Lately I’ve been trying to learn how to be less nice. This is due to gathering enough data to suspect that I may possibly-sometimes-maybe-probably-often be a smiley-faced doormat.
Exhibit A: someone recently compared me to a corgi, and I don’t think it was just due to my legs being slightly too short for my torso.
You think I like wagging my tail and panting through a tongue-heavy grin after someone hits me with their car?
This is not a metaphor. One time I got hit by a red sedan in Colorado. I’d share the vehicle’s license plate number, as I’m trying to grow a spleen I mean spine, but I was too busy thanking the driver to take comprehensive notes.
I was biking across a busy street in downtown Boulder when I got hit. Before you jump to any hasty, finger-pointing conclusions, let me make a few points clear.
- There was a crosswalk button
- The crosswalk button had flashing lights to signal drivers to stop
- I stopped and hit the crosswalk button before I crossed
- I do have a spleen, just not a back bone
The driver and I saw each other at the same time. We both screeched to a halt and met at a central axis where it suddenly occurred to me I should start wearing a bike helmet even if it makes me look like a puny little ladybug.
The car hit me at about 2 mph, and I fell over on my side in a very pathetic ker-plunk– bruising my tailbone and hindering my bending-over ability for the next six weeks. (This led to mobility issues in the handstand classes I was taking at the time. Whenever someone asked me what happened, I’d say, “I got hit by a car, but it’s chill.”)
I stayed on the ground for a moment, a sitting duck in the shocked soup of my survival. The lady who nearly sent me flying headfirst over the Front Range got out the car and bent over (must be nice) to get a gander at me.
“OH MY GOD!! ARE YOU OKAY?! WHAT CAN I DO FOR YOU?” She was hysterical.
I was furious, as it was likely she missed the flashing stop lights due to looking at her phone.
Turns out getting hit by a car still isn’t enough for me to expel an ounce of rage.
“Please pay attention!” I scolded her as I stood up and grabbed my bike by the handles. That was the best I could do.
Then to top it all off, I said, “I’m sorry, have a nice day,” and started to sob as I limped away.
Let’s not delve into the fine print where I’d mention that when you hit the crosswalk button, a man’s voice says “caution, vehicles may not stop,” in a very matter-of-fact tone. For then I may have to say, “ruh roh, my bad.”
I will agree there are certain situations where it’s not right to throw caution to the wind, and let your freak-flag fly. However, there are times when one should, for lack of a more Boomer-friendly term, lock-in.
This includes paying attention to the road while driving, and more urgently, locking any public bathroom stall.
Recently, I’ve opened a few too many unlocked doors to bare butts sewn onto surprised faces.
When I was young and naive and this happened, I would yell “I’m sorry!” and run away, holding pee and shame inside.
I once opened the bathroom door on a guy in a bar right before I was to go onstage to perform a comedy set at an open mic.
“DUDE? sERIOUSLY?” the guy yelled. He was perched upon the toilet like a gargoyle atop a corinthian-style Greek pillar.
I slammed the door and immediately wanted to yank it back open.
Was he serious? He was the one who forgot to lock the door! And was he taking a shit at a bar?
This was where I had to draw the line. No more mR nICE gUY! I finally found something to take a solid stand on! If you forget to turn the latch when you sidle up to the john, that stall is mine as much as it is yours! It would be within my every right to walk right in, tap you on the shoulder, and say, “is this seat taken?”! And I would then take it! Except the thought of doing that really freaks me out. Perhaps some stones are better left unturned.
The point is, no more apologizing for mistakes I didn’t make in order to make the other person comfortable. I’m starting with this bathroom situation, and can hopefully one day work up to frying bigger fish like building healthy boundaries with my gossipy boss, or abstaining from politeness when someone nearly creams me with their car.
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