Because It’s Easier to Beg Forgiveness When Your Victims Never Read Your Blog Anyway.

The Apology Series

Some time ago, I was faced with the task of writing a one-page MB Conference report. The ensuing procrastination resulted in 5 Secret Reports. This week, I was supposed to work on a project with a friend of mine, but he decided that we’d get a lot more work done if he contracted some sort of flesh-eating bacteria and went to the hospital instead, so I am left to procrastinate from working on that project all by myself.

Thus, I have decided to create another series. Since the Secret Conference Reports went so smoothly**, I can only assume it would be a good idea to continue. And so, for my next addition to my series of series, I present to you Amy’s Apologies: Because It’s Easier to Beg Forgiveness When Your Victims Never Read Your Blog Anyway.

Apology #1

The first victim of my apology series will be my sad, unemployed brother.

A little while ago, I was surprised to discover that, apparently, my brother is ‘actually really nice’. Being described as ‘actually really nice’ generally implies that people have been led to believe that Ben is not nice. I was at first perplexed by this statement. Why would anyone think my brother is anything less than awesome? It couldn’t have anything to do with the things I say about him, could it? I might go around telling people how he doesn’t have a job, doesn’t pay rent, doesn’t go to school, comes home at the most ungodly hours and sits around playing video games and collecting energy drinks, but surely this couldn’t tarnish his wonderful reputation at all, could it?

Sadly, it seems to have done just that.

It appears that when I describe Ben to people who have never met him, they envision him as a useless, angry blob who sits around the house guzzling energy drinks like a hyper-active version of a white trash alcoholic, refusing to speak to anyone who is not using World of Warcraft as their communication medium of choice. "I once killed a puppy because it woke me up before noon", Lump-Ben would say, before sluggishly sliding out of his bed at five pm and sliming his way down to the kitchen to inhale a 5-person roast beef dinner, leaving his poor, angelic sister to satisfy herself with 5-year-old wonderbread crusts.

In actuality, if anyone of my friends were to meet Ben, he'd most likely be the cheerful, muscle-bound one, dressed as a pirate, obediently carrying a heavy object, be it a couch, a table, or a large crate of canned meat, from one location to another because someone asked him to help them move out/move in/feed the world. After Ben is done carrying heavy objects for helpless people, he dresses himself in a bright-orange suit, picks up a sledge hammer, and goes to something vaguely referred to as a piergoi party, where he will amuse all of his friends by trying to fit his head into a very large glass jar. Oh, life is so much better when Ben is around!

A shock, I know. But true! And so, Ben, I would like to apologize for all of my closed-minded friends who assume that being an unemployed caffeine addict makes you a lowlife. I know, they are ignorant and judgemental, but we can’t blame them for this. It’s not my fault that they misinterpreted my limited, largely negative and biased descriptions of you! They just haven’t been exposed to any of the wonderful, unemployed video-game playing insomniacs there are in the world. They don't understand that you treat being unemployed like a full-time job.

Once, I tried being unemployed, and it turns out that it’s really very hard! With no one there to demand that I appear in a certain place at a certain ungodly hour of the day wearing a certain combination of bleach-stained clothes so I can create dangerously sugary semi-edible food concoctions for the general public in exchange for something slightly above minimum wage, I soon lost interest in getting out of bed at all. My ability to be productive is directly proportional to the amount of hours I spend doing things I don’t actually want to do, it would seem.

But Ben, he knows how to be unemployed. Joblessness is a veritable art form for Ben. I used to wonder why it was that, when I decided to take a few months off from job and school, my greatest form of entertainment was lying on the couch eating excessive quantities of lemonade cake. Why didn’t I come home at 6am wearing a bright orange suit and a green top hat? How come millionaires in colorful suits never wanted to pay my entire bar tab because I was wearing a pirate hat? Why did I never wear a pirate hat? Or make myself a suit out of bubblewrap? Or somehow acquire 5 cars and still rollerblade everywhere I went? It takes talent to use free time like that—talent that I just don’t have.

On top of this, for some odd reason, Ben is willing to use his free time to help others when it is required of him. If asked nicely, he will carry a variety of heavy objects for you—for free! He will carry your couch out of your house, your vast quantities of tinned meats into your shipping containers destined for disaster areas, or, even, his own very large tv out of his bedroom and into the living room so that his sister and her friends can watch movies on it. And he may not drive all of those 5 cars that he owns, but he WILL put gas in the tanks and then let you drive them****! The man does everything!

And so, the next time you hear me describing my brother in a way that seems at all deprecating, remember this blog post, and realize that it has nothing to do with me exaggerating the negative aspects of my brother’s character for no good reason, and everything to do with you closing your mind to the reality of the talents of the unemployed. That’s right, it’s not my fault, it’s yours.

Whew. I feel better now.

* illegally, disgracefully early, and against my will, according to last week’s blog hiatus announcement

** For me, the writer, who dashed them all off in a single afternoon; not for you, the viewer, who had to slog through them for an entire week.

**** Even if he insists on disconnecting the windshield wipers so he that the CD player can work and you end up in the car, blinded by rain on a busy street during a thunderstorm. I have bad luck with windshield wipers.