Mind Your Effing Manners

Us Canadians are notorious for our good manners. We say 'please' even when cussing you out. This happens to be one of those stereotypes that actually rings true and something I never realized until I travelled beyond the frozen tundra of my home and native land. Did you catch my cheekiness with the 'frozen tundra' comment? I mean, I live on the West Coast and it snows three times a year here, mostly only in January. I think it might surprise most of the world how mild the weather is here. That being said, I feel sorry for those suckers on the East Coast, poor sods.

I didn't come to talk about snowflakes and frosty noses, though. We are discussing human decency, or what others call manners.

Whenever I travel, be it overseas or simply beyond the border, I am pegged as a Canadian straight away. It isn't because I say out and about funny, either. It's because I often say 'please' and 'thank you', sometimes in excess, and this draws attention. A lot of it.

But why?

To be honest, I have no freakin' clue! It boggles my mind that people are surprised by a bit off gratefulness. I can only surmise the rest of the world is ruder than Canada, maybe due to lack of space? All this extra room and lush fresh mountain air has messed with our heads. Or maybe it's the way we are raised. Perhaps people in other countries are raised to believe waitresses, bus drivers, postal workers and garbage men are paid to do a job and they don't need thanks in return, maybe their wage is supped to be thank you enough. It's not, though. Not really. Even when it is someone's job to serve and help, they still deserve appreciation.

When someone does something for me, I thank them, regardless of who it is or what they are doing. If it's a friend, coworker, a waitress, or the grocery clerk, I ask with kindness and follow with respect. Those are the emotions behind good manners. Everyone is deserving of a little gratitude and it takes no extra time for me to tack a 'thank you' onto an interaction.

My mother taught me to mind my manners. She drilled it into me since I first learned to speak to always say 'please' and 'thank you', to chew with my mouth closed, not interrupt others when speaking, and keep my elbows off the table. I was taught to be kind. To not take anything for granted - not the sunshine, rain, the girl bringing me a water at a restaurant, or the man who waves me to go first at a four way stop. It worries me that as the generations pass, good manners are falling to wayside. In this day and age, we could use a little more graciousness, for without it our civilizations will grow less civil and our days more unpleasant.

Yes, I say thank you and please. I apologize for my actions, the actions of others, and anything I deem worthy of an 'I'm sorry'. Canadians are known for being 'nice' but I think that's better than having a reputation of being mean or rude.

So, I will continue to mind my manners. Not because I am Canadian and it's in my blood, but because I understand how hard it is to exist on this planet at times. I know how important it is to feel appreciated. And I think a little kindness goes a long way.

Tattoos Hurt - FYI

For some reason, whenever you get a tattoo, people feel the need to ask if it hurts. Just so everyone is on the same page about this form of art. Yes, tattoos hurt. Quite a bit, in fact. It isn't always the same pain all the way through, though. It's varying degrees of ouch. Oh, and some areas hurt more than others.

Pain is a tricky creature.

In the tattooing world, it is known that the top of the foot and the neck hurt the most. Since I have both of my feet done, I will have to get a neck tattoo to tell you which one hurts more. Right now, though, I have to say the wrist hurts more, especially if you are doing more than a stupid line drawing.

Today, my Sidekick tattooed a beautiful cover-up on me. It took about three hours and thirty-seven of those minutes were this needling, burning, terrible pain I was certain I wasn't going to live through. I tried to not whine or writhe, but there were these tender spots I seriously regretted having done. Most of the other minutes were uncomfortable, but bearable. And about twenty-four of those minutes I was in very little pain. Regardless, the whole time there was hurting going on. 

Some people deal with pain better than others. Some people love pain. Thrive off it. Enjoy it. I am not one of those creature. That being said, I have a fairly high threshold for pain and just because I sat for three hours, doesn't mean someone else can. To be honest, I mostly did it to prove my Sidekick wrong. And also, I like finishing what is started on the spot, so there is no need to go back to it in the future. 

While I am sad to say goodbye to my adorable line bunny, I am happy to say hello to my new, bigger, more badass bunny. And also, I love my cabbage. So, I am very happy. Now I have come down from my adrenaline high and need to go to bed. Goodnight. 

Pat Yourself On The Back

Good work ethics were instilled in me at a very young age. I blame my parents for my intense need to go above and beyond. I say blame because sometimes being a hard worker can be a bad thing. It's sometimes annoying how things have to look a certain way. Be done quickly and right. To look pretty and draw attention. Good attention. Not bad. I always have put my best foot forward, and that's exhausting.

Let me tell you, when you work for big companies, life is hard. They don't see the little minions sloughing through the mess to ensure things get done. They don't see how hard you are working. How much you try. The overtime you work. The breaks you skip. And it is all for naught because at the end of the day, you are expendable. Replaceable. Just a number on an employee file.  

That always hurt a little. 

I wanted to be irreplaceable. Unfortunately, the older I get, the more I come to terms with the fact that irreplaceability (which isn't a word) in a work environment is a myth, like unicorns and gargoyles. Unless, perhaps, you are working for yourself, then maybe you can't be replaced. If, like most of us, you aren't your own boss, you can be replaced. That's just the honest truth, horrible as it is. If you move along of your own accord, or are forced to leave - someone will fill your shoes. 

Hey, don't get me wrong. They might not wear those shoes in the same way. They might not have your same drive and desire to do a good job, but that often doesn't come into play in the big picture. Your perfectionist ways mean nothing if you butt heads with a manager, CEO or whoever else is at the top of your employment pyramid. So often it seems as though personal relationships are the driving force behind so many business decisions. That always made me so disenchanted. Not because my personality sucks, though there are areas in need of improvement, but because I am opinionated, I have questions, and often find myself playing Devil's advocate. 

And yes, I know these are not character traits managers look for in an employee. 

Still, it's ingrained in me to work hard. I am always willing to take on more and rise to a challenge. The only problem with being a diligent worker bee is that you are sometimes left feeling unappreciated, taken advantage of. This is only exacerbated by the passage of time, that cruel bitch.When a certain amount of time passes, be that days, months or years sometimes your determination to do a good job is taken for granted. As if everyone wakes up with the goal to make their employer's life easier. Is that weird? That I wake up hoping to make everyone else's day move along more smoothly? Probably, but that's just the way I am. 

It's a terribly distressing thing for resentment to build. I don't like contemplating doing less work simply because I am not being thanked. And I hate hearing that nagging question in the back of my head, the horrible seed of self-doubt that demands to know why I even try. I do what I can to put a kibosh to that. Because I know why I try, because I care. It's who I am as a person. And I am grateful for that. 

Maybe that's the point. Maybe me knowing I'm doing a good job is enough. All these years, all the hard work, maybe it has paid off, despite being laid off for no reason. My heart knows what my intentions are. Maybe all the missed thank yous and lost jobs and write ups and one-on-one meetings don't matter. Perhaps I only need to pat myself on the back more often. We don't need anyone else to tell us we are the best thing since sliced bread. Not if we are telling ourselves that. 

Simply put, I like doing a good job. And that's what I strive for each day. Hopefully that doesn't change as I head into my twilight years. Actually, I have no idea what twilight years actually are.  

Help?!

Why do I have such a problem asking for help?

My knee-jerk reaction would be to say it is because I've been let down in the past. That I have asked for help and not received any. Or not received the right kind of help. Half-hearted help. Forced, I-don't-really-want-to-be-doing-this help. Help that comes with begging or the expectation that you have to do something in return.

This might be the case...you know, if I ever asked for help. If the words actually left my lips. But they haven't. I simply don't ask. Sometimes it is offered without me asking, which is ideal, but even then...it's just as hard for me to accept it. Asking and accepting. Two things I apparently don't do very well.

Except, this all runs deeper than the fear of being disappointed and knowing it's easier to just struggle through alone.

Some might blame this on a strange little thing called my independent womanhood. You see, I was raised to do things for myself. And it pays to take care of yourself. My fierce need to be independent is ingrained in me. It's hard to shake. Asking for help threatens that, doesn't it? No, of course it doesn't! Still, I'm determined to be self-sufficient. I don't need anyone to take care of me. Well, not right now...

But what happens when I need help for reals? When I do need to be taken care of? When I'm sick? In pain? Lost? Broken? Will I just suffer in silence? Or wait until someone offers, only to tell them to piss off, while secretly hoping they will insist further?

Last night, stretched out in bed, I realized it's more than my desire to be independent. I'm not all that worried about losing it. I've been playing this game alone for so long that it will always be my natural settling point. And, just between us, I want to be taken care of. I want to have someone else tend to my needs, to have a person to rely on. I don't necessarily want to be alone, a team of one, flying solo. It's easy for me offer up support and help, but to take it? That's where I balk. Screech to a halt. Grind to a stop. Get the cold sweats.

Weird, right?

I mean, if it isn't fear of disappointment or losing my independent womanhood, what could it possibly be?

Simply put, I don't want to be an inconvenience. The idea of someone having to stop what they are doing or take time out of their day to help me actually causes me physical discomfort. As strange as it may sound, I don't want to be a burden. I don't want them to be annoyed about it, like I'm ruining their plans. I don't want someone helping me when they really don't want to, when they have better things to do. Just the act of someone picking me up closes my throat and makes me want to burrow into a hole and hide myself with leaves and twigs.  Especially if it is dark, and rainy, and only one headlight works. All I can think about is how not worth the trouble I am.

I loathe causing other people angst, annoyance, strife, worry, sadness or a disruption.

Okay, at the end of the day, all three of these things contribute to my anxieties over asking for help. My independent womanhood, the fear of being disappointed and not wanting to be an inconvenienced all exacerbate my already ridiculous inability to vocalize my wants and needs. So, what can I do?
How the heck should I know? I write the posts, I don't solve my problems. Sometimes it's unawesome to be so self aware. I guess all I can do is work through it.

Here and now, I vow to ask for help today. Well, maybe not today, but tomorrow for sure. And if not tomorrow...Friday. For sure. And the next time someone offers help, I'm going to take it. Even if it is for something silly.

Lately, it's become very clear that I'm difficult...and human.