It seems that in addition to my color blindness, I have also inherited a vast fortune of guilt. It doesn’t matter what it is, if it’s possible to feel badly about something, I do. Hell, I’ve been known to feel badly about things that are IMpossible to feel guilt about.
Let me put it this way: if I am in a store, and I see the rent-a-cop whizzing by, certain to arrest some flagrant shoplifter or teenage smoker, my initial thought is not, “Man, sucks to be YOU,” but “OHMYGOD, DID I DO SOMETHING WRONG? Is it possible I shoplifted while maybe I blacked out in the tampon aisle?”If it appears obnoxious to you in print, I assure you in person it is much worse.
For someone who is as sensitive as a toad, this is odd behavior, but it’s MY odd behavior, dammit.
But because I am usually half-way up the cross about something-or-another-like-that-chocolate-chip-cookie-I-ate-while-I’m-supposed-to-be-dieting, when someone else attempts guilt as a motivator or as a way to make me feel worse about something, I get fucking furious.
On Sunday, I was sitting around wondering why The Internet wasn’t entertaining me like it should be and sort-of missing The Daver with all my heart and soul, the doorbell rang. My neighborhood is full of kids and I have kids of my own, so while I find the ringing of the tinny bells annoying as fcuk, it’s a necessary evil.
I was feeding Amelia a bottle so I carried her to the front door, hoping it wasn’t The Mormons whom I just didn’t have the energy to fend off. When I opened it, I saw a kid of indiscriminate teenage to twenties age. My heart sunk as I saw the pamphlet in his hand.
Kid: “Hello, ma’am, I’m conducting an experiment and my goal for the day is to talk to 150 nice people. Are you a nice person?”
Aunt Becky: (looking around for a hidden camera) “Uh, I guess?”
Kid: “Your neighbor 2 doors down is a nice person. I just talked to her. I’m just trying to meet nice people.”
Aunt Becky: “Uh. Okay.”
Kid: “It’s my assignment, to see if I can meet nice people.”
Aunt Becky (dim lightbulb lights up. Oh, so this is like those bags of flour kids in high school had to carry around to act like they had babies. Note to Child Development teachers: a bag of flour is nothing like a baby.): “Okay.”
Kid: “blah, blah, blah, blah.”
Aunt Becky: (nods head apprehensively. She is no longer listening because she is bored shitless but trying to be nice. Having an assignment of going door-to-door sucks balls.).
(she looks around for clipboard to sign to say that this kid talked to her)
Kid: “So, if you’re a nice person, and obviously you are, I’m selling magazines. The first prize to whoever sells the most is a trip to ….(ed note: somewhere boring). The second prize is $5,000.”
Aunt Becky now notices that the kid is probably closer to her age than she’d thought.
Kid: “I’m planning on going to ….(ed note: some school I’d never heard of) and I’m going to put the $5,000 towards school.”
Aunt Becky now calls bullshit. This is no college kid.
He thrusts the magazine card at her. “Would you like to buy a subscription?”
Aunt Becky thinks that her subscription to The Atlantic is due to be renewed soon, so she looks to see if it’s on there. Surprise, surprise, it’s not. There is, however, a subscription to Diabetes Monthly.
Well thank God.
Aunt Becky: “Nah, I don’t see anything I want. Thanks.”
Late 20’s Loser Selling Magazines Door-to-Door: “Well, if you don’t want anything, you should do what I think is the best idea. You should give a subscription to …(ed note: some children’s hospital I’ve not heard of). So the SICK, DYING kids can read magazines.”
Aunt Becky: “Uh yeah, NO THANKS.”
Late 20’s Loser Selling Magazines Door-to-Door: “Come on, not for the DYING SICK kids? They want magazines!”
Aunt Becky firmly shuts the door, laughing.
I may be full of guilt, but I was not born yesterday.
I was born Tuesday.