Stacerella

Radmila blogged (Dec. 29th) about how she had to get into management to discover that, contrary to her popular belief about herself, she’s really not a people person. This reminded me of something I was thinking about at work a few days ago (as opposed to doing some actual work, that is). I was trying to figure out when I became so antisocial or started being a people hater. I thought about it for a long time. I searched my brain like it was a database - long, deep search queries, and, well, nothing came up. Did not compute.

The reason for that came to me later in the evening. I realised after talking to Joe about a few customers that I hadn’t moved away from being a Profound Purple People Person(trademark pending) over the years because I don’t think that I ever was a people person. In fact, if anything, over the years my lack of being a Profound Purple People Person(trademark pending) has only grown pronounced.

Radmila states you can’t be a Profound Purple People Person(trademark pending) if you don’t give a shit about what others think of you. Truer words were never blogged. Ever. In the history of mankind.

Over the years, as I shed my, at times, paralysing shyness, I started to show outwardly what I have been feeling inwardly all along. Over the years, the feelings I struggled to surpress while dealing with the public came to a boil and spilled out of every pore of my body. My brain conceptualises the thoughts, my mouth betrays me and my body language all but indicates I want to tear off customer’s limbs and beat them senseless over the head. It’s a daily struggle for me. Really. I might need medication for this affliction.

EX: Customer walks in, I greet them nicely with a hello and ask them if they are looking for anything in particular or if we can help them in any way. So far, so good. And then that fateful moment comes - and it always comes - where they open their mouths and everything they say is tainted with the same shitty attitude, the same sarcasm (which I actually love and laugh openly at), the same distain, the same smuggness, the same stupidity, the same rudeness, the same superiority and the same general unpleasantness as a basic human being, and then I get that overwhelming feeling that tells me I need to remind them I’m not anyone’s doormat, wet nurse, shrink, social worker or mediator.

It usual starts with me narrowing my eyes to thin slits, followed by an uncomfortable pause while I take in a deep breath before I open my mouth and make it crystal clear (or not, depending on how dense the person is) how much I really love my fellow human. I can’t help it. I.cannot.help.myself. I’m such a bitch. I know. It’s a total problem for me.

Too much retail and public service will do that to a person… who isn’t a Profound Purple People Person(trademark pending). I blame it on my genetics and my mother. She’s the same way. So was her father. And her brother. And definitely all five of my brothers. Also, my sister.

But, anyway, my point is this: you’re either a Profound Purple People Person(trademark pending) or you’re not. It’s not something you can become or learn how to be. And when you’re not, working with others can be taxing, excruciating and vexing. Truly. I like helping people, but only under the unspoken agreement that you’ll go away as soon as I give you what you’re after. Immediately. And don’t come back to bug me. In fact, don’t bug me period and I’m a virtual information booth at your disposal. I like seeing everyone find what they’re after, but even more than that, I love seeing bastards and bitches not get what they’re after at the same time. Hee.

See what I mean about me being a bitch? It’s a huge problem for me. Really. ‘Tis.