I’m sitting at a corner table at my local Boba Shop having lunch. This is the first time I have been able to sit here in the last couple of weeks. Single students or local cubicle dwellers tend to crowd the tables or use a table larger than what they need. This leaves very little room for single patrons-like myself. On more than one occasion I have glanced at a student using a table of four hoping to meet their eyes and warrant an invitation to share the table. Not once has this happened.
Today was different. Today I got a table for three, plopped myself down, and slowly ate my lunch while catching up on my FB feed. I didn’t notice, or care to notice, the large line of folks behind me. Today I decided that I was going to enjoy my table, my lunch, the boba tea and free WiFi.
I choose to ignore the snippy mom complaining that there’s no place to park her stroller, or the OCD model-like woman complaining that there’s no place to sit, or the annoying tourist speaking loudly on his cellphone. Today, it’s about me.
What I did notice were two youngish gals glancing in my direction. I know what they were thinking, but I did exactly what others have done in my place: I looked away, and didn’t invite them to share my table. I’m done being that woman.
I’m done being pleasant when something annoys me, or overlooking a bad case of cattiness in an effort to keep the peace and be professional.
Yes, I’m speaking to you, the convivial friendemie who loves me one day, speaks about honor, friendship, -blah-blah-blah- and later blasting your social media feed with BFF selfies -with the folks you just handed in a stay-away-from-them plate- you my friend, are one big hypocrite.
This is also for Mr. Professional social media wonder boy: your preferential treatments are not special, they make you look like a sleaze. Because, well, you are.
To Mrs. everything is about hard work, and yet you crouch at the sign of go: Sorry lady, hard work takes time and a lot of effort. Don’t blame me for making the priorities you can’t handle, well, priorities.
To Ms. Positivity: I get that you love everything, love everyone, everyone is absolutely peachy - but when you show your so-called wit, which is actually misplaced anger dished in under-handed commentary, know that this is a sure sign that you ran out of your happy pills (I should know - I’ve taken them before).
With the absolute certainty that I'm sounding a bit bitchy and just like a big meanie today, great - wonderful. I simply don’t care. Because I’m done being that woman.
You know, the woman that you tend to discredit because I’m so F’n unassuming, maybe blasé, and just so damn nice. It really doesn't matter, I have come to find out.
I can be a bitch or absolutely pleasant, how I'm treated has nothing to do with what I put out, as much as how others want to react.Yes, I get it - the professionalism will never leave the core of my being; and like it or not, even when the layers are peeled, I am probably one of the nicest and most loyal people you will meet.BUT, I'm done being taken advantage of because of who I am.
The reality is, I can see through the crap. I always have. I just never said anything. Make no mistake, me being nice to you is just my class A act of avoiding looking like you. But the blindfolds have fallen and I see through you; and, It ain’t pretty folks - actually, you aren’t pretty anymore.Damn, it feels good to get this off my chest.Moving on...How was YOUR day? :)
