I'm a nice person. I really am. I am kind and generous and generally well-behaved.
So if this is what you believe about me, I need you to stop reading. Truly. Just stop. You may not like me after this.
I dedicated a large portion of my life and attention to a specific organization. I trusted with all my heart that it was filled with wonderful people who believed in their own mission. I loved showing up, for long stretches of time, and seeing the changes in our clientele from year to year. I adored my staff -- even some of those who didn't make great choices -- because their heart was truly and totally devoted to it. Many had grown up in that organization, both literally and figuratively. I was honored -- privileged -- to work alongside people who ate, slept, and lived that organization. And when I say this, please note that I am not exaggerating even the tiniest bit. They gave (and a few continue to give) every last ounce of love and dedication to that place.
You'll notice that this post is in the past tense. The past. Not the present, and most certainly not the future. Because you see, that organization that I believed so strongly in wasn't very honest with one of my dearest friends. They weren't very responsible with the information they shared or the half-truths they told. They weren't very respectful of her or me or so many of my darling staff, and the way that they shut all of them out certainly wasn't very caring. Fail. Fail. Fail. Fail.
Way to live what you love, jerks.
And that was their choice. I'm a big believer in choices. Make it. Live with it. Move on.
But it's hard to move on. There are so many precious memories associated with that job. There are so many beautiful experiences I had with the people I worked with so closely. I recognize the fact that the actions and choices made by a big, faceless organization do not always reflect the feelings of some of the worker bees within it -- a worker bee's gotta work after all -- but it's pretty damn hard to separate the two. And a couple of those worker bees didn't give a buzz about what was happening.
Fine. They made their choice. Live it. Move on.
I made mine, too, and I was okay with that. I'd made my peace with it. I hadn't heard a peep from any of those people for 10 months, and truthfully, that was fine by me. It didn't shock me in the least that the very next cut was me. Expected and acceptable.
What isn't fine by me, though?
Tonight, when after 10 months of ignoring me, you call me FOR A DONATION.
You call me, for my hard-earned money -- money I did not earn from you because apparently everything I did for your organization was JUST NOT GOOD ENOUGH.
You call me, asking for help, when you didn't have the DECENCY OR COURTESY to even say thank you for all the times I did help you for absolutely nothing in return.
You call me, expecting me to be honest and caring and respectful and responsible, when you so obviously were not. And then you start calling all of MY FRIENDS? Newsflash: they didn't give TO you. They gave FOR me. And maybe they're more decent than I am and will continue to give.
Call 'em. It just might work.
(By the way, is it hard to walk around with balls that IMPOSSIBLY HUGE? Because you've got a gigantic pair to keep my donation card in that stack.)
You call me, hoping that I'd forgive and forget, I'm sure. BECAUSE I HAVE PROVEN TO BE A REALLY NICE PERSON IN THE PAST.
Well, that was the past. Not the present. Certainly not the future.
Here's how I wanted to answer the phone:
You have obviously called the wrong house. I AM a nice person, but I'm no doormat. Yes, I was very -- brutally -- honest in my displeasure at your inept handling of the situation, but I kept that as private as I could, trying hard to maintain a professional and polite attitude in public. And I WAS willing to forgive until you turned your back on kids who had dedicated their entire lives to you, not even allowing them a courtesy call. I will continue to care about all of those kids I helped raise, and I will continue to give responsibly to organizations that appreciate what little money or time I can give. But I'm done being respectful.
Maybe I'm being petty. Maybe I'm the one being a jerk right now. Maybe I am letting my pride and anger get the best of me. But if I give you my money -- no matter how noble the cause may be -- I am also telling you that how you treat people -- how you treated MY people -- is okay by me. And, frankly, it's just not. Maybe I'll get my karmic comeuppance, but hopefully so will you.
By the way, is it hard to walk around with balls that IMPOSSIBLY HUGE? Because you've got a gigantic pair of watermelon balls to keep my donation card in that stack.
I got a great many gifts in my time with your organization. Certainly more than I ever expected. And the best thing about them? They don't call me when they need my money. They call me when they just need me.
But I didn't. I didn't even answer the phone. I'm glad too, because you know who they gave my card to? Some new little worker bee who doesn't know any better and probably couldn't give two shits as long as he gets his $1.27 per hour and his cafeteria dinner. I've seen what those kids get to do, and the last thing he needs is my indignation. He'll have enough of his own sooner than he thinks.
And I had a great day today, and nothing is going to ruin it.
Silver lining: I was at least a little bit kind though. My cat threw up on the donation letter sent to me from the last organization to screw over a friend of mine. I folded it up, put it in an envelope, and sent it right back.
Consider yourselves lucky that I just chose not to take your call tonight. It's hard to send cat puke over the phone line.