Maybe I Should be an Asshole...

For at least most of the definition, I'm a nice guy. It's not in that "he's...ummm...nice..." kind of way that girls use to euphemistically describe someone of unoffensive, passive, timid, and over-accommodating character. I'm just really laid back. I emit the allure of a pot-smoker easily slouching into the most comfortable corner of a couch that has seen better days. And sometimes, it fucking sucks.

The single word most often used to describe me is "cool." "Hey, you know John? He's a cool guy." "John's pretty cool." "Ya kno bro...you're a cool guy." I highly doubt everyone uses "cool" to describe me as someone that wears stunner shades at night, or a charismatic soul that charms every lady in talking distance. People are more likely to see me as the kind of guy whose toilet is a recliner with a retractable plush leg rest. I'm that kind of cool.

Thus, it has become no wonder that I frequently find myself listening to other people's problems. I've always been a person called when times were tough and thoughts were heavy. It's like I've somehow laced myself with amenities that attracts those seeking a prime place to take a crap. Many sense that I'm a safe place to deposit their shit, and then flush it all away from their irritable bowels. No fuss, no muss...like I'm stain-proof.

But I'm not. I'm not stain-proof. And shit, I've got a whirl of problems of my own to deal with.

My social life is adequate. It's my love life that gets the beating. When you've been handed a reputation for always being available and accepting, the ladies only flock when they are at their lows. She calls when she's cornered by loneliness. She speaks when no one else will hear her. Suddenly, I become the end at the eye of affection...and it's all because she's feeling broken.

Although I'm flattered and humbly blessed to be sought after for support, I don't have a hero complex. I actually shy away from being heavily relied upon. Until the day that I sincerely feel mutual support for each others' complications, hearing people out can become a really heavy burden. My days of considering seminary school are long past. My complaint department ain't public no more.



Maybe I should be an asshole...like a widely read harsh critic. People tend to prod through the crowd for a chance to impress a jackass with their best face forward. We seek to win their favor. It makes us feel special.

We love to speak negatively about the pompous and pretentious. The thought that someone could be so snobbish as to walk their nose yards above the waft of wee commoners can be disconcerting. Yet, the common act is to bend for their welcoming and bask in the glory of being beside the throne. The desire is for what we can't have, and the appreciation is for having what others can't. Supply, demand, scarcity...it's simple economics.

I know the art. Appealing to desire is no rocket science. In fact, the formula is forehead slappingly simple. The problem is that the art of being charismatic plays upon group thinking and public perception. Maybe for the polygamist society a charming individual would embody the prime trait for establishing a relationship, but for those demanding exclusivity, I would think that the chivalrous would draw more attention.



The confusions of life interest me. I actually love to be found wrong, but my intuitions are too often reaffirmed. I'm a nice guy. And, I'm too stubborn to cynically paint over my stripes with a shade of donkey brown. In story, there always comes a day when nice-hood is the destination, rather than the place we end up after being denied the path to glory. I hope one day again kindness will be revered by more than those retreating from being tattered by the cruelties of romance.

- J