The Nice Guy Trap

The darndest thing happened to me a couple months back. Some fat chick tried to play me. It was the darndest thing. I tried to be nice to this chick, but no. It wouldn’t work. She flung herself headfirst into an effort to play me out. I had seen her around before. I’d always thought of her as Big Bertha the big brawling behemoth from Bogota. All is well that ends well though. I realized a thing or two about being nice to people who deserve less. Here’s what happened.

I volunteered at a community center. My job was simple. All I had to do was man the salad bar when lunch was served to the regulars. Things rolled on for months without a problem. Everybody liked me. At least that’s what I thought. Then I was informally introduced to Big Bertha. It was a typical afternoon. The sun shone brightly through the windows of the cafeteria. I walked in and took a seat. In just a few minutes I would set up the bar as usual.

I noticed the bubble of brown blubber Big Bertha breathing heavily as she sat alone in the otherwise empty cafeteria. I smiled at her just to be nice. That’s when she hit me with a very dismissive, “Excuse me, can you wait outside?” I said, “huh?” She repeated herself. I was a bit confused. Just then another volunteer stepped in and explained to Big Bertha that I worked the salad bar. Big Bertha said, “Well, that’s the new rule. He has to wait outside.”

I didn’t know her from a hole in the wall. Nor did I care for her tone of voice. I remained seated. She piped up again, “You can’t sit in here. You have to wait outside.” She looked at me like I was a food product she cared very little for. In that regard I knew I had to be one in a million. Long story short, Big Bertha and my volunteer friend got into a argument over me. To cool things off I left the area. I had to wait outside the building until Big Bertha felt like it was okay for me to come in and do my thing. I was not happy. I thought of all the names I should have called her. I had plenty but instead I chose to be nice.

Later while lunch was served Big Bertha made herself comfortable by the salad bar. You could see she was hungry. After observing me for twenty minutes she took it upon herself to tell me, “Excuse me, you can’t give them that much salad.” I looked at her like she was crazy. I wondered where she stood in the rank and file of supervisors and volunteers. I was informed by my friend who’d defended me earlier that Big Bertha was a mere volunteer like me. Again my friend came to my defense and yet another argument ensued. Everybody in the lunch room watched with eager eyes. I decided I didn’t like Big Bertha. This piece of crap had overstepped her bounds. Twice. The evil thoughts that came to me as a result threw me for a loop. She’d effectively spoiled my day.

I was a volunteer. A person trying to be giving and friendly to strangers. I was sharpening my people skills. I was optimistic every day when I walked into that community center. And even more so when the job was over. This was the first and only negative experience I’d had there. And because it was so uncalled for and therefore disturbing, I left feeling a little less enthusiastic about people than my usual. On my way home, I sneered at a few people who I thought might have been trying to play me out too. All because of Big Bertha, that big brawling behemoth from Bogota who breathed heavy and looked like a bubble of brown blubber.

When I got home, I thought about how I should have given Big Bertha a piece of my mind. I thought of how I tried to be pious. Obviously to a fault. So, here I was struggling with my self righteous disposition and the reality of my very unfriendly thoughts toward another. I realized it was unrealistic that I could be without these flaws. I was human. What happens when in pursuit of being kind people we routinely suppress our honest thoughts and feelings? Undoubtedly, we’ll eventually unleash our frustrations in an untimely fashion. Most likely on people who deserve better. That’s exactly what happened on my way home as I sneered at and thought poorly of people passing by. I was venting my righteous indignation. But on the wrong targets.

If somebody is being mean or unkind to you, it’s more than okay to not enjoy their presence. We need to stop bending over backward holding our tongues for people who don’t deserve it just to prove we’re of sound mind. Many individuals have similar frustrating experiences and built up fury waiting to be unleashed. And when we come across them for the first time, they may indeed parcel some of it out to us when we need it least. In these situations everybody loses. The person who lost her cool feels bad about it, and the person who felt the heat is angered and feels put upon. Who knows? Under different circumstances, the two could have been friends.

Everyone of us is to blame for these misunderstandings. We’re not being realistic about human nature whatsoever. We can get rid of our built up anger by subtly parceling it out to that individual who originally ticked us off. Of course it isn’t good to curse, harass or harm anyone who we have a reason to dislike. But it is okay to not like them. So, I’ve decided to be more honest. And if necessary, to be more vocal. I don’t have to shout. But it’s okay to casually tell an offender, “You know what? You’re not my favorite person,” or “you know what? You’re buggin’ out right now.”

Putting honesty into practice made me feel much better. Clearing the air with people lessens anxiety and brings a feeling of relief. No more deceptive goodness for me. Sincere expression paves the way for a better attitude. The next person we meet might deserve our friendship. And we’ll have it ready to go when we’re finished with all the phony behavior. Big Bertha taught me these things whether she’s aware of it or not. Keeping with an optimistic approach, I owe her my thanks. I’ll go even further. If anything I’ve said so far is true, I can assume she was merely having a less than ideal day that particular afternoon when she so audaciously tried to play me.

Following that incident, she made a point of being polite around me. I managed to be cordial. But I wasn’t about to get caught in the nice guy trap again. If she or anybody else deserved a demerit, I would award them one. And so help me dammit, no matter how polite she was to me, I still disliked her. Quietly, I cooked up all kinds of fat jokes. Sometimes I felt bad about it. But I reconciled myself to the fact that she’d offered herself as a sacrificial lamb upon our first encounter. Thanks to her remarkable selflessness, others would be spared my criticisms.

I was at the library the other day. One of the workers got a little sarcastic with me. But I decided he was just fed up with awkward questions from customers. And my question was admittedly silly too. As I walked away from the desk, he called out to me and offered further assistance with my problem. I appreciated that and we had a brief but pleasant conversation. It was all possible because I had an ample reserve of positivity on hand. And so did he. I’m sure he’d already vented his tranquil library fury at more than one unsuspecting customer that day. By the time I got to his desk, cooler heads prevailed. But who knows what kind of psychos lurk behind the help desk at your local library?

I took a bus home. There was an empty seat between myself and another rider. But the space would only be realistic for a very slim person to fit into. Perhaps an old lady, an old man, or a child or something like that. But no. Some wobbly fat chick clambered aboard, gazed at me defiantly, and against all common sense tried to squeeze into the seat. The physical impact she had on the arrangements was more than humorous. I couldn’t hold it in. I chuckled. She got mad and rolled her eyes at me. I felt bad. But then again, she’d brought this reaction upon herself. She knew she was too big to fit in the seat. But she wanted to draw me into her self conscious madness by basically sitting in my lap. My timely chuckle highlighted the ridiculousness of her disgraceful scheme.

When I got off the bus I felt okay about things. I thought, “I can get use to this.” Still, just being human, this realistic approach showed up on my radar as a flaw. I now felt guilty about being so honest. I guess I’m the type who will never be satisfied whether I do the right thing or the wrong thing. Then as I walked toward my block, I passed a man asking for spare change. I passed him a couple of bucks. He grinned and said, “God bless you.” I don’t know whether or not I deserved it. But we’d met each other at the right time. I wasn’t stuck in the nice guy trap. I was just being me. I guess, no matter how I look at it I’m a nice guy. Good or bad. I just have to learn to live with myself.

If you’re having trouble coming to terms with others or with yourself, you can call the Mental Health Hotline at 866-903-3787. Or call 988.