99 problems

Years ago, I used to design promotional posters for a local DJ who put on a monthly dance party. I did these posters for him for many years. There was another DJ who worked with him at these parties and one day, she decided to branch out on her own. Her solo effort was an amiable split with the main DJ. As a matter of fact, he recommended that she contact me to do the promo poster for her very first event. She did so and we agreed on a very very fair price. (This event was over fifteen years ago and the price we settled on was fifty dollars. That price was offered as a favor for a friend and far below what I would normally charge for such a project.) I sent the finished piece to her and sat back and awaited payment. Payment never arrived. The date of the event came and went and still no payment. I contacted her via email which was my only form of contact for her. I received no reply. I began to email her more frequently and still no replies. After months and months of no replies and no payments, I gave up. Almost a year after the event, I received a reply. A very short, indignant reply. She said that the event was not as successful as she had hoped and she had no money. I countered, expressing my sympathies about the poor reception of her event, but reminding her that we did have a business agreement. I did do the work and I did supply her with a product as promised. I received no further emails from her. A few months after this futile exchange, I saw her name pop up in an internet chat room of a local radio station. I identified myself to her and, once again, asked about payment for my work. She replied that she had no money after buying  Christmas gifts for her friends. Then she promptly left the chat room.

No money after buying Christmas gifts? What? What about priorities? What about obligations and responsibilities? 

Some time ago, I arrived home from work to find my wife in tears. She explained that she just came from the bank. She was discussing a situation with a bank officer with whom we had recently secured a line of credit. In the course of the conversation, it was revealed that he — the bank representative — had supplied us with incorrect information regarding some aspect of the agreement. Instead of admitting his error and apologizing, he berated my wife — insisting that she should have read the details more carefully. Then he lied — lied — saying that he told us the correct policy from the very beginning. I was furious. No one should ever leave a bank in tears — with the exception of being a victim in a robbery. Otherwise, "banking" and "crying" are mutually exclusive. I got back in my car and drove over to the bank. I asked for the bank officer and confronted him over his reasoning for making my wife cry. He hemmed and hawed and stammered and shuffled... until he finally spat out, "Well, my father just died!" I told him I was sorry to hear that, but perhaps he returned to work too soon and he still needed time to grieve without taking his "five steps" out on his customers. (As an epilogue to this incident, I called the corporate office of the bank and explained what had transpired. The bank officer in question was no longer seen at the bank after that.)

Yesterday, I arrived home to find a car parked directly across my driveway, completely blocking access. There was a woman sitting in the passenger's seat, but no driver. I tapped my horn. The woman looked at me. I gestured towards my driveway. She shrugged her shoulders. I tapped my horn again, but this time, I lowered my window and yelled for her to move the car. Instead, she got out of her car and called up to someone standing on my next-door neighbor's porch. "This guy wants you to move the car. He says it's blocking his driveway." The woman on the porch called back: "Oh, I'll be there in a minute." and she made no attempt to make a move towards her car. In the meantime, a car was stopped behind me and another was stopped behind the blocking car, unable to maneuver past. I lowered my passenger window and screamed: "MOVE YOUR CAR!" The woman on the porch slowly — s  l  o  w  l  y — sauntered down the front steps and headed toward my car. She stopped just in front of my car and wagged her finger at me. "Sir!," she began condescendingly, "there is a person in this house who needs assistance in getting around. There is no need to be rude." I was fuming! I pointed to her car. "But blocking my driveway isn't rude?," I hollered. She turned on her heels and walked to her car, got in and even more  s    l    o    w    l    y  turned her vehicle around and sped away. When I got inside my house, my neighbor had send a text to my wife that read: "Please apologize to Josh. He seemed pretty annoyed."

For the past twenty-five or so years, my next-door neighbor — or someone living in or visiting her house — has blocked my driveway no less that seventy billion times. And I have complained each and every one of those times. One would think that, after all those years, she would say to a visitor or resident of her home, "Oh don't block my asshole neighbor's driveway. He's a jerk and he gets mad when someone blocks his driveway, even if they have a perfectly good reason to do so." Nope. She has never done that. Instead, she just continues to block my driveway.

The common thread in these three incidents (and many others like them) is the excuse. An excuse for rude and inconsiderate behavior is always rendered with words that make the offender's problem a valid, inarguable reason for bad behavior. It is as though their problem or issue is so important — so undeniably crucial — that it negates any other situation. Any one of your trivial, insignificant dilemmas are meaningless when compared to their earth-shattering, life-threatening, monumental concern. 

The DJ for whom I designed the poster — she was not aware of my financial situation. She didn't consider that I needed that fifty bucks to pay a bill or purchase medication. She didn't think that I make my living as an artist and this was how I meet my financial responsibilities.

The guy at the bank — I am sorry that his father died. My father died. So did my mother. And my grandmothers (the one I like and the one I didn't like). So did my best friend from high school. So did a lot of people. People die. But the death of his father doesn't necessarily affect the lives of everyone. And a personal tragedy has no place and no bearing on the day-to-day function of a bank and its services. 

That woman blocking my driveway — how does she know what may be going on in my house? Did she consider that I may be delivering important medicine for someone inside? Did it cross her mind that a long lost relative could be waiting to see me after many, many decades of little to no contact? Did she think that perhaps I was answering a desperate call from an elderly inhabitant of my house that had fallen and was in need of my immediate help?

When did we become a society of self-centered, self-righteous, inconsiderate, arrogant, narcissistic egotists? 

Sure, I can come off as an angry, complaining curmudgeon. Well, now you know why.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com