I was three years old when I attended the Ark preschool in Glen Ellyn Illinois. It's the place where I learned to tie a knot and write my first and last name and sit quietly and read my book while the other kids went over their ABCs. Outside on the small dirt playground I eyed the monkey bars in shape of a snake wearing a boater suspiciously, not entirely sure if he was going to swallow me whole or burst into The Music Man. There was music time and quiet time and learning time and play time. Honestly, the only thing that interested me was learning time. Quiet time was a waste, I could nap at home. Music time had us playing triangles and wooden blocks, which I would have enjoyed if the other kids didn't use the time to throw them at each other. But play time was was the hardest, as everyone separated into groups and I'd have to figure out who I'd be friends with for the day. I wasn't really willing to commit past that.
I've written before that I was an odd child, and I wasn't really interested in playing with the other kids. This worried my preschool teacher, and notes were sent home saying I didn't play well with others. I wasn't mean, I wasn't disruptive...I just didn't really seem to care. SlackMom finally took me aside and said pretend you're interested in playing with the other kids. That'll get her off your back. Now that she had explained it in terms that made sense, I complied. And I learned how to get along with people I didn't particularly like.
Working the front desk at an upscale gym in Los Angeles, you'd think I'd run into cases of over-inflated egos with a sense of self-entitlement every day. The fact is that it's rarer than you'd think. But there are a few cases where my smile shines a little brighter, my compliments get a little more effusive, my hands clasp and I positively giggle.
It was a moment like this that my boss, T., comes out of her office and asked what the hell was that?
That was me being a jerk, I responded.
If I don't like someone, I make no effort to connect to them. Usually by way of ignoring them. But there are some people you cannot ignore. They're your co-workers or they're your clients or they're friends of friends and you have no choice but to interact with them. So I'm nice Beyond nice. Incredibly nice. I overcompensate for the fact that I don't like them.
This used to be due to the fact that I thought there was something wrong with me, and perhaps by being nice I'd see whatever it was in them that everyone else would see. And y'know what? That rarely works. Now it's just my way of being a jerk. Because generally if you don't like someone, they know and don't like you back. So if you're only nice to them, complaining about you makes them look like a bigger dick. Because I'm a jerk that way.
How else am I a jerk?
I think this is brilliant. (Is that jerky?)
I have been slack on the slack daily. I assure you I'm not sitting around eating bon-bons. If you're having a slackmistress jones, you can always stalk me at Antisocial Networking, Twitter, and the Slackmistress Appreciation Society (I think having an Appreciation Society also makes me a jerk.)
I would consider item number two to take care of the jerks in item number three.
Ways that I am not a jerk:
I listen to my husband's songs about the air conditioner.
Your turn!
