Tag: assholes

June 21, 2012

The Best Way to Deal with Nasty People

The other day, I was confronted with the strong urge to punch someone in the face. This person was being a dick – as dicks are wont to do – and certainly seemed to deserve it. Now, if you know me personally, you know that there was no chance I’d actually just punch someone in the face, and in the end I gathered myself and walked away. Number one; it was the right thing to do, and number two; I’m not a face-puncher. I wouldn’t win many fights. But the issue here isn’t about actually punching someone in the face for being an asshole; it’s about wanting to do it. And this is an urge most of us experience from time to time.

No matter who you are, where you live, or what type of personality you have, chances are you have enemies. Whether this is your doing or not, it just seems to happen; at some point in one’s life, a relationship (or sometimes many relationships) will form from a mutual dislike. We’re going to assume it’s more their fault than yours, if only because that’s what it always feels like. And this is fine; blame them. I do. They, after all, are the asshole.

The important question here is how to deal with these situations. You certainly can go the face-punching route, but honestly that won’t do much for you long term. You may get momentary satisfaction, but instead of everyone lifting you over their heads and cheering like they do in movies (and probably your imagination), they’ll probably just back away slowly or ask what the hell is wrong with you. Another option is to give the jerkoff a proverbial “piece of your mind,” which can feel outstanding, but public reaction to this is – again – usually lukewarm at best. Something about making a scene.

Physical or verbal violence are never the best option, and as I walked away from the situation in question, I reminded myself of something. No matter what the circumstance, the single best way to deal with nasty people in your life:

Do well.

That’s it. Just do well in whatever you do. You don’t even have to see, talk to, or think about the assholes at large. All you need to do is do your thing, and do it the best you can. Accomplish, achieve, explore, discover, succeed. Win. Decide what you want to do, then go do it. Put in time. Wake up an hour earlier, drink another cup of coffee, and give yourself the extra edge you need to make the world your bitch. Try something new, try harder at something you already do, or try to do less of something that’s detrimental to you. Turn off the TV, get off your ass, and do. Read, create, and be curious. Stop worrying about failing, and instead actually fail. Then learn, try again, and succeed. After that, succeed more. Unhook the plow, unchain the shackles, and let the beast out.  

These things are the best way to get back at the people that don’t like you, because seeing you succeed kills those people. They hate it. Your happiness, positive energy, and overall prosperity carry more weight than any number of punches in the face or roundhouse kicks. Use it. Chase your bliss and find your inner ninja while those other bastards watch from the sidelines. Ignore them and succeed, and their blood will boil. This isn’t about rubbing it in, either; you don’t need to. You don’t need to deal with them in any way, because they’re insignificant. They don’t count. And anyway, they’ll know.

What counts is that you identify what you want in life, and then wake up every damn day and bust your ass in pursuit of that goal. Rise, flourish, and hone your craft. Thrive. Hell, go for a vacation. Take a drive. Find something new. Expand your mind and grow as a human being. The rest will follow.

These things take time, and the gratification is exponentially more delayed than a snap reaction to a nasty person. But I’ll be damned if it isn’t exponentially more satisfying.

Why should you trust my advice? Honestly, I can’t say that you should. You have no reason to. I haven’t lived that long, haven’t had many exponential successes, and haven’t even punched anyone in the face (and thus wouldn’t truly know the feeling). But don’t take my word for it – try it. Put away the retaliation and the snarky responses and the stooping to their level for a minute, and take the high road. Stop worrying about how you’ll respond to asshole comments, or what you’ll say to make him or her feel as bad as they make you feel. Live your life, find your happiness and succeed at what you do. Kick tomorrow’s ass. And if you don’t find it a billion times more satisfying, then try a different approach. But I bet you won’t need to.

Just do well.

April 11, 2012

Dear Parking Services

Dear Parking Services,

Hello. My name is Sam. In fact, we’ve met before; I was the one on the phone with you just a minute ago. Since I wasn’t articulating my feelings that well, I thought I’d write you, just to clear the air.

You see, I don’t hate you. I just want to know why you are the way you are: the exterminator of good times, the crusader against happiness, the perpetuator of technicality. I don’t question your duty, either – keeping parking lots free of unlawful parkers and other miscreants is of utmost priority – and I’m well aware that I was parked illegally. But why must you go to the extreme with your occupation? You’ve clearly found that writing parking tickets is your calling in life, and for that I applaud you, but the fervent nature in which you execute said calling is slightly baffling to me. For instance, was it really necessary to give me three consecutive tickets for the same parking violation? Wouldn’t one, or even two have sufficed? I gladly would’ve paid two, since I am a good American who understands commerce and likes to make a deal. But sadly, your policies were without leeway. Very well, three it is.

But why the excess of pictures taken? I understand you need photo evidence, so as to safeguard against disgruntled offenders who think they can talk their way out of these things – which, believe me, I would’ve tried, so props to you – but were 10 photos really called for? I admit, despite my car’s age, I do keep it looking good, so I can see how you might want to admire it later from the comfort of your own home, but I assure you three or four pictures would’ve done the trick.

And finally, let’s discuss the late fee. This one really befuddles a common man like myself, so bear with me: since the vehicle in question was parked behind a locked chain-linked fence (which would seem like a place out-of-the-way and obsolete enough not to cause trouble, and that was really my intent, but I digress), you were not able to reach the car and serve the tickets on its windshield, in traditional parking cadet fashion. Instead, you mailed them, and let me first just say I appreciate your support of the United States Postal Service. They’re really hurting right now, so your patriotism is admirable. But then, dear parking people, the citations did not reach me until after the arbitrary and much-sooner-than-reasonable deadline for payment, and thus you asked for a late fee. This seems odd, for a small-minded Midwesterner like me cannot know to pay a citation before I am notified that the citation exists, but my arguments to that point didn’t seem to resonate with you. Those are the rules, I was told, and the rules are rigid.

I would fight you on this, but the excess of photo proof and diligent note-taking done by your office would make that an exercise in futility, and plus I’m not much of a fighter anyway. Instead, I just want to say I’m sorry. I’m sorry, parking people, that life has been so unkind to you. Clearly you’ve been beaten down and pushed in the proverbial mud since childhood, for that is the only logical scenario that would breed a creature so bitter and intent on others’ unhappiness that they would actually willfully work for a branch of government that’s sole purpose is to ruin people’s days. It must be very tough for you.

In high school you were the fat kid with acne, and you spent most of your days trying to stop your peers from bombarding you with corn nuts and other small projectiles in the hallways. This, for some reason, you were unable to get past as you matured, and now your mission each morning is to get back at those bastards for what they’ve done. I would tell you that, at 30 years of age or so, it’s time to forgive and move on, but I don’t think it would do much good. Or perhaps you were a goth, with the black clothes and dog collars and face paint and Manson shirts, and while the wardrobe is gone, the attitude on life inexplicably remains. If that is the case, go ahead and keep writing parking tickets, but please stop performing sacrifices on your neighbors’ cats, okay? Or maybe you’re just a person with a natural inclination towards bitterness and power trips, but you failed out of the police academy. In that scenario, I’d suggest you just go and die somewhere.

Okay, I’m not serious about the dying part. That seems a little extreme, and extremity is the very thing I’m speaking out against, isn’t it? But something must be done, and since the overwhelming amount of evidence you’ve compiled prohibits me from contesting the parking tickets, I’ll just have to fuck up your world instead. Yes, miserable loner, I have a plan. I’m not going to hurt you, but I’d like you to feel a similar level of irritation as I did when dealing with you. So I’m going to break into your place of residence one night. You’ll be sleeping, probably on the couch with an empty bag of Doritos on your chest, with the TV left on. This is fine – I work quietly, so I won’t wake you. My first order of business is finding your collection of Star Wars figurines and cutting limbs off each of them. I know how much they mean to you, and I feel this is a good place to start the sabotage. After that, I will locate your Xbox live headset and piss on it. This way, the next time you’re pwning noobs on Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 3 in an online skirmish, you will smell my urine. I might even eat some asparagus first just to amplify things. Finally, I will enter your room and draw mustaches on all of your Jonathan Taylor Thomas posters. It’s kind of weird that you like him so much, especially at your age (and, you know…you’re a guy. And Home Improvement was like 20 years ago), but any defamation of J.T.T. will surely bring you to your knees. This, I’m afraid to say, will bring a smile to my face.

After I exit, I plan on finding your car in the driveway and attaching the boot I bought off Craigslist to one of the tires. Then, and only then, you will finally understand: that kinda sucks, doesn’t it?