Guilty by
association. Those were the words my
friend Caitlin told me yesterday afternoon while sipping Guinness and watching
the Seahawks roll over the Giants. I
didn’t feel the same level of sadness that I felt when I first heard a similar
reasoning. That reasoning came from a
married couple.
In July
2012, I stepped foot into The Recovery Room – it was my birthday and there was
trivia. I had learned of Tuesday night
trivia at the local watering hole by way of the girl who I was no longer
seeing. Along with me was my co-worker
and friend, George. We were too late to
participate in the action, but we soaked up the scene and down a few
beers. We liked what we saw and decided
to come back the following Tuesday. It
became a weekly tradition – and it was fun.
We were meeting (and defeating) our opponents and it felt like we were
developing a nice rapport with them.
There was one girl in particular I found myself talking with more as the
weeks went by and her name was Caitlin.
Originally from Connecticut and a James Madison alum, Caitlin and I had
a lot in common – and she was quite easy on the eyes. But I was spoken for and Caitlin was no
longer interested in women.
There were
Caitlin’s teammates – a married couple, Lizzy and Steve. My interactions with them were limited to me
busting their chops about not getting the right answers to certain
questions. I thought this was being
interpreted as playful jest; but it wasn’t.
As the weeks turned into months, unbeknownst to me, they kept vocalizing
their dislike for my co-worker and teammate and myself. Caitlin defended me immediately, saying I was
a good person and I wasn’t like George.
She fought for me tooth and nail; but it was with little success. It would take professional heartbreak for
them to understand me in the true light that Caitlin had been telling them
about for months.
It might
have been earlier than that, but Lizzie and Steve would tell me how much they
disliked George and didn’t like how crass (understatement of the century) he
was, how he seemed to bring me down socially, how they wished I would spend
time with them without George. I started
to do this now and then, but ultimately it came down to financials. Being on unemployment and without a glimmer
of hope in the job world, I knew the last thing I needed to be doing was
frequenting a bar with friends on an almost nightly basis. While I wanted to be social, I knew my mental
state was weak and I wouldn’t be able to shut myself off from another beer, and
another. I became a hermit.
I still
spent time with George, as much as it was hurting me – I could feel this
negativity come over me as the two of us sat at the bar together. What would start off as a simple get
together, would turn into hours of consumption.
George has never had the most positive outlook in all the years that
I’ve known him; and when he drinks, it gets even worse. Some nights were worse than others. I have always tried to ignore this, because I
wanted to be social and have fun – but it felt as if these get-togethers were
becoming more of a chore than pleasure.
It was also hard listening to him tell work related stories. I was released in June 2013 after six years
of working with the Corporation; it was a painful experience, however, it did
come as a relief. I knew my future did
not belong in live television production; but I wasn’t too sure of how I would
get to do what I wanted to pursue. I
knew there was a lot of feature style programming at the 24-7 version of the
Network and I began to speak with people about that after I learned I would be
leaving in two months.
The most
puzzling aspect to this day (though now I am at ease), is the fact there was
PLENTY of work in my area of interest – why not just shift me over to that
department, or recommend me to 60 Minutes Sports? I saw other people being shifted to the 24-7
network and would later learn of others having this happen – so why not
me?
I’ve
drastically pulled back from spending time with George – but my schedule was
also fairly hectic for a good clip of time in the Fall. But now that I am back to a schedule of
normalcy, I feel like the last person I want to be spending time with is
George. While I want to be social, I
don’t want to be seen with him. It
sounds so awful to say, but when I step back and think about what he has done
for me as a friend, I really can’t think of much. Yes, he’s been there for me through countless
break-ups, but most of his words are cruel and never seem to truly understand
what my true pain is. I want to do
trivia with him at his new stomping grounds, but I don’t want to be seen with
him if Caitlin should come in – and she does go there quite often. Caitlin can tolerate George, but I have come
to the realization, I don’t necessarily see myself wanting to be connected with
him all that much longer.
Strangely
enough the guilt I feel when I write these words, is strong. I don’t know why I can’t just bring myself to
spend time with him. I guess I’m an all
or nothing person. A black or white –
when deep down I know everything is grey.
I feel sorry for George – but I don’t.
Most of his pain he brings on himself and don’t even get me started on
his social media presence on Twitter.
The amount of anger, hate for self – that comes out is unnerving and
sad. It baffles me that with all these
comments, he has not been called into Human Resources – or been forced to seek
counseling. How does someone like that
keep a job, especially if his co-workers are making fun of him for his actions
behind his back. I’ve never really
understood it.
Perhaps if
I spend time with Caitlin at the stomping grounds and George just happens to be
there, then that’s how it will play out; or perhaps the times I consider going
with him, I am assured that Caitlin will be there; or perhaps I need to be stronger
in walking away after I’ve had a few and I see him changing. When I hear the aggression come out, that’s
when I take my cue. I exit stage left
and get the good night’s sleep I deserve.
I want to be associated with people who love to see me and not feel a
sense of dread as soon as I walk through the doors.
