Whiskey Tango Foxtrot

In almost every situation, there's a handful of possible comments or quips people can make. Unfortunately, I've found that most people default to the most predictable, unfunny possible comment. Example: a few years ago I was a flower delivery boy. It was not a terrible job by any means (and oh! the windfall capital gains: $7/hour!), but there was one recurring scenario that never failed to cause me an anticipatory cringe: whenever I had to deliver flowers to an office building, without fail, someone (usually a few people) would see me carrying flowers and say, "oh, those must be for me!" and then chortle smugly to themselves.

It wasn't even funny the first time it happened, but as time wore on, it got to be so frequent and so agonizingly predictable as to almost cause me herniation. At some places, I'd walk in and the receptionist would say, "Oh, those must be for me! Aww, you shouldn't have." Then after I dug my fingernails out of my palms, she'd direct me to the intended recipient, and invariably, I'd hear the comment three more times en route. The worst was when I had to go to the Jefferson County Courthouse (aka the Taj Mahal), because there was this spazz lady who worked at the information booth, and you are not allowed to proceed into the building without being vetted by this woman, and she evidently never tired of this line of humor: "Oh, those must be for me!" (Me muttering under my breath: "No, they're not for you now, they weren't for you the last 44 times I came here, you lonely fucking psycho...")

So what's so god-dang horrible about having to hear these repetitive-yet-innocuous jokes? Shouldn't someone's attempt at good humor and amicable public interaction be refreshing, uplifting even?

Well, I suppose so. In theory, I love the idea of people being friendly and jocular to strangers and passersby. In practice, it sucks the life out of me (similarly, I love the idea of being friendly with my neighbors, but in reality, I go to ridiculous lengths to avoid interacting with them). Each time I have to muster some good-natured chortling for the same predictable shit, I lose just a little bit of the energy it takes to get through life. Not only that, but each time I'm subjected to this type of thing, I get bummed out because it causes me such disappointment in my fellow humans; are there really that many people that think a flower boy has never heard that joke before? Is it too much to expect these people to put a little more effort into their quippery?

However, not too long ago, GlendaWife pointed out to me that I'm often guilty of predictable quips. Naturally, I was incredulous at such an assertion; no way! I'm totally fucking clever and original in all of my interpersonal dealings! I'd never say, "Oh, those must be for me!" to a flower deliverer!

As it happened, this was pointed out to me just after I replied "I prefer not to smoke" to the host at a restaurant who asked if I preferred smoking or non-smoking. Hooeee, I thought I was so clever saying that, but Glenda quickly assured me that those people probably hear that shit 40-50 times a shift. I instantly knew she was absolutely right; this is exactly the kind of thing that gets me so worked up into an righteous froth of unctuous superiority when other people do it. This revelation left me stupified, and of course I could only wonder what other stupid jokes I've tortured servicepersons with.

And so now I'm having to re-evaluate all of my strategies for interaction with retail clerks, order-takers, waiters, maitres'd, etc. For example, I've long prided myself on the fact that I make a huge effort to be almost sickeningly polite to people in service-related positions. It's kind of an idealistic populism thing I got going, like I'm down with the brothers and sisters in the trenches, yo. And part of it is that I spent all of my twenties toiling in the service sector, and I fucking hated dealing with rude people. Certainly nobody enjoys dealing with surly punters, I realize, but many people are able to let it roll off their backs. If you're going to wait tables for any length of time, you pretty much have to be able to let it go. But I was never able to do that. For me, when people grunt and mumble and bark commands at me, or if I detect even a hint of condescension, it triggers a murderous rage so intense that I often just shut down. During the flower delivery stint mentioned above, I came perilously close to driving the flower van through the doors of the Rolling Hills Country Club kamikaze-style, having just been treated dismissively by some frustrated marketing-major dipshit.

Ah, but digression is afoot. I'm trying to get at whether the herculean effort required in being so barfingly polite is really warranted, and indeed, if it's even appreciated by its intended beneficiaries. Witness the fast-food workers at any food court in a mall or airport! They have some seriously menacing motherfuckers working there. The most intense ones that spring to mind are the workers at those toll-booth oasis things they have on the outskirts of Chicago. These people working at the Mickey D's there look like they'd much rather bludgeon your anus with a garden trowel than take one more order for an indecisive family of distracted suburbanites. I see this all the time in restaurants and convenience stores, and so I always feel like I'm really boosting the morale of the workers by doing my little smarmy politeness thing. And it is earnest; I really want to make these people's jobs just a little bit less shitty if I can. But (and finally here comes the crux of this whole spiel...) I'm starting to wonder whether that smarmy politeness thing is actually just more irritating for these people than the barrage of surly assholes. Eh?

=====================================================================

Then there's these two gems I found in the paper:

Honey, the new issue of Heeb came today!"

Reason #57008 to be ashamed of America: there really are people that would get an air conditioner that matches the team colors of their alma mater

COMMENTS

HIDE