On Purpose

There is a fellow who lives on our street. He is in his mid-fifties. Since the day I met him, he knew my name and he's always very warm.

He's had some troubles and there has been some speculation as to how he deals with it.

But I don't care about that. What I do notice, is that whenever he sees me on the street, he makes the effort to say, "Hello, -j-j-." It's never with an expectation that I will enter into a conversation, just a quick hello and on his way. Every time I see him, I get a little nervous, persnickety as I am about talking to people I don't know, but our exchanges have always been brief and friendly.

The other day, while snoozing in my own world on the bus, I caught a glimpse of him sitting down a few rows ahead. He saw me as well.

The way my head was turned, I'm sure it looked as though I could see him the whole time. Truth was, I wasn't paying attention at all. But I'm sure it appeared to him that I was gawking at him, unsmiling, unfriendly.

As soon as my brain woke up and pieced together might have happened, I felt ashamed. The whole ride home, and after I got off the bus, I hoped to catch his glance, to smile in his direction, but the opportunity never arose. Had he known me better he could have shrugged it off or I could have explained. I didn't want to hurt his feelings.

This has happened plenty of times in my life, when I have become the accidental asshole, sometimes ignoring someone right next to me. Perhaps, I wasn't paying enough attention. It's not intentional, and as soon as I realize what has transpired, I try to rectify the situation.

Yesterday, someone got the bright idea to intentionally cause pain. It may not have been meant directly for me, but that doesn't matter.

What matters is this: They sat down with the aim and purpose of writing something hurtful. They used my name and tried to make comment on a situation about which they know nothing.
And to make matters worse, this person chose to keep themselves anonymous, relieving themselves of any responsibility.

Look, people hurt people. That's what we do. Christ,we can't help ourselves. I want something. You want something. Fuck you, I want mine more.

I have hurt many people in my life. Most without intention, but the deed was done nonetheless. In other cases, I regret to admit, I have done so on purpose, either in response to a perceived wrong, or my own insecurities.

But I'm still befuddled. Why set yourself to the task of typing a sentence that can have no other purpose but to cause injury? Every component of this points to the intention: to hurt.

The thing is, I'm not really that mad about it. I mean, I am a little, but more so, I am confused. What on earth could have happened in your day to make that sort of thing an appropriate response to ANYTHING.(You may try to shake the devil's hand and say "It was just a joke." I have about as dark a sense of humor as anyone and even I didn't think it was funny.)

I don't mean this to be a screed on "How to get along with the other neanderthals in your tribe" (Though tickets for my seminar are nearly sold out...get 'em while they last!) but c'mon, seriously?