I overheard someone talking about me this weekend. Obviously, that person didn’t know I was listening. If she DID know, I guess she didn’t care. But I am fairly certain she did not realize I was within earshot.<\/p>\n
I am not sure if I feel bad for eavesdropping. On one hand, it is troubling to hear someone talk badly about you. And who wants to feel guilty about listening in on someone else’s conversation? But on the other hand, it is good to know how someone truly feels about you.<\/p>\n
We all have to pretend, to a certain extent. We all have to deal with people we do not particularly care for or enjoy. But we pretend. We play the game. We do it because we know that sometimes it is easier to act the part then be honest. Sometimes it is necessary; people at work, family members, a friend’s husband\/boyfriend, children, old people…the list goes on and on. The effort it requires to be completely forthright is too much. Maybe we want to avoid hurting someone’s feelings. Maybe the benefit of being nice to the person far outweighs the cost of telling her off. Maybe we are just manipulative jerks. Simple cost-benefit analysis stuff here. But the end result is the same: not a single one of us can be 100% honest about another person 100% of the time.<\/p>\n
The disturbing thing about what I overheard is that it came from a person that I believed genuinely respected me. I think it tripped me up so much because I was wrong, because I made a mistake, because I greatly misjudged someone. I am okay about it now, though. I bounce back pretty well. I am glad I heard what I heard. I feel empowered by it.<\/p>\n
Actually, you know, now that I think about it, this entire weekend was a nice eye-opener for me. I gained a better perspective all around about those who respect me and those who just go through the motions…<\/p>\n
We had our company holiday party on Friday night. I work at a small office, just 6 people. You would think that a small office would not have such drama, such tension, such politics. But it does! I think it might even be worse at times than the shit that goes on in a bigger company. And when you give people who work together in close quarters a bunch of alcohol, people who are all very different and don’t really like one another that much, then things are bound to go sour.<\/p>\n
To be fair, nothing went horribly awry, but as I sat looking at everyone, watching them talk and eat and drink, I finally understood my place, I saw how THEY all see me. Everyone I work with grew up with certain advantages that I did not. They all come from families in the upper-middle class and higher. They all have a good bit of money and they all consider themselves “high culture.”<\/p>\n
They look at me as a lesser person. A flaky girl from the west coast, someone with “mental issues.” Low class, no money, a MEXICAN for chrissakes. What could a Mexican possibly know about the finer things in life? I don’t wear makeup or dress fancy or act girly and frou-frou. I drive a shitty car. I don’t play by their stupid rules. I am a drippy hippie who doesn’t eat meat (which isn’t true, because I eat tuna!), the weird one, short and frumpy and bitter. I have liberal views and I am a feminist and I have no intention of getting married and having kids and settling down, just because that is what everyone else does.<\/p>\n
I am carrying on a little here but my point is that no one at work respects me. Because of all those things and more. The posturing and the placating they did a few months ago when I was ready to quit was just that, nothing more, nothing sincere. I did not get the respect I demanded, just a pretty cake with sugary sweet icing and a hollow core. It is not in my nature to remain still for great lengths of time. What I have known for quite time was simply confirmed on Friday night. Time for Christa to move on.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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