My crime: typing “Thank you! Have a great day!” at the end of my email like I do at the end of every email, because, I don’t know, I have the audacity to have manners (at work, not really in real life).
My punishment: having to read Mr. Grumpy Gus’s retaliatory email about how (because of me) it was impossible for him to “Have a great day!”
To clarify, I didn’t actually do anything that should have precluded Grumpy Gus from having a perfectly lovely day.
I happen to know that I was nothing but pleasant to Mr. Great Day Hater. I know this because I’m always pleasant at work (you know, so they don’t fire me and stuff).
I do not curse. I do not call students, faculty members or even my coworkers “jerkface,” “idiot,” or “turd” no matter how aptly these terms may occasionally apply. I don’t even kick anyone in the shins even though I’m really good at it.
At work, I’m nice. I’m professional. I even have that weird tic some women have where my voice seemingly rises an octave whenever I answer the phone. It’s high. It’s perky. It’s sweet. (It is also probably really annoying).
From 8 a.m. to 5 p.m., Monday through Friday, I nobly restrain myself from indulging in my inborn tendency to say whatever crosses my mind, whenever it crosses my mind.
It takes near superhuman will-power for me to do it, but for 40 hours a week, I am nice, damnit, nice.
And yet, it is not enough: my Herculean efforts to provide prompt, efficient and courteous customer service isn’t enough to keep rude people from being rude.
This is because rude people are stupid people.
Rude people aren’t smart enough to realize that being nice is actually a far, far more intelligent plan than being a jerk.
Rude people are probably like this because they had rude, stupid parents.
I did not.
When I was a kid, my mom always told me “You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.” At the time, I couldn’t figure out why in the world the woman wanted a collection of flies.
Did she actually want to take the flies alive for some purpose I didn’t understand or was she just luring them to a slow, painful death stuck in honey?
I didn’t know. I still don’t know actually. But either way, the point stands–being sweet gets you what you want. Being bitter and gross like vinegar gets you, nada, not even flies.
Mr. Grumpy Gus probably lives a sad, sorry, fly-less existence.
If he treats everyone the same way he treated me, he also probably eats a lot of cheeseburgers with fast food workers’ spit in them.
Serves him right. Also, jokes on him, I didn’t actually want him to “Have a great day!” anyway.
The guy’s a jerk.