The Rudeness Factor

Last Christmas, as a last-minute decision, I ordered a subscription to New York Review of Books for a male friend who was an avid reader and writer. In prior years, I had opted not to buy him anything. Although we chatted on the phone off and on and emailed often, it seemed awkward to buy him something just because.

But during 2008, I had gone through tremendous hardship. One of my children had been battling with bipolar disorder. And after a downward spiral, I was able to have her hospitalized in a residential treatment facility where her meds were stabilized. Thanks to rigorous, structured therapy, she was making a return to a sane lifestyle. When I was at my wits end, he made himself available by email and phone. And though he lived seven hours away, he proved to be a valuable adviser, a true confidante, and an important friend in my life.

Though I love the spirit of the season, I don’t personally celebrate Christmas. And I really find the entire give till you drop mentality repugnant and counter to my tightwad sensibilities. But, because I felt so grateful for his time and wisdom, I went against convention and ordered a very expensive subscription, sure that it would be something he would enjoy. Selfishly, I hoped as writers that it would be material we could discuss.

December came and went. Then January passed. And though I dropped him a brief email asking him about the subscription, he never responded. Was he dead? No. He did send a series of emails about a friend, who had passed away, and about his insane work schedule. From time to time, he’d send a four-word email “sorry, will write more.” But, not once did he say “thanks for the present,” or “thanks for thinking of me.” Adding insult to injury, I dropped a birthday card in the mail. Again, several weeks into February, I still heard nothing. And then, I got mad.

Now understand I’m not overly sensitive to people who forget to call me back. People are busy. People forget. When I give a present, I don’t do it so that the recipient will fawn all over me. But I think acknowledging receipt of a present is plain and simple good grooming. I know if someone bought me a gift, at the very least, if I couldn’t call, I know I would drop a two-word email of ‘thank you’ in the mail.

As weeks rolled along, I got angrier and angrier. This was no curmudgeon. This man hadn’t climbed out from under a rock. This was a well read, well educated, well paid, and properly socialized individual. As far as I was concerned, this was an example of “Rude Behavior 101.”

So I sent him a long email and filed a complaint.

“At the least, even if you didn’t give a rat’s ass about me, at the least you could show a little courtesy. You could send a quick email and say "Thanks Merle for thinking of me at Christmas, for ordering me a subscription to New York Review of Books. I really appreciate it because it was started by the infamous and brilliant Barbara Epstein, and because I know that money is tight for you. But I feel really special because you thought of me.”

Or, you could simply send a quick email with either “thanks for the present,” or “thanks for the birthday card.”

For the first four hours after hitting the “send” button, I felt liberated, true to myself, and happy that I’d spoken up and aired my grievances. After the four-hour mark, I began to question myself. I felt unsettled and wondered? Would I ever hear from him again? Was he angry? Did my gift make him uncomfortable? Did I misread the signs? Did I expect too much? Was I wrong to feel offended?

And then I got angry. Why the hell was I feeling badly? Why was I trying to justify my own anger. Damn it, I was justified, and I was merely pointing out rude behavior when I saw it, when it impacted me directly? What kind of friendship was it if I couldn’t speak honestly when I felt offended?

Time has passed and I’ve yet to hear back from him. Perhaps he’ll send another four-word email that totally ignores my angry complaint. Perhaps he’ll never address his faux pas. Perhaps he will. Perhaps I won’t. I’m not sitting around holding my breath.

In the end, I know I’ve been honest with myself, that I finally put my foot down. Historically in relationships, that’s not something I’ve been able to do with ease. I guess for too long I was afraid, that I’d offend, afraid that people would walk away, afraid that some might think less of me. I guess this rudeness thing just set me off, and finally, thankfully, I was able to draw a line in the sand. I was able to say ENOUGH. I was able to say to myself you’re worth more than this, you don’t have to put up with this.