There are many sad and awkward souls who just never “broke the code” of social relationships. They observe the easy conversational interplay and intricate weaving of shared meals, jokes, and other experiences of people like ornithologists watch some brightly-colored and graceful species. But however long they study, and however assiduously they try, they cannot join in. They know this, but cannot see why it should be thus, and so they keep trying as long as they have courage and strength enough. Few have enough for long; to keep it up into adulthood usually requires desperation and need as supplemental fuel. The frustrating thing is that they can remember, when they were small and not so different from everybody else, that they had friends once – real ones, who really liked them – but as they grew, and their differences became more pronounced or more obvious, they had fewer. Fewer every year, and more and more people who shunned, mocked or tormented them for no apparent reason. By high school, perhaps, they had just one or two, and (to tell the truth) it was really less of a peer group than a mutual defence pact. This is when, if they finally get some physical size and strength, they might pick up the habit of trumpeting some about it: if everyone knows you can be dangerous, maybe no one has to get hurt.
But they still get hurt a lot, and they pick up some verbal defences to use against the ones who, paradoxically, hurt them the most by running away. “Fucking cowards” about sums it up. Not fair, of course, but fairness left the party years ago, if she ever showed up at all.
People who must deal with these subhuman monsters have a choice. We could just be nice to them anyway, in spite of their failings, but that would completely subvert the point that we just don’t like them, and we’re too moral and honest for that, unless, you know, it’s the boss or someone who might do us a favor. Or we could shun them, focus on their social ineptitude to the point where everything they do is wrong and even sending a thank-you note becomes improper, take the good things they luck into for ourselves if we think we deserve them more, and as unworthy as they are of being spoken to, talk about them as much as possible. Behind their backs, certainly, but not with so much care that they don’t know about it. With any luck, they’ll move on, having learned from us a valuable lesson in how to act toward others. And then, in the spring, we can have the company prom, and only the cool kids will come, and it will be just and good and perfect, the way things should be.