Sunday, December 15, 2013

On Not Being Liked

This isn't going to be a cry-baby-post about me whining about how nobody likes me. I couldn't care less if nobody liked me. This is about what happens to me over and over again and how little it actually affects me.

I got along with the parents of every person I've dated, male female, or otherwise, while we were dating. A few of them openly admitted that they liked me better than anybody else their child had brought home, friend, boyfriend, or otherwise. Only one refused to like me, but it was a step-parent, and he had issues of his own.

After the relationship was over (they all end, sooner or later), all but one set of parents (not counting step-parents) recanted their statements, if not directly to me, then to their children, who then admitted such things to me.

That one exception thanked me for my affect on their child's life, though extenuating circumstances may have prompted that more than if the situation had been typical.

How many of those parents do I still see, periodically, if ever? Just that one exception, because the mother works at the local library.

How many of those exes are still apart of my life? One, and not the exception.

My situation with my coworkers is not unlike the previous example, and again, there are exceptions. For the most part, as long as we're working together, I'm the person they come to when they want to complain about their other coworkers (and I empathize appropriately and add my own complaints to the mix, even when the person they have a problem with comes back and confides in me themselves), and I'm the person they laugh and joke with.

Naturally, as soon as we stop working together, I'm this horrible person who was mean and sarcastic and... I could go on all day with the complaints.

The exceptions are sometimes (but not always) superiors, bosses, managers; and every once in a great long while, someone just decides they don't like me, and they'll usually say it to my face.

Still, none of these people mean anything to me outside of work (the biggest reason I don't mix business and pleasure), and most of the people who openly don't like me don't work side-by-side with me. They're in other departments or opposite shifts, and we only run into each other in passing. Even if we did work side-by-side, it wouldn't affect me one whit.

I'm not there to make friends. I'm there to get a paycheck.

I'm nice. I'm sincere. I'm honest. I'm humble. I'm patient. I'm willing (sometimes perhaps too willing) to say I don't know all the answers. But I don't speak in definites, and that bothers about ten percent of them.

Currently, I work somewhere I've been at for about a month, and even in my first week, they'd leave me alone on the floor, vanish to who-knows-where, and I'd have a customer ask me something I didn't know the answer to; I'd run around, try to ask for help, and nobody would come to my aid. Naturally they'd blame me, and it seems to be a fifty-fifty chance on that score.

As of late, as I'm growing to know more and more about how things are handled, the problem is slowly morphing into "I know what I need to do, but I can't because the key's run off" (Pirates of the Caribbean); again, little I can do besides trying to chase them down, and it's not exactly a small store.

I'm not even going to start. I don't know my neighbors. Aside from the ones that live above me or the ones that wave to me in the parking lot, I never see any of them, and I've only actually met the ones that live above me (and only because they have issues with the timeliness of their volume levels). Honestly, I don't want to know them.

I care even less than not at all. Even if we ever meet in person, you'll probably never know that those words came from this brain.

So yeah...
I'm not here on this earth to make goody-two-shoes friends with every poser in a parka (Dr Horrible). I'm here to make you think. If you don't want to think, and want to hate me instead, get in line. On the other hand, if you'd like to help me make people think, stop by my Support page.

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