There are days when I find myself thinking that people just don’t like me, and I don’t know why. For example, the other day I went to donate blood. That’s an admirable thing to do, right? Well get this – when I asked the nurse how much blood I should donate, she said “All of it.” I was so offended I considered rolling up my anger-management workbook and smacking her with it. But I didn’t, because I know I’m a good person.
The nurse said something about my not having any clothes on. Like somehow the blood inside a nudist is inferior to that from other people. Who knew nurses could be so judgmental?
But this isn’t some one-time thing. It happens more than I’d like to admit. A week after the blood drive I was standing in line at Starbucks. I saw my life-coach sitting in a booth with another woman. So I got a coffee and slipped quietly into the booth behind them. And I heard my coach say “Jesus, working with this Sullivan guy has convinced me that I need to be doing something else. You’re a life-coach, what should I do next?”
And then there was the time I parked next to a guy with one of those Harvard University stickers on his car. We exited our vehicles at the same time and I said “Man, this is really nice for a used car.” And when the guy said “Why do you think I bought it used?” I pointed to the sticker.
The guy got mad and I have no idea why. I don’t know what’s wrong with all these people. But it doesn’t matter, because I know that I’m a good person. Hell, we all are.