Perfect, Free Ways For You To Get Hurt Feelings
THIS PICTURE IS HURT FEELINGS DEFINED
MORE IMAGES OF HURT FEELINGS
Some years ago I happen to be watching a television show about a best-selling author and his secret of success. A member of the press asked him, "Sir, what would be your secret formula of producing best-selling books?"
The successful author replied, "A story isn't a story unless the reader can see your blood and guts all over the pages. And if they can't, get a job pumping gas."
Powerful-but-wise words if you ask me. That's why I am publishing, just as a test hub, this real piece of literary labor, to see if "you" like my new hub-style or my old style. Why am I doing this? Simply because for me, I hate "being in a rut" more than missing a meal consisting of homemade meatloaf, garlic bread, fresh garden salad and iced tea. That's how much I hate monotony.
We begin with . . .
Most people simply called him, "Gullible" Jack. "Oh, that Jack. He has a pure heart, but boy is he gullible," most people would say as he lumbered by them on the sidewalk. "Gullible" Jack never knew, or was told why he was so gullible and yet so easy to get his feelings hurt. This social treadmill ran on Jack's tears, depression and loneliness over fifteen years.
Jack wasn't that intelligent as a child. His parents recognized that Jack wasn't like any of their other ten kids, so they decided, not for reasons of poverty, but for personal disdain, to just leave poor little Jack with the Sisters of Great Pain convent near their hometown. "Them sistah's are good people. They's can raise Jack good," Jack's brute-of-a-father said to his equally-insensitive mom who sat in the family car, a 1955 Ford with engine running on that cold November night while Jack's father, only on the birth certificate, laid Jack, who was fast asleep in an apple crate, on the front steps of this benevolent institution who cared for those like Jack.
Jack's brute-of-a-father was right about one thing. The sisters raised Jack "good." But when Jack's frame grew into an adult, they had to make a heart-bleeding decision. Either to keep Jack and see if their resources, although menial, could feed a boy of such size, or just convince him to leave this comfortable abode with pure bliss and peace running like tap water.
With ten minutes or so of soulful talking, the sisters convinced Jack that he was a "chosen" man of God and his destiny, although burdensome to those he met, was to wander the streets of his hometown (he had never laid eyes on) and depend on the love of strangers for his upkeep. "My son, God moves sometimes in ways that even his own vessels like us, the sisters, cannot understand," the Mother Superior, "Gladys Winstong," a homely woman with a unibrow said to a believing Jack.
So with the sisters releasing Jack to wander like an unrooted ragweed, thus set to motion Jack's life of constant pain, scorn, humiliation and misery that only those who dolled out this type of torture could know. And soon, people in New Bridge, Vermont, were used to telling Jack anything they liked to see him believe it, hang on their every slimy syllable, only to have them laugh at him when he finally unravelled their easy lies. "Hey, 'Gullible' Jack! See that? A candy bar just laying over there near the steps!" A barber might say to Jack for he amusement of his patrons. Jack would run like a well-trained English foxhound and get down all-fours to search the ground for that delicious candy bar only to hear gales of horse laughs from the barber, "Mr. Galloway," a deacon of the local church.
This short glimpse of "Gullible" Jack was when he was only 23.
A SAD-FACED LADY
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"Gullible Jack" was not the instigator of that ill-fated life he endured in his hometown. Jack was the victim. Sadly, Jack had to learn the hard way and with many, many years of suffering, what hurt feelings actually meant. To Jack, getting laughed at and made fun of was okay since some of the sympathetic townspeople would give Jack a can of month-old beans, maybe loaf of day-old bread and allow him to sleep in their garage for the night. Sometimes when chief of police would allow Jack to sleep in the musky, cobweb-entombed basement of the police station.
And while the world has plenty of "Gullible Jack's,'" there is an elite group of individuals, set apart from civilized society, who gorge themselves on getting their feelings hurt. Oh, not at first, but after they do what they naturally do, not think. Not settle down. And not use common sense. When acting and interacting with others.
And there are three area's where human feelings can be hurt the most. And none of them are bars, houses of ill repute, or any dark alley you happen to walk by in the big city. And when you read these three area's, three "hotbeds," of pain, embarrassment, and rejection, your eyes will pop almost out of their sockets.
The three areas of hurt feelings are . . .CHURCH, WORK, AND THE HOME.
How are your eyes right now? Bet you never guessed that in these three places feelings are hurt and hurt often. Just like a perpetual circle of pain and ugly depression. And maybe, and I am being generous, the people who get their feelings hurt the deepest and most, do not realize the things they are doing might be the "lit fuse" to an explosive psychological "bomb" that goes off each time that they . . .
GO OUT OF THEIR WAY to be friendly, helpful and a neighbor to any and all who pass their way. This hurt-breeding act is a common-occurrence in church and the workplace. For in these area's, people who get hurt feelings most of the time, let's call them "sheep heads," cannot defend themselves. After all, it's God's house and in the office, they have a boss who can fire them. Please, "sheep heads," put a stop, now, to your overly-friendly ways. It is perfectly fine to be nice, but being TOO NICE, you are asking for trouble. Every time.
RUN AHEAD OF PEOPLE mostly men, to open a door for a woman or to help seat her at her table in a restaurant. "Sheep head," listen. Opening the door, if she wants it opened for her, and seating her is her husband or boyfriend's job. Not yours. Just hold back and stop this act that causes you to get cursed out and threatened with a butt-kicking each time you do this--thinking that "you" are doing a nice thing. I have an exercise for you to do when tempted to open a door for a woman or seat her at her table Pretend you are "busting" a fiery bronco named, "Blaze," and you are the only bronc-buster in the west who can do the job. Hold on tight. Pull back the reins. There you go, "sheep head," you are learning. We got to start calling you, "Mr. Common Sense," from now on.
FIND REASONS TO GO IN THE BOSS' OFFICE to see if he or she needs coffee. Hey, once in a while, great. But every hour? Really? It's a wonder that you even have a job with this kind of unwanted office behavior. The boss may appreciate the first three offers to get him a fresh danish, but friend, every day for two months? He is getting angry at you. By the minute. He has big decisions to make. A company to run. And there you are in his face every hour asking, "more fresh java, Mr. Boss man?" No wonder he sneaks into the building in disguise. To avoid you. Take it easy. And the cursings will be few. And your feelings intact.
JUST HAVING TO BE HEAD OF THE LINE at church because you think that God loves you more for being first through the church doors every Sunday and you just have to sit in "that" certain seat that an elderly couple, "Mr. and Mrs. Campbell," two retired missionaries sit because they are both hard of hearing. But no. You, "sheep head," barge in and take the seat in front of them. And when the minister, or priest chastises you in secret for this selfish act, you get hurt. Wouldn't common sense dictate that after 10 or 15 chastisements, you would do better? The solution: Sit somewhere else. God has great love for YOU and all of mankind. And His eyesight is perfect. He can see you wherever you are at.
YOU BARGE TO THE FRONT of the cafeteria line at work to, as you quickly say to your angry coworkers, "just getting Miss Penny, in accounting a plate to do," and this irritates them even more. And get this. Miss Penny has a steady boyfriend who works on the Executive Floor. He carries Penny to a great restaurant everyday to have lunch. She was just being nice to you those previous two weeks for "surprising" her with a fatty slice of prime rib, starch-filled potatoes and that "caloric-death trap," lemon cream pie. If you want to lose all of your friends. Plus your job. Keep this up. But if you want to be halfway-respected, stop. Now.
IN THE HOME when your wife of six years, has a falling-out with her sister, "Barbara," you take up for "Barbara," because she said years ago, concerning her sister marrying you, "I cannot believe that my sister found a man like you for her husband." Friend, "sheep head," she wasn't building you up, but insulting you to your prideful face. Now her sister, your wife, hates your guts and "Barbara," is laughing at you on her way home to Buffalo, New York.
YOU THINK YOU CAN SING (back to church for a moment), but you cannot. Sad fact, friend, but God never gave you the talent for singing songs. Of any type. On purpose, you get extra-loud on the Christian standard, "Amazing Grace," and drown-out the rest of the parishioners. Once you even told your minister that you would love to do a solo. And out of Christian-decency, he let you. Did you ever wonder why people suddenly started getting up to leave? Do what you can, my friend. And leave the rest to those who can.
If you fit any or all of the above situations, and have hurt feelings most of the time, now you know why. I know that this was a "tough pill to swallow," (and a special hello to a dear follower and talented hubber, Tammyswallow), but it was for your best.
That's what I do. Making friends and influencing those in need of my services.