For those who have been reading the Tygrrrr Express more often than never, you have learned that there are certain things I just don’t talk about.
I am not a fan of vulgarity or crudity. I just think a certain amount of dignity and decorum should exist.
Former Georgia Governor Zell Miller goes into the topic in depth in his book “Deficit of Decency.”
It still baffles me that people talk about stuff that just should not be discussed.
I don’t even like to say some words.
When women are going through their emotional thingie, I don’t want to hear about. I don’t want descriptions, or visuals, or any other Powerpoint presentation on what they are going through. I don’t even want to hear the words. An ex-girlfriend of mine used to say she had a stomachache. I was in college, I was naive, and I got her some tylenol. I never found out until one of her friends told me exactly what the problem was. It was a woman thing, not an ordinary stomachache. My girlfriend at the time was upset that somebody else told me, because she was a private person. I also did not want to know.
I also have anxieties about losing my appendages. When women are sitting around talking about what they would do to a man if he cheated, I don’t want to hear it. I once walked in on a “war council” of six women, and one of them held up a scissors and said, “We’re talking about (male appendage), want to join us?” I ran out of the room in fear. To this day the movie “War of the Roses” creeps me out because of that one scene.
One time the girlfriend of one of my closest friends revealed an intimate sexual detail of her relationship with him. She told me that she felt comfortable telling me because she knew how close he and I were, and that she knew I already knew. He and I were, and to this day are, close. We also never talk about that stuff. He was mad at me for hearing it when I wanted to hear it less than he wanted it told.
The relationships I have with my friends are not shallow. Some of those relationships run very deep. Nevertheless, boundaries exist. Many of them are unspoken, because they should not have to be spoken.
It is for this and other reasons I do not like to spend my weekends in Victoria’s Secret.
https://tygrrrrexpress.com/2008/03/entering-victorias-secret/
One friend I have known since age 11 made the mistake of interacting with a woman that had some depressing qualities, one of which was being a blabbermouth.
My friend was refusing to speak to her, and she wanted me to talk to him. She thought that over two decades of friendship gave me the latitude to get involved in his love life. It didn’t. I kept telling her that her problem was not my business, and that her business was not my problem. I also told her that as soon as I tried to talk to my friend, he would say, “I don’t want to talk about it.” I told her that the reason my friendship with him worked so well is because we don’t talk about stuff. We leave each other alone.
She kept badgering me, so I called him. The conversation was ridiculous.
Eric: “Listen, I need to talk about something. As soon as I start talking about, you are going to snap at me and say, ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ Well before you do, I don’t want to talk about it either, but the only reason I am bringing it up is because somebody begged me to talk to you about it, and I promised them I would talk to you about it.”
Friend: “What is it?”
Eric: “I was at a party and I ran into (name redacted).”
Friend: “I don’t want to talk about!”
Eric: “That’s what I said! She wouldn’t listen to me. She talks about stuff.”
Friend: “We never talk about stuff. That’s why we get along.”
Eric: “I told her that. She would not listen. She insisted you would talk about it.”
Friend: “Well I don’t want to talk about it.”
Eric: “Ok, good. Does this conversation count as talking about it?”
Friend: “Yes it does.”
Eric: “Ok, so if she comes back to me, I can say with honesty that we talked about it.”
Friend: “Yes, we talked about it.”
Eric: “Good, I’m glad we talked about it, and I’m glad we’re done talking about it.”
Friend: “Me too. So what’s up?”
Eric: “Nothing much. You?”
Friend: “Nothing much man. Give me a call some time.”
Eric: “Yeah, it was great talking to you bro. Take care.”
Yet if dealing with that woman he did not want to discuss was awkward, another aspect of life is excrutiatingly painful.
I don’t know why I get so uncomfortable about normal bodily functions, but why can’t people just shut up about it?
When I tell my secretary that I am “stepping way for a few minutes,” or “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” she either nods her head or says “ok.” That’s it. The “Don’t ask, don’t tell,” policy works. Neither one of us will benefit in any way from knowing.
One friend of mine, a good guy, for some reason feels the need to say things like, “There is nothing in the world like a terrific…” I am like, “Dude, I don’t to hear it.” I have admonished him more than once. It’s not conversation I have any desire to engage in.
My office building has six floors. My company only works on the sixth floor. There is a cafeteria on the third floor. Therefore, there are no reasons except one to be on half of the floors in the building.
What is it about guys that they have to give each other a hard time about something natural that everybody does?
When you are 14 years old, saying, “Mention my name, get a good seat,” is funny. Adults should just look the other way.
Once I was getting off at the fourth floor and a pretty woman who knew me asked why I was on the fourth floor, and she asked if my company expanded. I just said, “We are everywhere my dear.” I don’t know why I had to answer that question, but the truthful answer made me uncomfortable.
I also carry a notepad with me that hides the newspaper. Every guy brings a newspaper, but waving it proudly is just gross. By having my legal pad I look like I am contemplating work. I am sure everyone knows, but that is me.
I can’t be on the sixth floor. One of my colleagues might be there. The only option is the third floor. When a coworker sees me I just make a remark like, “off to get a beverage.” That way they think I am going to the cafeteria. I even walk towards the cafeteria until the elevator shuts.
Occasionally it is amusing, when everybody has to go at the same time, and guys are passing each other in the elevator looknig for an empty floor. Then it is ok, because everybody knows what everybody is doing. Of course the boss wants to know why it takes 30 minutes to handle a bodily function, when the truth is 10-15 minutes is spent trying to find a floor.
Also, if you are in there when I walk in, and you see me…leave. I don’t want you there. I need peace and quiet. I don’t want you, whose life revolves around me, telling everybody that you heard or saw me, and what happened. Also, if one of us accidentally walks in on the other one because the door did not lock properly, never ever discuss it. It never happened, and I saw nothing. Sheesh!
One office I worked in had a cool guy who brought the newspaper into work every day. The sports section was left in the “reading room” for everybody, and nobody was to remove it. I once asked him out loud where the sports section was, and he yelled, “Ok, who removed the sports section from the reading room?”
The guy who did it was less embarrassed about taking the property out of the reading room than of having to be in there to begin with. When one of the women said, “That is so gross,” like she had never had a stomach eruption before, it reaffirmed why guys fear being caught having to go. My coworker then announced that when nobody was looking, whoever took it should just put it back. That helped matters, but now everybody knew I had to go.
One ex-girlfriend from three years ago had a studio apartment. It was a nightmare. We would go to sleep, and in the morning I would have a stomachache from eating too much the night before. My place is a two bedroom, two bathroom. No problem. Her studio apartment was small. I did what any paranoid guy would do. I would drive home by myself.
Yes, we lost many hours together because I did not stay over during the day. Thank heavens the Chicago Cannonball has a bathroom that is far away from the bedroom.
The point is, men are disgusting creatures, and even though we have our vulgar moments, that does not mean it is necessary to inflict them upon others.
Anyway, I have to take care of something.
It is not your business. Don’t ask me about it, leave me alone, and don’t talk to me about it afterwards.
Don’t even know about it. Everybody does it, but they don’t have to talk about it.
My legal pad has plenty of writing on it that looks like serious business. Time to go work on some business reports and grab a soda from the third floor.
eric
I wish the same sentiments were applied to the media.
It never fails. I sit down to eat dinner and watch the news and all the commercials during dinner have to do with some bodily function, or lack of.
No offense, but a lot of your feelings reflect the rules in the pen.
Dont say anything that doesnt need to be said. Dont volunteer anything that is not necessary. Keeping the peace is a very high priority in the slammer.
Then again, maybe I didnt need to say all that.
Micky brings up the same thing I was going to bring up, Eric. The Media advertises everything. Is nothing sacred anymore. Some of those commercials are not only embarrassing, they are disgusting and have the power to spoil my appetite. I don’t watch tv while I eat, but I do watch it in the evening while I’m preparing dinner, something I’m going to have to quit doing if I want to eat and actually enjoy my meal! There is no good old-fashioned respect anymore. I don’t know about the slammer, but I sure would hate to go there just to get peace and quiet! LOL!
What a fascinating point Micky has injected into this. In jail, there is a code of conduct probably quite similar to the most upper-class snooty protocol. I’ll never forget the time I coincidentally mentioned a guys name in front of the brother of a girl who died in a DWI that was the fault of the mentioned guy. This burly, angry young guy suddenly puts his cards on the table (yes, that’s what we do in jail – play endless, ENDLESS cards) looks at me and demands I tell him everything I know about this unfortunate dude. Now, here we had one mistake being compounded by another. So I lied. I said I didn’t know much about the guy or the accident. After that, I shut the … up. It’s best to be careful for the sake of polite conversation. However, when we have a lot in common, when we are close friends or kin, then have fun, say whatever you want. Otherwise, new, good ideas will never see daylight. And have as much fun as you can on the net. It might not always be there.
JMJ
Jersey,
Just what would you know about upper-class protocol?
Charlie, you’d be very surprised if you knew to whom I am related.
JMJ
Wow. I must come from a very different world. In the rural South where the scatalogical is so ubiquitous, one has to make fun of it in order to cope. Plus, working construction will strip off any veneer of decorum. You can’t spend fifteen minutes looking for a Port-a-Potty no one knows about. :)
It sucks at school because there’s only one men’s room in our building, and we all have to wait between classes. If you have any business of the sit down variety, you’re going to get razzed through the door.
Maybe that’s why public schools are a mess.
Yeah Chris !
I worked rebar for 3 years. What a bunch of booze guzzling ass grabbing foul mouthed characters.
(but really good people)
Its a far cry from being head waiter and dining room manager at Fraunces Tavern on Broad and Pearl about a block from the NYSE.
I guess the point is that we as humans are capable of adapting our conduct if its deemed necessary
Jersey,
Please, oh please, surprise me.
Remember Charlie, there are things we shouldn’t talk about. ;)
JMJ
Jersey is real tight with Hoffa
Eric, I remember I was about 16 years old – blond and young – and used to go to Jackson State Pen to spar with some of the inmates. there wasn’t a third floor, or a sixth – just an open commode…I was very private, but some of the guys made me really nervous and kept staring while I tried to do my business. I was so naive, I didn’t know about butt pirates. Heck, I didn’t even know about girls… but the tension caused me to develop something you don’t want to talk about but that salve they put on it didn’t work, so it was cut out, but here’s the good news: once you spend some time in jail, in the military eating C rats or plug-em for a month MREs, in the South with the aforementioned construction crews, in the north with a bunch of tire builders, and get married and spend an hour or so in the delivery room, then help your wife with the babies for tthe next couple years, all this will pass…and hopefully it will pass as gas…
Micky,
:-D
OK, Eric. Did you put the sports section back?
Hope that all is well, Eric, sorry about the low level of posting. I’ve been immersed in the Stanley Cup playoffs, and am now sitting Shivah for my beloved Habs…….
BHG
That fact that I can relate to so much of this post is both scary and amusing. Well stated, in an understated way.
I agree for the most part. That’s why I was so horrified when they removed the doors in school reading rooms. In a building with few rooms and no expectation of privacy one gets used to sharing the room. However, I was still shocked the first time someone spoke to me while conducting business. I mumbled something and got out of there as quickly as possible.
I’ll have to admit, though, that in very personal conversations the subject has been discussed in detail as a source of amusement. Eric won’t be invited and will be delighted in his absence.
My most recent quandry was last week making the packing list for my Girl Scout troop to go camping. As the camping advisor I have to ensure the girls know what to pack. Some of it is easy. Some of it is more difficult because they’re young enough to forget things like spare underclothes, especially ones that they’re only now beginning to wear. And now some of them are old enough that they need personal items that had to be listed because they wouldn’t think to bring them if I didn’t point out that there might be a necessity. I bungled it terribly and have now learned some new terms that can be used in the future so that I sound less crass and yet still present a complete personal items list. Guiding your kids through puberty is one of God’s practical jokes, I think.