Mental Measuring Scales: They’re Just Being Polite

So, I am going to tell a story about someone. I am 99.999999999999% sure she has never or will never read my blog. I’m not going to use any names. Still, it’s a pretty specific story. I don’t know if she’d remember the story or not. I know I’ll never forget what happened. It has become a way I mark on a scale how off the charts I am being.

I like scales. Where does this fall from this to that? It helps me get my head around things. The last scale I made up was the “terrifying scale”. I did not like that one, but it was completely necessary to keep me from losing my shit.ย 

Whenever I’m in the shit of an anxiety episode, my brain cracks open and puts all my shitty thoughts in the driver’s seat. My insecurities are the navigator.

I’ll get back to the fucked up story soon. I promise.

Anyway, since insecurity is in charge right now, I’m having a super hard time with compliments. I have had some lovely, affirming and kind things said to me recently.

Externally, I was gracious and didn’t deflect at all. Progress, baby, progress.

Internally? I swatted the compliments aside with ease.

A thought occurred to me. When I swat away compliments, I go for the low hanging fruit.

I don’t even try to come up with a good reason. I just go right to “they’re just being polite.” It’s the Occam’s Razor of deflecting. The easiest reason why someone is complimenting me, is probably the reason. I mean, if we dismiss the possibility that they’re being honest.

So, I came up with a scale for measuring compliments.

Why someone would give me a bullshit compliment, on a scale from “they’re just being polite” to “That person has hated me for years because of something that I did that I didn’t even realize I did. They became a successful writer just to be in the position to encourage me. They will help me get published in a major publication, knowing that I suck and then they would get their revenge by making me a laughing stock in front of the entire planet.”

See? The scale is just exhausting. I’m too lazy. I’m just sticking with the polite thing.

At least, until this anxiety passes and I can allow myself to just appreciate a goddamn compliment.

So, on to the story.

I use a scale I’ve had for about 18 years now. It’s my batshit scale.

Because sometimes, I can be completely batshit. My brain can make up the most ridiculous scenarios and I talk myself down by rating them between “that isn’t likely, but it is somewhat plausible” to “there is a red-headed desk clerk under my hotel room bed.”

Let me explain.

I used to be a consultant and subcontracted for a woman who we will call “Muffy”. Muffy provided an implementation service for ERP software. We traveled together and another employee was always with us. I was never sure about her her role. I know they were good friends, so maybe moral support, maybe they were a couple, I was never sure. I just know this other woman didn’t contribute much work-wise, but she did provide entertainment in the way of bizarre behavior. We shall call her “Ed”.

We were either in Lima, Ohio or Lexington, Kentucky, I can’t remember which. We checked into our hotel and the girl working behind the counter was friendly and got us checked in quickly.

Ed was one of those people who found pleasure in complaining.

We rode the elevator up to our rooms and she went on to say the desk clerk was a phony. No one is that friendly,ย  blah blah blah.

Muffy and Ed shared a mini suite and I had a room down the hall. We stopped in their room first because of unfinished work.

I set up my laptop on the coffee table and Ed started to fret.

Ed: I wonder if she heard those things I said.

Me: Who?

Ed: That phony red headed girl at the front desk.

Me: How would she have heard you? We were on the elevator.

Ed: Don’t be stupid. They have microphones everywhere.

Me:…

Ed: She could be under one of the beds right now, listening to us.

Then, Ed left the room and went into the bedroom.

I looked at Muffy for a moment, then back toward the bedroom.

Me: Is…is she looking under the beds?

Muffy: Yes.

Then, Muffy started looking through her briefcase as if doing normal work things was in order. I got the feeling this behavior was Ed’s normal behavior.

Ed walked back in the room and then looked in the closet.

Ed: Well, she wasn’t under the bed.

Me: I have a question. Well, I have a lot of questions, but this is the big question. We went directly from the front desk, up the elevator, and into this room. How in the fuck could she have gotten in front of us, enter this room, and then, hide under the bed before we got here? She was still behind the desk when we got on the elevator.

Ed: I don’t know. The employee elevator?

Me: The employee elevator that bends time?

She got a little pissed at me because I wouldn’t agree that it was at least possible the red headed desk clerk could have been under one of the beds.

I was used to that, though. She was a little pissed at me a lot. I am pretty sure I got on her nerves most of the time.

That was a weird ass job, you guys.

Anyway, I am pleased that no matter how far I let a train of thought go, I have never, even once, been legitimately afraid that I would find a hotel desk clerk under my bed.

So, I have that going for me.

 

Photo courtesy ofย  Omar Alnahi

 

 

32 Thoughts.

  1. Oh, you keep laughing….until the day you actually FIND the hotel desk clerk under your ned! BWAHAHAHAHA!!!! Honestly though, I love when people act more wack-a-doo than me. It sort of takes the attention away from my craziness and I can experience how it feels to be considered “normal” for a while. ๐Ÿ™‚

  2. Damn Girl… I’m always amazed when you talk about the things you do… that I do… that NOBODY understands… (‘cept all us fun lovin’ Rubber Shoes in Hell lovers ๐Ÿ˜‰ )
    I use Marya Hornbacher’s ‘Madness: A Bipolar Life’ as my best advice for spotting my insanity and measuring my perceived OK-ness…
    She says when she feels the craziest is when she is ACTING the sanest; and when she feels the most normal and in control is when she is actually at the height of the polar.
    So…. anytime I THINK I’m being all powerful and undeniably right, that’s when I step back and MAKE sure other people are actually on board and I’m not being dictatorial.
    On the flip side, when I FEEL nuts, I just carry on… I am being ‘normal’ on the ‘looks on people’s faces’ scale.
    The more I say, “Am I nuts? Or what?” is when people will most assuredly tell me I’m not.
    Go figure.

  3. That story kind of puts things in perspective. I have my own family stories of crazy but they are sometimes too painful to think about so I will keep this one handy!

  4. I once met a guy who worked for the State Department who told me about his trips to what was then the Soviet Union. Since he stayed alone in hotels he assumed the KGB wouldn’t bother bugging his room, so as a joke he started talking to them. Once he said, “This is a nice room but it could use some flowers.”
    When he went out and came back there was a nice bouquet of flowers in his room.
    Of course Ed’s paranoia still seems pretty fucked up and funny, and what was the worst that could happen? The hotel clerk could say to Ed, “You’re right, I’m not really that friendly, and I knew you were an asshole because it takes one to know one. And by the way, we’re going to charge you extra for taking the little bottle of shampoo.”

  5. That sounds like an interesting show on the SciFi channel. The Red Haired Hotel Clerk Under the Bed-Nado. (It should take place in Oklahoma or some other heavy tornado place so it fits the odd ass SciFi channel genre.

    I’m never crazy. Just paranoid. And just because I’m paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t out to get me (small twist on quote).

    I hope you find some way to have some peace soon!

    • OMG I do too. I need it. It’s going to be a while. As long as work is like this, I’m not getting any peace and things won’t die down until the end of the year. It’s overwhelming.

  6. I’ve had crazy people drawn to me like a fucked-up magnet all of my life. It didn’t help that for a long time most of the people I knew were on drugs. Back then, there was a scale, also. Everyone was somewhat crazy, in their own way, but it manifested differently in each one. The stronger personalities were what we came to call “recreational paranoids” and knew what they were doing, even when they were doing crazy shit.
    Jack used to say “The cops are in the cupboard. But you can’t actually look for them there, because then they’ll know.” And once I listened to a well reasoned argument that was completely compelling and utterly fictional about how nuclear radiation couldn’t hurt you if you had the right attitude.
    So at one end of the scale you have potentially toxic flights of fancy run amok, and at the other end you have behavior involving guns or vehicles that is actually immediately dangerous, like Robert when he hadn’t taken his thyroid medicine for several days and somehow got the idea in his head that “It’s too bad he has to die, and it’s even worse that it has to be me who does it…” and took to chasing the dude around the outside of the house with a pistol until the Berkeley Police showed up and said “Mr. Harris, put down the gun and take your medicine, look at your neck, you’re not thinking clearly.”
    Can you imagine the cops anywhere doing that today? Robert is a large, black man.
    But they knew him, and had dealt with him before when he got high and forgot his thyroid medicine, so they didn’t just shoot him dead, they talked to him instead.
    So perhaps that can weight the scale for you a little farther in your favor. You deserve it, and don’t for a minute believe that you don’t. Unless you have to for a minute. But even then, try to remember that the minute will pass, and when it does, you will still be you, and as worthy as ever of praise or compliments for the things you do that make people happy. Which is still an end run around self-worth, but if it works, you might still want to go with it.

    • Oh man..Robert would be dead if that happened these days. I’m glad they didn’t shoot him.

      And you are right..those minutes pass. Sometimes they are longer than minutes..but they DO pass. Usually. Mostly. At least some of the time.

  7. For me it’s dreams…..that I can’t always remember we’re just dreams. Like when you’re mad at your kids in the morning for some crazy thing they did in your dream that they never could’ve done. Ugh! The mind is a crazy thing!

  8. Ed sounds like your worst nightmare. Great idea to have a batshit crazy scale to measure one’s own against. If I had one, and I guess I must at some level, it might just now include the idea of Ed. But I just know I’m gonna have to start checking for intruders under desks, beds and teacups on the draining board. And behind curtains, obviously.

  9. When I first moved into my condo for work, I had never lived alone. When I got home from work every night, I would call Ken and talk to him on the phone while I searched the condo, including looking under the bed. And if I ran down the hall to the garbage chute, I’d check again, even though I’d locked the door. Batshit crazy, I suppose:-) I don’t do it anymore, thank god.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.