Pleasant

The other day, one of the ladies with whom I work stopped by my desk one her through the front office and said, “I just wanted to let you know that I love talking to you. You’re always so pleasant.”

I smiled my most pleasant smile and told her that she’s lovely to talk with too.

Yeah.

My family might disagree with the level of my pleasantness.

Hell, those who know me well would probably disagree.

One day earlier in that same week a woman came to the front window at work. I greeted her pleasantly.

She took a moment to compose herself and then explained extensively her job search. She has four kids. The youngest is four years old. She needs a first shift, Monday through Friday job. She can’t find child care. She is alone with her four kids. Life is very hard.

Wait.

That sounded sarcastic. It wasn’t mean to. I feel for this woman. I was quite pleasant to her, saying all the right things to try and ease her mind about the potential for a job with our company.

I told Alyssa once after a couple of interactions with drive-thru employees at our local Wendy’s that my face reads, “Talk to me, I care.”

I also told her that my face lies.

I mean, okay. Sure. I care. To an extent but dude, I was just ordering a couple of Frosties that day. I didn’t need to know each person’s life story or that their manager was an ass (though, I’m thinking if two people are that pissy while dealing with the public, the manager might just be an ass.)

There are days, though, after I’ve been every so pleasant to the nine hundredth person that I think to myself, “It’s just as well they never see the hate that’s in your head.” ©Les Miseràbles English lyrics Herbert Kretzmer.

Not that I hate anyone in particular. It’s just a general feeling of annoyance with the entire world.

Yeah. How’s that for pleasant?