I am a helper. I see someone in need, I want to help them out.
Even if I don’t like them.
Even if they don’t like me.
It may be some sort of complex, but if I have it in me to assist someone in any way, I want to do that.
Just to read what I have said thus far sounds kind of braggy. I swear I don’t mean it that way. Lots of times I’ve not thought before I offered to help someone and it’s turned out terribly. Like, “Sure you can borrow my refrigerator/rocking chair/video camera, I don’t mind at all!”
Except then it takes effort to make the swap or the donation. Pickup and delivery and interacting with human beings who aren’t accustomed to my baby-powdered hair and yoga pants (baby powder is what I put in my hair when I don’t have time to wash/rinse it, and
often always I go overboard. So if you ever see me with a white powdery scalp it means I tried to give a shit and it just didn’t work out). And then I resent myself and the other person for the whole time.
So over the years I have learned not to be quite so generous when I offer help, unless fully prepared to do what needs to be done.
Last week, my coworker Mandy needed some help.
Mandy is one of the coolest bitches in the world and we have a blast working together. We’re a lot alike and we do pretty well. So of course when Mandy needed help I wanted to help her.
Here is the situation:
Mandy doesn’t like bugs. I don’t either, for that matter, but I can usually handle the smashing and otherwise dispelling of undesirable creatures. So when Mandy came in after lunch one afternoon talking about the terrible bug that was in her car at that very moment, I thought why not help her out. How bad can it be?
Turns out, pretty bad.
I shit you not. This creature inside the car was half horsefly, half dragonfly, half bee, half possessed little girl from The Exorcist.
Seriously, it had her eyes.
I see this thing and suddenly all my resolve drains away. I was armed with an orange flyswatter and nothing else, and jesushellmoses I was pretty sure this Jumanji bee creature would take one look at my wimpy ass arm and attach itself for dear life just because it could.
Not to be swayed, though, I proceeded to poke and swat at the increasingly-angered insect. I’m not sure what my plan was exactly, just to rake him out of the window so he could get away, maybe to get lucky and get a well-timed strike in? Not likely.
So there we were, two shrieking women in the middle of the sidewalk, me inexplicably jabbing in the car door with a flyswatter while Mandy coached from the other side of the windshield – “There it is! He’s over here! He’s mad Emily, oh he’s mad.”
Of course a passerby was going to take pity on us. A passerby who was covered in tattoos (he even had one of those spiderweb elbow things) and weighed at the most 100 pounds soaking wet stopped to see what our problem was. He then handed me his presumably new license plate, took the flyswatter, and killed the skulldemon hell bug.
For real. Just like that. Bip, bop, dead.
He then took his license plate, acknowledged our thanks, and went on about his way – which turned out to be three cars down where he proceeded to slimjim his way into a vehicle we could only presume was his.
He got the benefit of the doubt.