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Tuesday, April 20, 2004 · posted at 11:53 PM

Ban altruism. On my way out of the office today, I happened to pass the pregnant woman who has the office next to me waddling up to the elevator, arms full of stuff. Automatically, I asked her if she needed a hand (my parents raised me well), but not really expecting or wanting to help her out (...but not that well). To my shock and dismay she replied, “Why actually yes.”

See, I’m the type of person who doesn’t really ask for help, especially from strangers (I usually only ask favors from people who I know love me or who have little tolerance for my inevitable whining), so I expect that’s how other people feel as well. It’s the whole “everybody boards the banshee train of thought” idea. Usually I feel like if a person wants help (and I mean this in the “can you hold the elevator” kind of way not the “I’m acting out as a cry for help” way), they will ask for it, and by not asking for it, they forgo any expectation for a helping hand. A sad, little world I live in... I blame society. I’m extremely passive, but I know that I won’t be spoon-fed all my life, and if I don’t get what I want because I am not a “take initiative, be active” person... hey, I brought it upon myself.

Long story short, on your average day, I probably would not stop to make small talk with a co-worker, much less go a step further and volunteer myself to a menial task that one does not find arduous enough to cross the “ask for help” threshold... but hey, she’s pregnant and she did give everyone on the floor jam for Christmas (I’m not totally without heart… just mostly).

My co-worker, let’s call her Phoebe, is dragging a rolling suitcase... which I automatically reach for, as it’s the bulkier item. I outstretch my hand... and Phoebe puts clothes and hangers into it. And then… she hands me shoes... NewBalance... grimy, sweaty, athletic shoes. And no, not by the laces. She puts the shoes in my hands, “Do you mind?” Do I mind? Do I mind?! I don’t even like touching my own shoes... and you want me to hold your shoes… by the sweat-soaked part? Lady, you have got to be kidding me – I don’t even know your last name... I don’t think you even know my first one! But what do you do? I can’t really just “hot potato” them. In life you have one second to react to situation... after that little buffer, it’s over. Five second comeback? Not gonna fly. Laugh a little late? Extremely perceptible. Get a person’s nasty-ass gym shoes shoved in your hands? If you don’t come up with a non-offensive excuse (Carpal tunnel? Fungus allergies? I don’t know!) in a second... it’s over and there’s no turning back. So there I am, holding onto the damn shoes, fingers burning more than if I stuck them in holy water, in an elevator making small talk about the woes of pregnancy when Phoebe mentions that she’s on her way to a birthing class - I’m holding birthing clothes!

Words cannot express the absolute horror from the overall situation. There is nothing so sweet as the sound of an elevator dinging your arrival. And whoever invented Clorox wipes (which I keep in my car) needs to be thoroughly commended.

Lesson to be learned? Keep your mouth shut. Protective asocial bubble at all times. And never, ever volunteer yourself for anything. Selfish Bastards: 1; Good Samaritans: -10



	Tuesday, April 20, 2004 · posted at 11:53 PM Ban altruism. On my way out of the office today, I happened to pass the pregnant woman who has the office next to me waddling up to the elevator, arms full of stuff. Automatically, I asked her if she needed a hand (my parents raised me well), but not really expecting or wanting to help her out (...but not that well). To my shock and dismay she replied, “Why actually yes.” See, I’m the type of person who doesn’t really ask for help, especially from strangers (I usually only ask favors from people who I know love me or who have little tolerance for my inevitable whining), so I expect that’s how other people feel as well. It’s the whole “everybody boards the banshee train of thought” idea. Usually I feel like if a person wants help (and I mean this in the “can you hold the elevator” kind of way not the “I’m acting out as a cry for help” way), they will ask for it, and by not asking for it, they forgo any expectation for a helping hand. A sad, little world I live in... I blame society. I’m extremely passive, but I know that I won’t be spoon-fed all my life, and if I don’t get what I want because I am not a “take initiative, be active” person... hey, I brought it upon myself. Long story short, on your average day, I probably would not stop to make small talk with a co-worker, much less go a step further and volunteer myself to a menial task that one does not find arduous enough to cross the “ask for help” threshold... but hey, she’s pregnant and she did give everyone on the floor jam for Christmas (I’m not totally without heart… just mostly). My co-worker, let’s call her Phoebe, is dragging a rolling suitcase... which I automatically reach for, as it’s the bulkier item. I outstretch my hand... and Phoebe puts clothes and hangers into it. And then… she hands me shoes... NewBalance... grimy, sweaty, athletic shoes. And no, not by the laces. She puts the shoes in my hands, “Do you mind?” Do I mind? Do I mind?! I don’t even like touching my own shoes... and you want me to hold your shoes… by the sweat-soaked part? Lady, you have got to be kidding me – I don’t even know your last name... I don’t think you even know my first one! But what do you do? I can’t really just “hot potato” them. In life you have one second to react to situation... after that little buffer, it’s over. Five second comeback? Not gonna fly. Laugh a little late? Extremely perceptible. Get a person’s nasty-ass gym shoes shoved in your hands? If you don’t come up with a non-offensive excuse (Carpal tunnel? Fungus allergies? I don’t know!) in a second... it’s over and there’s no turning back. So there I am, holding onto the damn shoes, fingers burning more than if I stuck them in holy water, in an elevator making small talk about the woes of pregnancy when Phoebe mentions that she’s on her way to a birthing class - I’m holding birthing clothes! Words cannot express the absolute horror from the overall situation. There is nothing so sweet as the sound of an elevator dinging your arrival. And whoever invented Clorox wipes (which I keep in my car) needs to be thoroughly commended. Lesson to be learned? Keep your mouth shut. Protective asocial bubble at all times. And never, ever volunteer yourself for anything. Selfish Bastards: 1; Good Samaritans: -10	Recent Posts On animals, men, and evolution. “and nowhere in t... I’ll stop the world and melt for you. I went home ... Workers Against Milking Mothers (WAMM) I’m all for... Clash of the titans. Batman versus Spiderman… who... The wave stops here. On Thursday I got to see the... Ramblings inspired by Rolling Stone magazine #944.... Welcome to five years ago. Categorization is grea... Public spaces as a dumping ground. I vehemently o... In typical banshee fashion, I spaced on my origina... I just finished my online traffic school (www.traf... Morning news babie goose ryan bluemouse daves son dawntaught desiree diorama emily escadawg galveric high entropy invisible cube jepgato kyellow lilly mhuang mogbert nudream starfish + coffee verbivore Archives March 2004 April 2004 May 2004 June 2004 July 2004 August 2004 September 2004 October 2004 November 2004 December 2004 January 2005 February 2005 March 2005 April 2005 May 2005 June 2005 July 2005 August 2005 September 2005 October 2005 November 2005 December 2005 January 2006 February 2006 March 2006 April 2006 May 2006 June 2006 July 2006 August 2006 September 2006 October 2006 November 2006 January 2007 March 2007 April 2007 November 2008

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