new: being nice

I grew up striving for excellence--in a practical way. I tried to dress nicely, develop my talents (music, writing, ranting), and make people around me proud of what I did. I quickly learned that the majority of society does not think this way, which is probably why I have been called a nerd and a bitch more times than "celebrity"
and "sex tape" have been said together.

perhaps my appreciation for excellence and my own neurotic tendency to decline compliments/unwarranted niceness explain why I rarely compliment others. perhaps I tire of dealing with rude people all day. perhaps I don't really believe people perpetuate positivity-- like my extra efforts would mean nothing and cause nothing. anyhow, today I set a goal to deliver 25 genuine compliments. it went a little something like this:

FAIL.

but I tried. really.

actually my day started out with a "hey, buddy!" from my coworker who is always friendly. then the first customer I rang up today said, "you have a beautiful conplexion. it doesn't even look real." guess she didn't notice my age spots. my mom, after enduring my pathetic complaints, asserted, "they are not age spots! they are...freckles you get when you get older." so... basically age spots. see, I told you I negate all compliments.

back to how I tried. I told a lady her name is pretty, another that he smelled nice, and another that they were great for being patient. I told an old man that his glasses made him look stately and sophisticated. I commented on a nail polish color, a necklace, and a purse.

so I tried.

then as I was typing a prescription for a woman's antidepressants, her husband asked me, "what's your last name?"

dude, really?

"ha, well why do you ask?"

"oh, my friend's sister works here. thought it might be you?"

doubtful my brother knows where I work, so I said, "well... it's probably not me."

"is your last name chu?"

my whole life has been filled with "heeey! are you related to the chongs who live in Minnesota?" and "what does moo gu gai pan stand for?" so this question did not phase me.

"no," I replied simply.

"well you look like a chu."

well, you, fatty white boy, look like a dumbass racist. why don't you ask me why I'm not tending a rice field in my silken kimono to buy fish for my kid sister who had her left leg blown off in a land mine? I mean, let's be logical here.

"oh. well. I'm not."

then I remembered I was supposed to be nice. so I smiled politely. and I said, "your kid is cute." it was hanging limply in its backpack on mom, a steady drool drip about to hit countertop. but cute. in a smelly baby thats leaking bodily fluids kind of way.

I said I tried.