I don’t have a lot of regrets in life, but if I had to name one it would, hands down, be the time I willingly offered to assist with a PR maven’s “mastermind” event in Austin. Now, as you know, I’m generally allergic to volunteer work of any kind, but I was at a point in my life where I thought there was something to be gleaned from occupying the same spaces as women who were more successful than me. It turns out, there isn’t.
But I didn’t know that then. I’d recently launched my tarot business, and I wanted to grow it beyond the occasional reading every other month. The tarot was the easy bit. Finding new clients was the struggle. And since every Business Bro and Broad in the world loves to exclaim how “your network is your net worth,” I figured I didn’t have a whole lot to lose from helping to run a three-day event that would be chock full of women who regularly earned several hundreds of thousands of dollars in annual revenue. So, with a flagrant disregard for my better judgment, I signed on to do a shit-ton of unpaid work for the equivalent of “exposure.”
Now, had I known a couple things beforehand, I probably would have backed out before I spent three extremely long days coordinating meals and corralling people in my first (read: most nauseous and exhausting) trimester of pregnancy. Thing one was that I unexpectedly tasked with chauffeuring the host, her bestie and the other helper, an annoyingly overeager twenty-something extrovert, around the busiest part of the city. I know I didn’t sign up for that because as much as I hate volunteering, I absolutely despise driving other people around, especially when I’m going to unfamiliar places with zero parking in a car that has child safety locks that won’t quit.
So, that was some bullshit. But I also wouldn’t have raised my hand for this nonsense if I knew the woman hosting it was going to be kind of heinous. Because she was, and I can prove it to you in a single example that will require zero further explanation. First, though, let’s give this woman an initial for storytelling ease. I’m going to call her A., even she doesn’t have a single A in her name, because she was an asshole. Here’s what she did to out herself as such:
One evening before the event started, this woman decided she needed to get stuff from Target, which meant I had to drive her and her friend to Target. When we got inside, she grabbed a cart, told me to go get paper (zero info beyond that) and then sprinted off with her friend to giggle about boys and pick up whatever other random things were on her list. It was abundantly clear that I was just a means of helping her get around town, so any additional time with me breathing the same air was a real vibe killer for her.
Regardless, I got paper. Not the right kind, mind you. No, I picked up lined paper for people to write notes on, but because I’m tarot reader and not a mind reader, I didn’t know she was telepathically trying to tell me to get blank computer paper for people to take notes on… I exchanged the paper and met them back at the self-checkout. After buying all the things, A. and her friend put the shopping bags in the cart, pushed it to a spot in the middle of the entrance 4 feet from the literal cart return, grabbed the bags and left. THEY FUCKING LEFT.
A. even had the nerve to do one of those fake “oh, I’m not sure where to put this cart. This should be fine” cursory glances complete with manufactured guilt. Some of you might have missed the offense here, so let me reiterate. She couldn’t be bothered to push the cart into the cart return that was maybe three extra steps away. I’ve told people from the Midwest this story, and I kid you not, more than one person actually gasped. I know. I feel you! A. is the worst, and if you’re reading this and don’t understand why, I need you to change your ways immediately. Do not be the lazy asshole who leaves their cart in no man’s land when the cart has a home, and you are perfectly capable of doing this one small thing to minimize the amount of abject chaos of the world.
So, yeah. A. sucked, and now I knew it, but I was locked in. I suppose I could have just not showed up to help with the event. Since I’m conscientious about cart returns, however, you know I don’t have it in me to leave someone—even someone who probably tries to Jordan her used paper towels into restroom trash cans and then leaves them on the floor when she inevitably misses—in a lurch. I decided to make the best of a bad situation by remembering everything and writing an essay about it years later. As the Brits would say, RESULT!
Now, I probably would have left this irritating experience—which did, in fact, get more awful as time continued on—in the past had it not been for A.’s insistence that her inability to function like a normal human (my description, clearly not hers) was due to the fact that she’s an introvert and a “highly sensitive person.” I’m sorry. That’s just some bullshit, and I will absolutely tell you why.
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