I Do Care Damnit

I try not to.  Not because I want to be a Billy BadAss, but just because it gets mighty damned tiring to care so much.

I’ve started a new job in my spare time.  I’m working at a home decor store (right now in the Christmas division).  I’m the youngest there and I’m pushing 40.

Today, a woman I’ve known for 20+ years that also happens to work there fell off a ladder.

I do not like this woman.  I’ve never liked this woman.  She’s highly irritating, patronizing, and suffers greatly from a superiority complex.  She’s not a likable person. Period.

When she fell off the ladder though, I went to her.  I asked if I could do anything and then stood quietly with her until she was ready to ask for my help.  I helped her up, offered her Tylenol and an ice pack, she declined.  I went back to what I was doing, but stopped every few minutes to check on her.  I found her hobbling around, her knee swelled up about the size of a Wilson volleyball.

I went and fixed her an icepack, ordered her into a chair with it and told her I wasn’t listening to any arguing.  I offered her a ride home after work.

I picked up the phone and phone-book this evening and James asked who I was calling.  When I told him, he couldn’t understand why I was calling to check on her, considering how much I don’t like her.

What can I say?  I do care, damnit.  It would be easier not to, but then I don’t reckon I’d be me if I were any different.

So, if I “know” you and hear there is trouble in your neck of the woods, don’t be surprised that ol’ Snigs here gives a damn and wonders if you’re okay or not.  Don’t be surprised when you get that email that says, “The weather looked rough out your way, are you alright?”.  Even if you’re not someone I consider my BFFL (that term gags me), I care.

Don’t like it?  Tough.  I’m not listening to any arguments tonight.