Unwanted and forgotten
17 January 2008
One of the most difficult things we can do in this life is
to tell someone that we do not want to associate with them
any more. Of course, most of us don't actually bother to
tell the person in question. We just slink away one day and
never come back. Days drift into weeks. Text and phone
messages are left unanswered. E-mails are guiltily ignored,
despite being left in our inbox for several weeks in the
vain hope of pretending to ourselves that we aren't so
capable of duplicity after all.
And there is the rub. We know that we don't want to see
them again. It has been obvious for some time. Perhaps they
aren't even that close, and we suspect, or hope, that they
feel the same. Can't they see that you aren't laughing at
their jokes? That you aren't really listening, and always
fall on other people's conversation with an almost vulgar
enthusiasm as soon as the opportunity arises? You have made
enough hints, surely.
But, no. They just don't get it. How stupid they must be
not to even realise that you are humiliating them. They
aren't even worthy of your contempt. They should be
grateful that you are secretly planning to dump them as
soon as it becomes convenient, as soon as you feel that it
won't damage your other, more valued, friendships.
Perhaps you could tell them. Perhaps it would make them
happier in the long run if you explained why they bore you
and exactly why you don't feel comfortable in their
presence.
They might get angry. Or cry. Frankly, neither is
desirable. So you disappear, ducking the issue altogether.
There could be another way, however.
I once knew someone who didn't want to go to the rehearsal
of a play she was in because she fancied a day off. She
rang up the director and told him that she had broken her
leg and would be out for a few days, at least until she had
learned to use her crutches.
What can you do? Nothing. He expressed his sympathies and
told her to look after herself until she could make it in
to rehearsals again. The next day, she turned up fit and
well and with a smile on her face. After all, she had
enjoyed a rather relaxing day off.
The director was somewhat puzzled and asked her about the
broken leg. – What broken leg? – But you rang me up
yesterday and said you couldn't come in to rehearsals
because you had broken your leg. You said you would be gone
for a days. – Are you mad?
By this time, the director was too embarrassed and confused
to carry on. Everyone heard him say the day before that she
had broken her leg, but it seemed so distant and far-off.
And she was adamant that she hadn't telephoned. Maybe it
was all just a dream.
The strange thing is that it didn't harm her prospects. It
just made people more wary of her, although they also
admired her, in an odd way. Of course, I am not saying that
it is an approach that could be used in all situations, but
it is worth considering.