(This is one of the few posts saved from the old blog. It is dated 2007, and I am re-posting it here, because sometimes we all need a friendly reminder…)
For whatever reason, no matter how hideous people have been to you in the past, no matter whether or not they ripped you off in business or treated you abominably in ways they should be very grateful weren’t captured on film, they always come back.
I don’t get it.
When I am done with someone, I am done. I do not seek them out again.
Eight, ten, or fifteen years later, I am really not interested in pursuing a relationship with someone who was unpleasant company, and frankly, I am very relieved to be rid of them.
However, I have had a few weird experiences with people who simply would Not Go Away. One was with a friend who wanted to be a pro cartoonist.
When I first started self publishing, he asked if I would also publish his work. I was very candid with him. I could barely afford to publish my own work much less anyone else’s, and if I had the resources to properly publish and promote the work of a beginner, then I would also have the financial resources to publish someone who had a much bigger name and reputation and make a better return on my financial investment. Therefore, publishing a beginner was a financial risk I could not take. No, I would not do it.
He had a bad reaction, and several months later, deliberately humiliated me with a nasty public tantrum, among other delights. It was completely unexpected, and completely uncalled for, and designed to cause me maximum pain.
I got over it and moved on. I don’t even think I mentioned it on my blogs before, because frankly, the whole thing rates pretty low on my interesting-life-o-meter.
He did not go away, though.
Years later, I was at a convention during the height of the self publishing boom and my signing line was about two hours long.
Ah, Those were the days!
I looked up, and there he was. He had stood in that long line just so he could brightly declare, “Hi! Great to see you! When’s the next issue coming out?” I looked at him coolly, asked him how he wanted his book signed, and then moved immediately to the next person.
OK, I took a jab. I asked him how to spell his name.
His face fell a bit. What did he expect, a hug?
Well, yeah.
About three months later, I got a letter from him in the mail.
He was very sorry. He had hurt me out of pride. He had always felt bad about it. He was very sad. He had come all the way to Philadelphia just to see me and apologize. Yadda yadda.
I just didn’t buy it. I still don’t buy it.
How odd that this person seemed to think they needed to seek me out to right this wrong in a private letter when their meltdown had been a public event. He had been standing right in front of me in a line before hundreds of people at that convention and had an opportunity to address the matter both there and in the years previous. I guess the public meltdown he had before hundreds of people was one thing, but a public apology before hundreds of people was just too much to bear.
He had not come to me to apologize, because there is no apology when someone fails to make reparations. The hideous whisper campaigns, little slanders, and public meltdowns are always something that makes them feel bad for awhile. How sad for them. Maybe they later even reveal they are suffering from some sort of illness, because that’s always a great excuse that somehow makes other people feel guilty for being mad at you. Besides, it’s so much more modern than claiming the devil made you do it. No, we’re not talking about someone who is genuinely ill from paranoid schizophrenia, we’re talking ontological excuse for character flaw.
I call B.S..
The damage was done and irreparable.
This is on my mind for two reasons: a good buddy of mine, a gay man, had been the subject of a hideous campaign of abuse when he was in school in Australia. My friend told a companion he was gay. The friend, sworn to secrecy, maliciously revealed the secret anyway. The damage was immeasurable. There were bashings, my friend was ostracized, and treated brutally. Moving to another school did not stop the abuse. This poor dude was so badly treated, he thought his life was over.
Twenty years later, he ran into the guy who had hurt him in a shop, and the next thing you know, basher dude is saying he’s sorry, sending a couple of guilt ridden emails to boot.
My Aussie friend and I talked it over. He thought his old buddy felt bad.
I thought his old buddy was full of crap.
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