You Don’t Have to be Nice to Everyone

A secret party is happening somewhere across town. Well, secret from youanyway. Organized by people you don’t like that much. Sorry, you’re not invited. You’re mean. And this is your punishment.

Still, you find it kinda funny. The idea that people you don’t care about would go out of their way to conceal a party — one where, at best, you would’ve stopped by for a few minutes. Ironically, to be nice…

So, they did you a favor?

They taught you a valuable lesson. You don’t have to stop by parties for a few minutes, just to be nice. Not if you don’t want to. Not if you’ve got somewhere else to be. Something else to do.

Mean is an interesting label to give someone. It can imply almost anything. Sure, some of humanity truly earn the title. By bullying everyone. By always acting solely in their own interest — no matter the consequences for others. By constantly lying, cheating, and stealing.

Then there’s the other kind of mean people. The ones sculpted by the world’s genuine cruelty. The ones who stop letting everyone take advantage of them. The ones who don’t humor small talk if they’re busy. The ones who say what they’re actually thinking —maybe with a mild filter. The ones who hold others accountable, and appreciate poetic justice.

For your candor, you’re called cynical. Jaded. Pessimistic. Usually by the ones claiming to be upbeat and positive. If they’re so happy, then you wonder why they’re so agitated by your resting bitch face. The people who like you have no problem with your personality. The ones who don’t? They call you mean, and plan secret parties. Shrug. Let them.

How mean are you, exactly? Well…one time this girl in your program broke down sobbing in the cubicles.

Some guy had ghosted her after three dates. You didn’t offer comfort or a hot beverage. Just packed up your stuff and left. When she asked where you were going you said, “Somewhere else.”

Wow, you bitch.

How dare you go home, slide on your noise canceling headphones, and work away until your seminar papers were done. You were supposed to follow the other girl back to her apartment and hand her tissues all weekend.

You even ignored her texts inviting everyone over for wine. The old you wouldn’t have done that. She would’ve bought the sad girl drinks three nights in a row. Even if it killed her credit card. Would’ve listened to her life story. Would’ve made another temporary best friend.

And then there’s the cookout where you mention your atheism. What? Everyone else was talking about their faith between bites of grilled pig flesh. You thought it was cool. It sooo wasn’t.

Someone said your apartment felt chilly. And you didn’t adjust the temperature. You cruel, cruel person. Because of you, they had to keep their hoodie on for the whole movie you rented for them.

Finally, you sent some emails where you underlined important information for emphasis. So condescending of you.

Stories like these spread. People judge you for being too…something. And this is a crime. Nice people don’t make you think about things. They don’t abandon other girls sobbing in cubicles. And they don’t value their own comfort. Only the mean ones do that.

Once upon a time, you might’ve been nice. A friend from high school even admitted that she couldn’t stand you at first. You were so damn positive and encouraging all the time. You gave little pep talks to people who were feeling down. Gah. Who does that?

You were a loyal girlfriend. Always putting the relationship first. Even when your professors called you an underachiever.

This one time your fiance’s car gets towed, and he called you for help. So you did just that. Drove his ass to the city garage. Even paid for everything. Because he didn’t have the money right now. Promised to have his parents pay you back later. But they never did.

You were so nice about the whole thing. Bringing up the two hundred bucks he owes you? His last girlfriend did stuff like that. What a bitch. But not you. You’re nice. You never stand up for yourself.

Your fiance gets into a car accident later that year. Calls you. The one he depends on. You love being the dependable one.

So you drop everything again, this time to meet him at the hospital. He’s not injured. Not even a bruise. But you drive him around for the rest of the week. Yeah, while his parents get the car fixed.

You’re so nice. But nah, he can’t give you a ride to the airport a month later. Long term parking doesn’t cost that much. You know that. You just liked the idea of having a fiance drive you to the airport.

You silly romantic.

When he dumps you, it’s because you’re not giving enough of yourself. Breaking up renovates your life. Wow, you have time to get your work done now. The freedom feels intense. Not something you’re all too eager to sacrifice again. Not even when a loose friend starts sobbing because some guy ghosted her after a few dates.

You’ve met a lot of nice people who do terrible stuff on the sly. Some of the friendliest college teachers you know don’t ever do any grading. They show videos to their students on Fridays.

You find out what’s going on. Then they try to play on your sympathies. Please don’t report them. They’re having a rough time. Their girlfriend moved out, and now they have to cook their own meals.

Be nice. Cut them a little slack.

Remember all those conversations you had with them about Derrida and Heidegger? They’re so smart. So witty.

Funny how some of us define the words nice and mean. They focus on the skin, not the substance. They think acting nice entitles them to your soul. Your patience. Your bedroom. Your forgiveness. Your second and third chances. And if you don’t give them all that, you’re mean.

Someone out there will always dislike you. Becoming the person you’re meant to be requires you to be a little mean. Espresso doesn’t apologize to anyone for its bitter taste. Neither does bourbon, and neither should you.

Not everyone thinks you’re mean, of course. Just the predators. The ones who wanted to prey on your grace. They’re very disappointed. They thought you were going to let them get away with all kinds of shit. They’ll call you mean as a last ditch effort. When that fails, they’ll plan their secret parties and hope you feel excluded. Pity them. But just a little.