Sometimes It’s Hard

“We apologize for what you had to go through. I assure you we will do everything we can to make sure something like this never happens again.” Tim barely heard himself going through the “apologies” script for the tenth time that morning. He’d been fielding emails and phone calls all morning from clients who were not happy with the results his office had provided them last week. Tim apologized on behalf of his office, even though the reason for the shoddy work had nothing to do with him. But he was the one who answered the phones, so he had to give the apologies. He was sure his voice betrayed the fact that he actually didn’t care one way or the other.

Tim closed his eyes for just a few seconds after hanging up, tried to concentrate on his breathing. He’d read up on meditation and was trying to get into using it when he felt it was time to calm down. He barely made it into a third breath before a notification dinged on his computer. He had a meeting with his supervisor in five minutes. Ah yes, the day to “touch base” and share his thoughts and concerns. Not that any concerns had been remedied or addressed in all the years Tim had worked there.

His supervisor was sitting at her desk, face red and brow as furrowed as ever. She glanced up at Tim as he stood in her doorway, looking confused but then quickly remembering they had a meeting today. “Hi Tim, sit down,” she gestured at the chair on the other side of her desk. Her eyes glued back to her computer screen, probably trying to finish what she was doing before Tim “interrupted” with this mandatory meeting. He took a seat and began to wait.

The supervisor gave a deep sigh as she finished what she was doing. “I hate people,” she muttered, mostly to herself. Tim just nodded politely. This was a constant complaint around the office when dealing with customers, and sometimes even with other employees. Tim didn’t think that someone who would get into a management position should openly declare that they hate people.

She didn’t elaborate on what she meant by her comment, just started the meeting. It was as boring as always. She asked if Tim had anything he wanted to discuss. He didn’t, of course, because very little at work was worth thinking about, outside of “Can I please get a noticeable raise?” to which the answer was usually, “Awww we’d like to, but no.” So the meeting went on, the Supervisor went over Tim’s performance, which was fine. Went over a few rules and regulations, nothing he didn’t already know.

She surprised him by breaking the monotony with a surprise criticism: “Some people say you have a bad attitude.”

Tim shook his head, unsure if he’d heard her correctly. “What?” Tim barely spoke to his coworkers; the way their jobs were structured there was really no reason for them to chitchat, and if they did that would affect productivity, and heaven forbid that happen.

Yet his supervisor explained that when he did have to talk to his coworkers, some of them found him rude and aggressive. Tim was surprised to hear this; part of his job was reporting criticisms and offering suggestions, but he always tried to do it in a friendly and constructive way.

“Well nevertheless,” his supervisor said, “just something to be aware of. Maybe take a breath before you have to give bad news. We wouldn’t want to write you up or anything.” If she was kidding, Tim couldn’t tell. He began to suck on the inside of his cheek. He wanted to defend himself, say that he was a good worker and that people here didn’t take criticism very well. How silly to have them report him to his supervisor instead of just talking to him, another passive move in the ol’ office jungle.

But instead he just nodded, hoping the inside of his cheek wouldn’t start bleeding soon. He listened to her suggestions and pretended to be agreeable, and then was dismissed to return to his desk. Her eyes were already back on her computer before he left her office.

***

Tim went to one of his favorite spots for lunch. It was the kind of place that closed at 3pm but you could order their breakfast items at any time, and Tim loved that. On an average day he could make it there, eat in, and return to the office all within his lunch break. It was the ideal system.

The place was quite busy when he showed up and the line was moving slowly. He decided he would get his food as takeout; it would still take a while, but he would make it back to the office in time and he could eat at his desk. They liked it when people ate at their desks, that showed commitment to the “mission”. Don’t let a pesky thing like eating get in the way of your desk job.

An older woman walked right past the line of people and up to the counter. She wasn’t an old biddy or anything, but definitely of an age where she could be a grandmother. She looked around at the tables, the menu on the wall, and the counter with the cash register on it. She pointed down at the counter and asked the worker, “Is this where we order?” The worker politely informed her that, yes, this is where you order, and that line of people are already waiting. The woman nodded and went to the back of the line.

“I’ve never been here before!” Tim heard her explain to someone in line behind him. Bullshit, thought Tim. It doesn’t matter if you’ve been to a place before or not. You’re an adult, when you see a line of people standing in front of a counter you should assume that you need to join that line. He wondered at what age you forgot how to simply order food in a restaurant. He couldn’t imagine seeing a line full of people and thinking, “Well this can’t be where I have to go,” and pushing past them. People always just thought about themselves.

As he reached his turn in line Tim tried to put the woman out of his mind. Take more of those breaths he’d been hearing about. The worker behind the counter, a friendly girl who kept her positive demeanor in the busiest of rushes, greeted him politely. He tried to order a slice of quiche.

They were out of the quiche. Damn, but not unexpected considering the time of day.

He tried ordering a cinnamon bun. They sold out of those too. Damn.

A bagel breakfast sandwich. They were out of bagels.

A breakfast sandwich on a croissant. Non.

He found success with a club sandwich. He didn’t really like club sandwiches, but food was food and at this point he’ll just take whatever he can get. He got a bag of chips with it. Plain chips because, of course, they were out of barbeque.

He stood off to the side and waited while the kitchen prepared his order. He casually watched as customers ordered their food. Unlike him, everyone else was somehow able to get the first thing they ordered. The old woman from before got to the front of the line. She wasn’t ready. Again, Tim wondered what she thought was going to happen when she got to the front of the line. At her age there was no way this was her first time in a restaurant.

Everything about her annoyed Tim. The way it all confused her, as if the menu was written in code on the back of the Declaration of Independence. The way she spoke was annoying, asking all these questions but still with an air of entitlement. And how she was completely oblivious to how she was aggravating everyone else by holding up the line. When she finally made her order and asked for her eggs to be prepared “medium well,” it was all Tim could do to stop himself from asking her exactly what the hell that even means.

He finally got his sandwich in a little brown paper bag. Apologies for the wait. He drove back to the office and clocked back in, five minutes over his allotted lunch break. He’d hear about that at the next meeting. They loved bringing that up at meetings. He ate his sandwich while staring half-aware at his screen. It didn’t taste as good as he wanted it.

***

The drive home was full of assholes. Some drivers were too slow and took too long to turn. Others were too aggressive and weaved dangerously around others. Some honked their horns. Some gave the finger. Others yelled, shook their fists. Tim’s shoulders were tight, his jaw stuck in a clench. Just get home, goddamnit.

Upon getting home, goddamnit, he quickly said hello to his wife and went to the bathroom to take a shower. Showering off the day usually helped Tim relax. He felt it was possible to wash the “work” right out of your body. He quickly found there was no hot water and he cut his shower short because he hated showering cold, despite reading that it was better for you.

He put on sweatpants and an old t-shirt before rejoining his wife in the kitchen. Mentioned there was no hot water. That was her fault, she had gotten home just a few minutes before him and jumped in the shower. He sighed in frustration but didn’t say anything more. He busied himself sorting the bills on the kitchen table.

It was his wife’s night to cook dinner, and she asked what he wanted, spaghetti or stir fry. Tim said he didn’t care. She said she didn’t care either, just pick one. He didn’t care, just pick one, he didn’t care, just pick one.

“I said I don’t fucking care!”

His wife turned and looked at him in surprise. Her eyebrows were arched and she looked a little hurt and a little angry. After a pause she relaxed her face, took a deep breath, and said in a calm voice: “Something you need to talk about?”

Tim rubbed his temples angrily with his fists, feeling a headache forming right behind them. “I’m sorry, I just, I just…” he hesitated before finishing his sentence. “…hate people.”

The words hung there in the kitchen. Tim could feel that his face was red. He looked down at the table because he couldn’t look at his wife. She stared at him for a long time, studying his face, his body language. Then she let out a small chuckle. “Do you, Tim? Do you really hate people?”

He looked up at her, this beautiful woman he was absolutely in love with. He thought of her, then he thought of his parents, he thought of his friends. The ones who’d helped him move, the ones who listened to him bitch, the ones he took weekend trips with. He thought of the one coworker in the office he liked, the cashier at the market who always asked what he was going to cook this week. The stranger who let him cut in front of them when traffic was bad the other day.

He took another breath. This time when he exhaled he felt the tension in his chest loosen ever so slightly. His shoulders lowered just an inch. His face got a smidge cooler.

“No,” he admitted. “I don’t hate people. Sometimes it’s just hard.”

She nodded and gave him a hug. She made spaghetti for dinner. It was delicious.

Thanks for reading, please share if you liked it. You can subscribe to my email blast here, this week I talked a bit about the moments where being kind to people can do a world of good. Keep Trying!