A telemarketer called me the other day while I was playing spider solitaire at the office. She had a southern twang and sounded so sweet on the phone.
Telemarketer – “Now I’m new at this, so I hope I do it right and tell you everything I’m supposed to tell you.”
Me – “Okay, you’re doin’ great.”
I stayed on the phone and listened to her schpiel. I had nothing better to do. I wanted to give her practice and confidence (I’m a weirdo like that).
Telemarketer – “How old are you if you don’t mind my asking?”
I had to think about it for a few seconds. How old am I? Oh right…but why is she asking? Oh yeah, I sound naive and too young to afford her magazines. Any moment she’s going to ask if my mother’s home.
Me – “32”
Telemarketer – “Oh WOW, really? I’m right there with you girl but you don’t sound it. You don’t sound a day over 21.”
Me – “Eh, thanks….”
She was being kind, but my voice and the way I come off to others is one of the things I hate about myself. It’s one reason why I hate talking on the phone.
I have a loving, kind way about me. I listen to others and care about them – I don’t even have to know them, but I still care about them. It’s probably because of naivete or innocence, I don’t freakin’ know. But nothing about it is fake. There’s nothing artificial about me, maybe that’s considered naive. Having a young voice doesn’t help.
Perhaps people mistake kindness for ignorance.
I don’t like people thinking I’m innocent, but I can’t help it. God help me. No wonder why everyone worries about me.
I feel that people are more likely to get pissed at me more so than at others. Maybe they consider me as someone who knows better and I have no good excuse for my behaviour because they very well know that I know I did wrong, but I did it anyway. There’s no wiggle room. Some people can get away with acting stupid because that’s in their nature, it’s who they are. But as for me, nobody cuts me any slack.
Assholes do asshole things. Nice people doing asshole things are harder to accept and can really hurt others.
I once worked with a slow-minded woman at Stop & Shop. She was a bagger and I was a cashier. I felt for her. She was a bit defensive and ornery, but she had a heart and feelings. She was working with a bunch of young high school brats who cracked jokes at her, so of course she’d be pissy.
One night at the age of 16 – an age where there’s not many fun activities to do at night, me and my co-workers went over to her house. We were already in the neighborhood and thought it be nice to pay her a visit. It felt wrong in my guts and I knew she would take it the wrong way. If it was just me and my friend that came to visit, it would’ve been okay (she would have been elated!), but instead we brought along three jerky co-workers with us who just wanted to go see the “freak.”
I was against the visit in the first place. I hung back in the shadows outside while the boys laughed and talked with her from her bedroom window. I felt like the scum of the earth. Her sister had to come out and tell us all to leave.
And she WAS pissed. She forgave everyone except me – the one who stuck up for her and actually cared about her, I was the one she no longer spoke to.
She died in a horrible accident years later. I never forgave myself for that night at her house. I did know better.
If you have two children with a significant age gap, it’s always the older one who gets in trouble, gets the blame. The little one didn’t know any better. Well, I’m always considered the older one – not in maturity (heaven knows I’m not mature), but in a different way. Like, when it comes to matters of the heart. A wise, caring understanding of people maybe? When someone like me judges another person, says harsh things to them, it’s felt way more than when your everyday asshole says it.
And when people think I withdrawn my caring, understanding attention, they get spiteful. It happened with Kristie, and sometimes with Dave (although he loves me too much to ever be rid of me). It happens with Matt and just about everyone else I ever met. It never happened with my really good friends though.
It happened with K in Nepal when I told her I didn’t want to hike with her anymore (its a really long story and you can read about it here), and I’m still getting punished for it.
Sometimes I get tired and need a break from everyone. I have my own problems to deal with.
Telemarketer – “Are you married? Do you have kids?”
I’m sure that a lot of people would’ve answered that question with a “What business of that is yours?” Especially when it’s being asked by a complete stranger calling you up trying to sell stuff you don’t need.
But me on the other hand, that thought never entered my mind.
Me – “Ha ha, no.”
Telemarketer – “Oh now that could be why you sound so young. I only wish I sounded like you.”
Another thing is, I have a tendency to love people in a non-sexual way. I’m learning that most everybody takes my love in the wrong direction. I have no ulterior motives or intentions when it comes to others, but they take my attention as being more than it is. I feel hurt by this and think that the only reason guys stay friends with me is in hopes that one day we can do it.
I have a way with people.
I was very sensitive, contemplative and reflective as a child – all the ingredients needed to be teased and pushed around.
In all my wonderings and ruminations, I realized at a very young age that all anyone ever wants is to be loved and feel connected to others. All their actions, every single thing they do is done with the unknowing intent of gaining love and acceptance. I forgave everybody and learned to accept people. It opened my heart and changed me. I guess maybe that’s where my wisdom came from.
I have the knowledge that all anybody wants is love. I give people that love and connection. Especially when they have none in their lives. It’s easy for me to read people like this, and I know that what I give them is important to them. So when it feels like I’m becoming distant, I get the proverbial shit kicked out of me.
It’s funny how I take the time to understand and connect with others, but instead of them wanting to connect back, they only want to screw me. Male friendships are very complicated. However, female friendships aren’t much easier. At least I know what guys want. Both sexes get equally fed up with me.
Should I just stop caring about people? Is that how everyone loses their innocence?
I wish I kept all this crap in a private journal. Nobody cares about what goes on in my head and writing a blog is pompous in that way.
I stopped telling people about my blog a long time ago. Writing a blog doesn’t make me special. It makes me vulnerable. I keep wanting to stop, but I can’t. I feel like if I let too much slip by, everything becomes meaningless. My life becomes empty when I have nothing of substance to look back on and learn from. It’s like having a blank cassette tape with no music recorded. And I love making Melanie Mega Mixes.
I’m sweaty, tired and have on no pants. This laptop is really hot. I’m thirsty. This whole post started from one simple telemarketing call. I can’t stop my brain! I write a lot more than I publish, mostly everything I write is still a draft.
I can’t wait to take some of those Columbian drugs. My brothers fiancé know’s a girl from Columbia. I told her where I’m going (upper regions of the Amazon in Putumayo and the valley of Sibundoy) and she replies back saying that it’s one of the most dangerous places in Columbia and she would NEVER under any circumstance go there.
I wasn’t scared before, but now I’m a bit worried.
I stereotype people – I love them, but still stereotype them. An old man yesterday gave me a $20 tip all paid in half dollars for example. Old men love change. Who the hell carries around $20 worth of half dollars in their pocket other than old men? Well, I do now apparently….
But anyway, I don’t have any stereotypes to assign people from Columbia. These are the times when I don’t mind being blissfully ignorant – I don’t get scared. The only thing I can connect Columbia with is the old 1980’s movie, Jewel of the Nile with what’s his face and sexy voice lady (forgot their names). Colombians are comical ruffians who love romance novels, they call their vehicles Little Mules and throw enemies into crocodile pits. I don’t have much to go on.
No wonder why people worry about me.
- Dodging the Telemarketers (veryverybusymom.com)