what I’m saying? It doesn’t make any sense. Plus, after a while, everyone’s troubles with my troubles start to sound the same and I can’t keep them straight. Was it Amaya who was talking my ear off the other day about how I treat all women interchangeably, like cheap pieces of meat? Or was it Joanna? Beats the hell out of me! Chances are I probably put both of them through that, and guess who they went crying to about it afterward? Yup. You guessed it. Welcome to my life, everybody.
Oh, but of course it would be “insensitive” of me not to listen to other people gab on and on about how I’m destroying myself and bringing everyone in my life down with me. No, no, it’s fine, don’t worry. It’s not like I’m busy or anything. I’ll just put my entire schedule on hold every 10 minutes so I can wipe away your tears and help you cope with how I loudly berate people in public and become enraged at the very mention of my brother Gary’s name, that backstabbing cocksucker. Who the fuck does he think he is?
Bottom line, it’s rude. We’re talking Saturday night, 10 p.m., I’m just walking out the door to enjoy a night on the town, and who’s calling me on the phone? Oh, it’s my best friend, Jimmy, wanting to flap his lips for a few hours about how his wife found me crying in their kids’ playroom. Terrific. There goes my night. It’s moments like that when I say to myself, “Man, I did not sign up for this.”
Look, all I want is a little bit of reciprocation. No more, no less. Then maybe, just once, I can actually go to my friends and family with their problems, and spill my guts to them about how they’re all whiny, meddling fools who are sapping me of my patience and peace of mind.
