Sunday, February 10, 2013

Confessions of a "Nice Girl"

I'm a nice girl. I don't mean that in the "I'm the kind of girl you bring home to mom" way (although I am that too, if there are any takers out there). I mean it literally.. I am nice. All the time. To everyone. I can probably count on one hand the amount of times I've been mean to someone who deserved it or for no reason at all. I'm not trying to toot my own horn here, or anything, I mean it's not something I'm generally proud of, ask anybody. I once, in an inebriated stupor at trivia grabbed the ear of an opposing teammate and rambled on for what could have been hours about how much I hated being the nice girl because, as the saying goes (at least in my head) nice girls finish last, always, no exceptions. Sure being nice has gotten me a lot of good things- a job, a roommate (love you Lindsey!), a dog that likes me most of the time, but you know what it hasn't gotten me? A millionaire husband who supports my ridiculous shopping habits, a great parking spot at any store, anything at a Black Friday sale, and free shots at any bar ever. You may think I'm being a little dramatic (I am) but I miss out on things too often because I'm too nice to push my way to the top. Especially when competing with other girls for a boyfriend (or the aforementioned free shots), I usually feel like everyone else in the world has a fast pass to the Buzz Lightyear ride at Disney and I'm stuck in the back of the regular line with the drooling toddlers and elderly folks who won't even realize how awesome the ride is! (It's literally my favorite ride)

I get a little disheartened sometimes because even with the encouragement of my best gal pals, I rarely can muster the not-niceness I should have in a justified situation. Exhibit A- After a heartbreaking, soul crushing breakup in which I was not at fault, yet had the dirty job of sorting out belongings and in the end finalizing the demise of our relationship,I could not be mean. Sure, I could talk a big game, yell a bit, but really? I couldn't be mean. I, much like Mother Theresa, just cannot do it. I don't believe in it. Even after some skeletons came out of the closet, the worst revenge I could muster was to gather up the last of his things (that had been left behind somehow) and shove them into a giant ziplock bag (the really really big ones) and banish them to my bathtub without telling anyone I had them. Yes, you read that right, any other ex would have burned those comic books in a dramatic display of anger and cleansing but not me.. I chose to lug them in and out of my bathtub every morning for the next 35 days until Lindsey finally told me she thought I had a problem and needed to dispose of them. Obviously I agreed and very angrily I picked up that bag, threw it in my car, and....... Gave it to my Dad, because I couldn't even throw the collection of knick knacks and paperbacks in the dumpster. THAT'S how nice I am. And I'm not proud of it.

I often say that if I'm nice long enough karma will pay me back one day, kind of like the story of the tortoise and the hare. I'm the tortoise, ever polite and nice, never smack talking, and not nice people are the hare. The hare skips along, all fast and leggy with good genes bound to win the race when here I come along, slow and round, saying "excuse me" to each blade of grass I ever so slowly creep by. The hare gets a lot of perks in the present, a promotion at work, a free Gatorade after each mile of the race, a close spot at the mall... But the tortoise has to wait a bit. While the hare gets all cocky and takes a nap at the Ritz, the tortoise wins the race, because ultimately rewards along the way or not, karma makes the hare's alarm not go off, and you can't beat good karma.

Today, karma paid me back in a small and insignificant way. I ventured out to do some work today despite having an awful head cold and a cough that says "two packs a day" and on my way home I decided to stop for some lunch. I walked into Subway and got into line, but being sick (and ever so nice) I decided to keep a little distance between myself and the other customers so as not to spread my germs. It wasn't a lot of space, maybe an extra 6 inches, just enough that I could cough without feeling rude. So I'm standing there when this lanky guy with a bag of chips steps up next to me, thinking he was just resting his arm on the trash can beside me,I didn't bother to assert my spot in line, I mean.. He's a guy, I'm a girl.. The polite thing is to let me go first, ESPECIALLY since I was already standing in line! No, this unchivalrous fellow decides to cut me off first chance he gets and squeeze himself into line. Are you kidding me? If I had a stronger voice, I might have said something, but alas I'm quite horse and weak sounding at the moment..and again, most likely too nice anyways, so I didn't. I huffed and puffed in my mind, stewing over it as he ordered his stupid tuna fish sandwich, making an elaborate story in my head as to why he could have possibly needed his sandwich 10 seconds before I needed mine. (i.e. His wife is in labor and demanding a tuna sandwich or he cannot see the birth of his first son. I know, these are the stories that go through my brain, I cannot make this stuff up.) Anyways, he's a little gruff to the Subway girl, who I'm practically best friends with because I am always at Subway, which irritates me. So when I get to her I try to be really cheerful, despite my smoker's voice which probably makes me sound like her bearded Aunt Lucy, and she seems to appreciate my efforts because when she accidentally picks up the large drink cup instead of the medium she smiles and waves her hand dismissively saying, "Eh, take the large, no extra charge!"

Thank youuuu, Karma.

It really is the little things in life for this nice girl.

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