Manipulation

I was just remembering that time at the end of 2010 when this fairly prominent blogger emailed me to propose that we manufacture a rivalry of sorts. I say "of sorts", because we had no rivalry whatsoever. We barely interacted, and, when we did, it was largely pleasant.

People do that. It's weird. Well, it's not actually weird, because people have manipulated social groups since time immemorial to squeeze something out of it for themselves, but it's weird to me.

I have nothing important to say on the matter, I don't feel bad about that exchange. It just occurred to me this afternoon that some of you might be having fake relationships right now in order to get in with the right people or garner some measure of internet attention for yourselves.

I try not to think about it too much, because things can start to feel very Truman Show-y, and paranoia isn't sexy. Con artists, though, fascinate me.

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Another time, I think I must have been in grade five, this girl in my class who was more popular than me said "Hey, let's pretend we're best friends at recess." "Sure," I said, because why say no? She had this floaty, soft hair that bunched up in her collar, and she smelled like cherries.

At recess, we played tetherball, which I normally never got to do, because the hockey players and the pretty girls always dominated the tarmac. She showed me a temporary tattoo she'd gotten out of a Cap'n Crunch cereal box. She had this delicate line along the top side of her wrist where the baby fat had receded.

I said as little as possible and did what she said. I had no idea what the protocol was in this sort of situation. We had fifteen minutes to be best friends, and I had no idea how to read her. I wanted it to pass without incident.

Near the end of recess, she pulled me over to stand by a fence and went to the trouble of arranging me so that I faced a particular way.

"Now, you say something," she said, "And then I'll laugh like it's really funny."

"What should I say?" I asked.

"Anything. It doesn't matter. Look like you're having fun."

"What if it is funny?"

"It doesn't matter," she said. I could tell that she was irritated with me. "I'll just laugh, anyway." And then she tossed her fluffy hair around and laughed this really loud stage laugh that I found embarrassing.

It was then that I noticed her usual best friend staring at me over the popular girl's shoulder down the length of chain link fence.

While it was clear that I was being used in a bid to manipulate her friend's emotions, I wasn't hurt by it. The whole thing was a short-term social adventure for me, and it was a relief to be able to see the end of this thing rushing in. I felt bad for the other girl, though, the usual best friend. She stood there squinting against the sunlight with a slack mouth, looking displaced.

The sunlight was suddenly more harsh, and the tips of the usual best friend's blonde lashes flashed out from the dark shadows of her eyes.

I instinctively shrugged my shoulders with my palms face up, not wanting to be blamed for my part in this social slight. This, of course, blew the game, and the popular girl shook her head at me. Her mouth held this subtle sneer that probably worked to great effect on other kids, but to me it signalled a glad dismissal.

She never spoke to me again over the remaining seven years that we attended school together. I was happy to be free of her. That short fifteen minutes as her fake best friend had exhausted me.

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I find neither situation alluring — the former was looking to manufacture entertainment for what amounts to her job, and the latter was just being shallow and manipulative to entertain herself — but I could watch the players in question for years. It all just seems like so much work to plot scenarios that have to be acted out meaninglessly just to get a reaction, and I kind of have to hand it to them. That shit takes serious commitment.

Don't Let The Personal Confession Bit Scare You

Yesterday, C, an old, old friend of mine from twenty-one years ago, showed up at my work, browsing through merchandise. I had forgotten that I had run into her a couple of years before in this slough of bureaucracy that I have now joined, so her sudden appearance struck me with anxiety. C and I became friends when I moved to this province in grade three. We were inseparable. We walked to school together, had sleepovers, spent every recess with each other, and she was even my first kiss. Then, in grade five, and third girl joined us. E had recently moved to the city, and we quickly became a trio, but this was not to last long. Both C and E began vying for my time alone away from the other, which created mounting tensions until one day, C and I came to school to find that no one would speak a word to us. E had used her influence to effectively have C and I shunned. For the first two weeks of the shunning, C and I clung to each other and spent hours talking it over, trying to figure out why this was happening and what E had told everyone to convince them of this course of action. It was terrible, but we at least had each other. Then, (and I’m sure you know what came next), I came to school one morning to find that I had been utterly abandoned. C had joined with E and the others and would speak not one word to me. Now I had no one, and the terrible silence perpetrated by my classroom continued for the rest of my grade five year. A couple of weeks after C had left me, she approached me in the library to apologize, saying that she had to do it, or she would still be like I was, friendless. Cold comfort. I became suicidal, I kept to myself, and I stayed away from those who tried to get closer to me. It was one of the worst times of my life. At the end of the school year, C moved to another part of the city and went to a new school for grade six, so I only saw her once after that. My parents and I were driving somewhere, and I looked out the window at one point to see C helping to wash a car. She was wearing the yellow, flowered sundress that I envied. I remember that car ride like emotional memory flashbacks in movies where everything is soundless and in slow motion. At that moment, I knew that even though I had moved on and made new friends, I missed her. And I understood what she had done. Anyway, back to seeing her at my work..... It was so unexpected, there she was, and I didn’t know if she recognized me at all, but I think she did, so I went all dorky and tried to keep my eyes averted, as though my not seeing her would aid in her not seeing me, and I tried to keep myself on the other side of this large post, and even though I was on cash and couldn’t really avoid being seen too well, I managed to duck away just when she and her friend went up to buy something so that the other cashier would deal with it. All the while, I was trying to appear to be behaving normally and not at all schizoid. Why, you ask, would I go to such lengths after all these years? Because even though I forgave her and moved on, I would rather not have to ever confront any remnants of that reality in my present life. But she works in the same building! I must deal with this. Next time, I’ll try maturity.

On to less personal-confessiony type things..... What is a “drop-kick murphy”? Does anyone know? I overheard it in a conversation at a bar yesterday, so it could be a drink..... Oh, skip it. I can’t believe I've never heard of them. They’re a band that’s been around for years. Check them out. They’re apparently quite good.

Grade Five Facts and Links:
* The Grade Five Syndrome.
* I used to love the school supply list. They were always printed on coloured paper for some reason, and the sight of this list would bring a rush of smells from my memory – fresh erasers, white glue, paper, and the ink from those erasable pens that were so popular back in 1982/83.
* My favourite elementary school names from Google searches: Little Tor, Strangel, Enchanted Lake, University, Lady of the Assumption, Avocado, Army Trail, Battleground, Richneck, Prettyboy, Fishkill, and my personal favourite, Hellgate.