Don't Be Nice

Let me explain. It’s a regular day. I get up, get ready for work, and shuffle my children out the door to drop them off at school and make my way to the office. I roll through the Tim’s drive-thru and get a coffee and a breakfast wrap. The regular lady, the one my neighbour calls ‘high tits’ because of her impossibly perky boob job, tells me to have a good day. Smiling, I wish her a good day back. Swallowing said wrap whole as I’m driving, I then smoke my workaday nerves away until I reach the office.

Arriving early, I put my coat and lunch bag away and leave my cubicle for a morning round of the expansive building. The front desk girls look busy, but they look up from their voicemails and emails to greet me. Smiling, I ask them how they are. Circling back, I stop to chat with the old guy who stutters. Then I see the boss lad and call “Good morning!”, such a keener. Stopping next at her desk, I chat briefly with my direct manager about her weekend. The blind lady that I work with comes in and I wish her a good morning as well.

Rounding back to my cubicle, I settle in for the day. Most everyone walks by my desk on their way to theirs, so I exchange morning pleasantries with them when I catch their eye. Booting up my computer, squaring my notebook up in front of me and setting my phone into its usual spot, I exhale, relaxing into orderliness. Routine grounds me. I accept the chaos of this world with open arms because it gives me the opportunity to organize and reorganize. Without chaos, there would be no order. I am keenly aware that I too am both at once.

Soon after we open, I have clients come to see me. They are a nice elderly couple. Then later, a middle-aged dude insures his new Harley. Monday morning and there’s a good quantity of complicated tasks that come through. I continually refocus on the emails between clients. Late morning and finally my inbox cleaned up, I head to the staff kitchen to get my water bottle that I forgot in my lunch bag. I haven’t taken a sip of water yet but I’m still buzzing from my extra-large French vanilla.

I see Jenn at her desk, she’s a gem. She followed me here after working together at our previous employer. We’ve been through it together. Seriously, even our periods are synced up. Leaning on her cubicle doorway, if you can call it that, I ask her how her weekend was. As I grin at her, that Howdy Doody grin as my mom would call it, she leans across her paper-strewn desk and whispers, “Leah, you have multiple chunks of green shit in your teeth.”

Well, fuck. That’s embarrassing. It’s the lettuce from my breakfast wrap and as I start fishing it out it’s worse than I thought. It’s an entire goddamn salad in my pearly whites and I don’t know how I didn’t notice it before. Thanking Jenn for telling me from behind flushed cheeks, I scurry to the bathroom to remove the remaining flora from my cursed crooked teeth.

All I can think about, is the people I talked to that didn’t say a word. They let me smile like a goon with foliage hanging out of my gums like a goddamn horse chomping on grass. There was no missing it. Everyone I talked to saw it. Except for the blind lady, I think to myself, snorting out loud in the empty bathroom. And I’m a smiler. That means I was flashing my checkerboard teeth to every person for the last four hours.

Now here’s the thing. It was probably slightly awkward for Jenn to tell me. Of course, it’s a sliding scale on how well you know the person. You might even feel embarrassed for them, and if you don’t know them well, it’s uncomfortable because you are the inception of their embarrassment. The bearer of bad news carries a heavy load. Not everyone takes it well. I’ve told strangers they have something in their teeth. That the price tag is hanging out of the dress they’re planning to return and, on occasion, that they have toilet paper stuck to their shoe. This awkward generosity is extended with the simple intention of helping them save face later. Other times, I saw people making embarrassing blunders and I just walked on by. In those times, I simply chose not to invest myself in being kind to them, for different selfish reasons. It may not necessarily be ‘nice’ to have to be the bearer of bad news, but it is most certainly kind.

There is a lot of highway between being nice and being kind. Being nice is easy. It’s as simple as asking “How are you?” When what you think is I don’t actually care, ask me about my amazing weekend. It’s, “How’s your family? Your kids are so cute, they look just like you!” When you really think sweet Jesus, their kids are perhaps the ugliest children I’ve ever seen. It’s, “Oh, I love your new hairdo!” When you’re thinking you look like a wire-haired terrier post-electrocution. Playing the part of a nice person, without taking responsibility for or being aware of your deeper intentions, is essentially social manipulation. Niceties are outward actions that don’t accurately reflect a person’s true motives, intentions, and feelings. You’ve been there, finding out someone who has always been so nice to you, truly doesn’t like you at all. Being nice can be used as a mask, however, it’s not to be confused with being polite.

Politeness is essential for the function of society. Manners are used regularly, especially if you’re Canadian like me. We must interact with others on the foundation of politeness, which is basic, mutual respect. It’s not polite to compliment someone if you don’t mean it. As Disney told us in the movie Bambi, if you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all. I think what Walt really meant is if you don’t mean anything truly kind, just keep your goddamn mouth shut, you insincere prick. Politeness with the intention of treating others like you want to be treated; good. Acting nice to manipulate people, hide your true intentions and convince others you’re a ‘nice’ person; bad.

Kindness is completely different. Kindness reflects deeper intention, not just an outward action. Kindness can require hard words and hard actions. With kindness, the motive behind the words or actions is what counts. The people I respect the most in this world are the ones who will tell me that my crazy is showing. You know, the ones who’ll tell you to check yourself, that your hairstyle is straight-up hideous, and that you’ve got an entire salad in your teeth.

Being kind can take sacrifice. It often requires an amount of bravery if it includes truth. That tough love kind of thing. It can be scary and uncomfortable. The person you’re having to extend that hard, real, truthful kindness to, may not always appreciate it. They may get angry with you. It takes a delicate touch. But if your true motives are to help them, and you do it with compassion, then you have done well.

~Leah Marguerite