April 12, 2010

The Real Life Twilight Zone

Imagine being invited to a dinner/dance where you are supposedly one of the guests of honor. Your meal has been paid for by the sponsoring party and all you have to do is show up. Imagine now, that when you arrive, those in attendance, those who have invited you there, give you dirty looks, ignore you outright (other than the mean glares and looks of disdain), and instead of seating you at an 8-top table like nearly everyone else, they seat you at a small table with two other people who are also there to be "appreciated."

Now imagine this. . . during the 20 minute period where the band takes a break, there is a raffle drawing. When the woman in charge needs to find someone to draw the winning ticket and you happen to be the absolute closest person to her, she turns towards you, only to realize it's you so her face contorts into all kinds of unhappiness and her arms protectively pull the container back into her body as she seemingly bounces off the repelling force field surrounding you and goes to a table behind you to have one of those people draw the winning ticket instead.

This was my life on Saturday night, not an episode of "The Twilight Zone" which is what it felt like. No, this, my friends, was the Officers Appreciation Dance at the country club where I'm an officer on the board. 

It used to bother me that these older individuals didn't like me and that instead of saying "hi" to me, many of them do a little harrumph thing or instead emit a low guttural growl. I'm one of those people who likes people to like me. At least, I used to be anyway.

Now, after months of this type of treatment, I'm used to it and am so callous to it that I actually find it funny.

I can't figure out what's so repulsive about me to many of them. Many it's the fact that the event I planned had over 200 people there and their event had only 39. Maybe it's the fact that I took a rarely used bar and with a team of awesome people and a shoe-string budget, renovated it into a sports bar that is incredible. Maybe it's the fact that, for now, my wrinkle cream appears to be working better than theirs. I'm not quite sure.

What I do know is this. I was raised to treat people with respect whether I like them or not. I sometimes have a problem with this and operate under the premise of "three strikes and you're out," but I try my very best to be civil to people who irritate me. Instead of growling at people, I tend to just ignore them if I'm not a fan; sometimes I "kill them with kindness" instead. I abhor trashy behavior and tend to be one of those people who rise above it all. I think most people who know me well tend to think I have class and that I know how to behave in professional and social situations. 

After spending 80+ years on this planet, one would think that a human could develop some basic manners and social skills. One would think. . . and one would be wrong. The moaners and groaners should know something though. I'm over being bothered by their obvious dislike of me. In fact, I'm over it to the point that it's now what drives me. It drives me to say "hello" with a great big smile every time I see them because I know it physically kills them to even look in my direction. I'm over expecting that they'll eventually like me when they see that what I'm trying to do is for the good of the club, because I've realized that their self-interest has always outweighed their desire to see the business succeed. 

When I was elected to the board, a fellow board member and now friend said something very wise to me. "People either love you or they hate you and there's no money in between." He also told me I'd have to become "bullet proof."

I'm there.

  • Print
  • email
  • RSS
  • Digg
  • del.icio.us
  • Technorati
  • StumbleUpon
  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • LinkedIn

Comments