People come up to me, concerned, that I’ll make fun of them. Or worse. A concern I run into is they’ll end up being typed about. There’s a very simple way to avoid even that slightest of possibilities (trust me, with the number of people I see in a day, the chance you’ll get singled out is slim) and here it is: Don’t.
That’s it. Don’t. If you’re thinking of something as simple as coming to see me, don’t. That way you’ll avoid stress and I’ll avoid having to pretend to care. But, for whatever reason, you decided you have a pressing need to avoid the simplest of don’ts the next best way not to run afoul is don’t try. Don’t try to be funny; don’t try to be charming; don’t try to be clever; don’t try to be anything you’re not. If you happen, naturally, to be funny or charming or clever, we won’t have a problem. You’re just being you, I’m just being me and we’ll make the best of it.
But I guess the main thing to avoid when stalking the tactless Zell is asking for my opinion or help. That’s not exactly right. Don’t ask for my opinion then hate it. I guess that’s it. First rule to avoid ridicule, don’t; second rule, don’t try; third rule don’t ask my opinion then dislike it.
There. Those things will pretty much keep you from being viciously mocked and held up as an example to future people who believe the rules don’t apply to them.
I guess it’s a shame this guy didn’t follow any of those rules.
A guy comes to see me (there goes rule one), we start talking, he tries to be funny (strike two), but finally he gets to the point. He wants to ask how I’d handle a situation (you’re out!).
It turns out his son has a predilection for dressing in women’s clothing. The father found out through the keeper of all secrets, Facebook. He saw a post on his sons page from a friend who referred to the son in the feminine and said she put on a great show the night before.
The father, as any good Facebookian would do, stalked that name like a 45 year old guy on his seventh grade crush. It didn’t take long for the father to find the son in drag. He didn’t think my question,
“Well? Was she hot?”
Was in good taste.
He said his son, who lives out of state, was coming for a visit. He knew he was going to have to mention what he found. I could tell it was gnawing at him. But how do you broach something like that? The father was snooping. It’s like you were rummaging around your mother’s belongings looking for money and found her dildo. How are you going to get that into the conversation? It’s minefield, let me tell you.
He asked what I’d say. I told him I’d tell my son I knew and ask him to dress for me. If he did I’d stand in front of him, look him straight in the eye and say,
“No son of mine is going to wear a dress that short! Your taint’ll catch it’s death! What’s wrong with you? Who wears neon after Easter? You look like a candy coated Kardashian! In my day transvestites had class! They’d wear gowns! Throw balls. And hold them!”
Why do people ask my advice if they’re not going to stick around for the answer?