In the locker room
March 16, 2010The other day, at the Y, a lady got mad at me.
Her locker was directly next to mine, and she had her stuff kind of laid out all over, because she was doing her post-shower change. I live a few blocks away, so I never change in the locker room; I just take my stuff and get the hell out, because it’s hot and stuffy in there. I had no problem with this lady arranging her clothing and moisturizers wherever she needed to. Anyway, all I said was, “Excuse me.” In my mind, I was saying, “I’m just going to grab my stuff and get out of your way, because after all I’m not changing but you are, haha! So no need to move, pardon me, I’m running away now.” So I was trying to be quick, so I could get out of her way. But while I was grabbing my stuff she was huffing and sighing and whmmmphing. I couldn’t figure how why she was so mad, so I sort of assumed she was an angry person and I shouldn’t even address it. I took my coat and moved to the next aisle to get my stuff in order.
But as soon as I walked away she immediately started bitching about me to another woman, about how I hadn’t giving her a chance to move her stuff, how I was in such a rush and how impatient I was, how people are so thoughtless nowadays, no one thinks, no one cares, grumble grumble grumble. I was going to let it go and just leave, but I didn’t, I walked back and asked her what I’d done, because I didn’t see it. She immediately softened—as people often do when they’re forced to look into the faces of the people they’ve labeled as the enemy—and she explained her perspective, and we actually had a nice chat, and all was forgiven, and it was fine.
Except I felt bad. And I still feel bad about it. Not because of her, she turned out to be a genuinely sweet person who was having a crummy day, but it startled me, as it always does, how quick people are to assume the worst of each other.
It sort of astounded me that someone would read me as being insensitive—ME! The most Sensitive Person Alive!—but then I realized that people don’t know me, they project whatever the hell they want, just as I do to them, and I probably encountered the other most Sensitive Person Alive that day, but I was just as willing to pretend she was an old meanie who wanted to spread her unhappiness across the land. And it upset me to think that I could ruin someone’s day by just saying “Excuse me,” and how often had I blown past someone or accidentally bumped into them, and did that make them feel bad? I realize I’m taking on quite a bit of responsibility for everyone's feelings, but it’s true, those things can have an effect on you, those little jabs and bumps that are part of living in the city.
I’ve been feeling ever since like I should wear a shirt that reads, “CONTENTS ARE FRAGILE,” and actually that we should all wear that shirt, so that we can all remember to be kind to each other, because life can be so hard, and we’re only here for a little while.
If you’re a parenting blogger or avid blog-reader, you probably read the New York Times piece on “Bloggy Boot Camp,” and read the responses to it. I won’t add to them yet, but I did write a letter to the Times, and if it doesn’t get published, I’ll put it up here. If anyone questions whether there’s really that much hostility to moms and moms who blog, they should read the comments in the Motherlode blog at the Times. Or don’t read them. There is so much anger and derision directed at mothers, it’s truly staggering. We’re all narcissistic and neglectful and our children are awful. But how do they conclude all these things without actually reading a single blog, because after all they wouldn’t read us because we’re so disgusting?
Yesterday I received a bunch of emails from people who had seen my latest Redbook column on the MSN homepage. I didn’t know it was there, so I visited the site, where I made the mistake of reading the comments. And I learned that apparently I am the reason civilization is going down the toilet, and my child will grow up to be a serial killer. Ah.
You know, in both of these cases the comments themselves don’t bother me—I happen to know nothing they’re saying is in the least bit accurate—but it’s so sad to me that people fail to realize that they’re attacking actual human beings. Human beings whose lives they couldn’t begin to know. Or maybe they do realize that, and they don’t care, they feel so bad about themselves they want to make other people feel just as terrible. I’m not sure which is worse. I don’t think it’s my job to figure it out.
I was rooting around for comfort this morning, and I came upon a poem by Mary Oliver, one of my favorites of all time, so I thought I’d share. This is especially for Kate, beautiful Kate, one of the kindest people out there, who just lost her grandmother.
Dogfish
Some kind of relaxed and beautiful thing
kept flickering in with the tide
and looking around.
Black as a fisherman's boot,
with a white belly.
If you asked for a picture I would have to draw a smile
under the perfectly round eyes and above the chin,
which was rough
as a thousand sharpened nails.
And you know
what a smile means,
don't you?
*
I wanted the past to go away, I wanted
to leave it, like another country; I wanted
my life to close, and open
like a hinge, like a wing, like the part of the song
where it falls
down over the rocks: an explosion, a discovery;
I wanted
to hurry into the work of my life; I wanted to know,
whoever I was, I was
alive
for a little while.
*
It was evening, and no longer summer.
Three small fish, I don't know what they were,
huddled in the highest ripples
as it came swimming in again, effortless, the whole body
one gesture, one black sleeve
that could fit easily around
the bodies of three small fish.
*
Also I wanted
to be able to love. And we all know
how that one goes,
don't we?
Slowly
*
the dogfish tore open the soft basins of water.
*
You don't want to hear the story
of my life, and anyway
I don't want to tell it, I want to listen
to the enormous waterfalls of the sun.
And anyway it's the same old story - - -
a few people just trying,
one way or another,
to survive.
Mostly, I want to be kind.
And nobody, of course, is kind,
or mean,
for a simple reason.
And nobody gets out of it, having to
swim through the fires to stay in
this world.
*
And look! look! look! I think those little fish
better wake up and dash themselves away
from the hopeless future that is
bulging toward them.
*
And probably,
if they don't waste time
looking for an easier world,
they can do it.
Reader Comments (103)
But I must say, I'm not a mom. That part of my life has stalled and I'm counting the days until some man will decide his sperm is worthy of me and I can pop out a baby. Or even the day when I can go to the baby store and pick out a cute one. My point is that I love you mommy bloggers. I love hearing your stories and getting a taste of mom life. You guys are awesome for doing the one thing I can't yet: parent. And so for that, I'm giving you a huge, virtual HUG!
Ultimately, personal attacks are reflective of issues that the attacker has. It's hard to keep that in mind when you're just trying to go about and live your days, but it's the only thing that I can find comfort in and make some sense out of when faced with crazies.
-Christine
I am so sorry that this has hurt you, and although the ignorant people of this world will probably unfortunately always be ignorant, you must take solace in knowing your loyal soldiers are here to help fight the good fight.
Hold your head up Alice, those people are morons.
It is just as your locker room episode suggests - casual interactions can be misunderstood, but when the people involved take the time to discuss it, the problems are dealt with.
I too don't understand why people are so hateful. It takes so much energy to be mad at everyone. It is easier, I know, than trying to understand others or to see things from the other perspective but that still doesn't explain to me why they would rather hate people than like them.
And Alice, JD Salinger had this to say on the matter:
“Among other things, you'll find that you're not the first person who was ever confused and frightened and even sickened by human behaviour. You're by no means alone on that score, you'll be excited and stimulated to know. Many, many men have been just as troubled morally and spiritually as you are right now. Happily, some of them kept records of their troubles. You'll learn from them—if you want to. Just as some day, if you have something to offer, someone will learn something from you. It's a beautiful reciprocal arrangement. And it isn't education. It's history. It's poetry."
Oh, and there is this little bit too:
“Mothers are all slightly insane.”
Always keep in mind you are putting history and poetry out into the universe.
Reminds me of this from Vonnegut: "Hello, babies. Welcome to Earth. It's hot in the summer and cold in the winter. It's round and wet and crowded. At the outside, babies, you've got about a hundred years here. There's only one rule that I know of, babies—God damn it, you've got to be kind."
It also reminds me of Ingrid Michaelson's song Breakable: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tgTClaTwQwM
Yesterday I broke a wine glass at work. I was stretching over some wine glasses to put it away, and it connected with the neck of a sturdy wine bottle and shattered. I wasn't scared, just surprised. It was as if the wine glass had shouted at me, or jumped out of my hands. I was disturbed to see the potential power and violence in what, for me, was just a movement of my arm. It was like my arm was a car, and all the glasses I'd been putting away were people that hadn't gotten hit by cars yet.
And when I looked around, I saw all the moving objects that people were negotiating and avoiding, so effortlessly, and for a second I was able to really see how complicated everything was, and how many consequences there were.
Alice, ever since last week when I received a certain less than courteous comment on a column I wrote, I've been trying to describe the feelings you describe so eloquently above.
Some people can be so damn mean it boggles my mind. And knowing that their comments are false or misguided doesn't stop the sting. Love the t-shirt idea; may have to have one custom made.
1) I was thinking about this quote (Plato) this morning: "Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle." Boy is it hard not to judge sometimes.
2) Such a gorgeous poem. I heart Mary Oliver's poetry.
3) I'm not saying anything new here, but I really do think the anonymity of internet communication can fuel meanness, what with the lack of accountability and all. :(
okay, 4) Keep fighting the good fight, Alice! Thank you for this post.
I've read that piece and a response to it about the bloggy boot camp. Some times I think that I couldn't have anything to say on this. I'm not a mom. But I do blog. No, it's not my job. But that's why I have so much respect and awe for those woman who do use their writing to help support their families. The thing is, to me, it just seems mean to belittle and snarky. And really that's just the lazy way. Some times (OK, probably most of the time) it's harder to smile and say the "right" thing, but you feel better for it.
I grew up with a mother who has a special gift for insulting and upsetting most everyone she comes into contact with. Thanks to her I have a thick old skin. But I'm still shocked by all the nastiness people direct towards each other, especially towards mothers. As a mother of six I have had people tell me to my face how irresponsible I am for having so many kids. But I have actually had more people stop and tell me how great it is to see such a beautiful big family. I happen to think that what I am doing is super wonderful, so I only choose to listen to the nice comments.
Maybe you should move to Texas. People here are so sweet and kind. I hardly ever get yelled at by strangers.
As for that woman at the gym, I've been in that nearly exact scenario, and good for you for feeling bad. Typically, I want to ask her if she knows how insensitive she's being by spreading her crap everywhere, oblivious to the rest of the lockers.
Well said, Plato, well said.I do try to remember that as I live my life.
All hail mommybloggers!
I just wanted to say that I was on the opposite side of your scenario in the gym the other day, except I wasn't at all spread out, the woman in question was not going but coming and said "Do you mind?" instead of "Excuse me", which seems ever so much more rude, and the locker she was going for was in fact empty with plenty of other empty options in uncrowded sections that were NOT right above my chosen corner locker as I was leaving. I didn't complain to a neighbor though, nor did I say anything to the woman, but here I am weeks later still thinking about that. It's less about staying offended and more that I Don't Get It. It's admirable that you stopped and said something.
That poem was marvelous. Thank you so much for sharing it.
I just don't understand.
Sometimes I still think about her, how she probably told the story of asshole New Yorkers and their sense of entitlement but it was really just a fly and she'll never know.
But you know, that's not the same thing at all as saying awful things anonymously on the Internet. It's the fact that it's not possible to confront those people face to face--the way you did the lady in the locker room--that contributes to their behavior.