To my bloodsucking female friend,
So, tonight you needed to borrow five dollars to mail off an application. Okay, fine. This wouldn’t be a problem if you actually had a fucking bank account and didn’t live off of the credit card that your mother loads up with a few bucks every couple of weeks, which you apparently believe is there for blowing on pizza and wings, but I digress. The point is, I agreed to loan you five dollars. Okay. I’m busy tonight (or I should be), so I met you in the lobby of my building to hand you a five-dollar bill. You took it, and then explained that your mother had told you that the machines at the post office might not take cash, and it would suck for you to walk alll the way down there and find out that the cash didn’t work. So… in as many words, could you borrow my card?
Like any sane person, I said “Umm, no.”
Now, this is where, on your side of the conversation, a sane person would have realized that it is best not to inquire as to the reasons why such a loan is not forthcoming (although I am given to wonder if a sane person would have made such a request) and dropped the matter. But no, you had to press the issue. “Don’t you see what I’m sayin?,” you asked. “I don’t want to walk all the way down to the post office and not be able to send this.” Yes, OF COURSE I understand that. It’s not my problem that you waited until the last minute to send this. It’s not my problem that you can’t understand why a sane person would have a bank account available from which to withdraw money at need.
“Don’t you trust me?” you asked next. “It’s not like I’m going to steal money out of your account or anything.” I explained that this wasn’t the issue. You could lose the card. Maybe someone would waylay you and take it. I don’t know. “But I would bring it right back! It would only be like ten minutes!” Um, not the point!
It went back and forth like this until, frustrated, you exclaimed that, well, it sounded like I had no trust for you at all, and if you were going to cop an attitude about it, fine. Hell with you.
Stunned, I informed you that you had best leave, and went back up the stairs to my room. Here’s what I should have said to you there in the stairwell. Wish I hadn’t saved it for the SDMB:
How dare you? How dare you question my desire to take the steps that I deem necessary to protect my finances? Further, how dare you accuse me of copping an attitude about trusting you with my bank card which, lest we be unclear, is the key to the entirety of my (quite limited) liquid assets? I am doing a nice thing for you. Your application and the fee to send it are not my problem. I am under no obligation to loan you a red cent, let alone the fucking key to my fortune. And how dare you make me into the bad guy, when you were the one who presumed to ask for my card and personal PIN, and then further presumed to insist when I said no!
I suppose that I shouldn’t be surprised. You have a problem, and suddenly it is my problem too. I am expected to put myself out on a limb to help you resolve issues in which I have no interest, no knowledge, or no desire to help you with. Forgive me the cliche, but you have been sucking me dry with your constant demands on my time and even my money. You are so lost in your little world of philosophical transcendence and international human rights that you haven’t got the loosest grasp on the realities of life in this local little slice of space and time. You have not the least conception of the enormity of your selfishness and short-sightedness, of the impact of your negative actions and bad decisions upon your life and the life of others (the good things you do with AI, on the other hand, are saving the entire world!). You completely fail to understand and appreciate how much other people do to keep you immersed in your little dream world of enlightened academia, and you continue to make demands of them long after you’ve exhausted any degree of reason that you may have been able to cling to. Well, fuck you. I’m done with this. You can keep digging your ditches, but I won’t be digging you out anymore. I can only hope that someday, you’ll realize that you’re in over your head and have only yourself to rely on to get out. I’m not sure that anything less will give you the reality check that you need.
I think it’s strange that, as much as I give to you, I can’t give you what you need the most. It’s ironic, isn’t it? But you can give me something, and that something would be a little bit of respect, a little bit of consideration, and maybe a little bit of regard for my desire for privacy, financial and otherwise. But friendship is a two-way cliche, and it’s one that I’m tired of walking by myself. I think I’ll look for cameraderie elsewhere, thank you.
And no, you can’t have five bucks from me ever again. Ever.