My Fair Lazy - Jen Lancaster [30]
Angie takes a quick sip of her cosmo. “She has three houses and box seats at the opera. How did you not know that?”
Today I’m filming my segment for the Travel Channel. It’s been a fascinating experience as I’m learning that even the most documentary-like shows require some tweaking. When my friends and I meet Samantha on camera, we’ll have not only already been introduced, but we’ll have chatted at some length. I always wondered if people had a little forewarning when they film reality stuff, and this seems to confirm that they do. I mean, it’s still real, but when you take the time to sign a release and get miked up first, a little bit of the spontaneity disappears.
The one idea I managed to pull out of my ass (crack) in New York was to talk about why Chicago was the better city, so that’s what I’m supposed to bring up on camera today.
And I do . . . but instead of being playful and charming about it, I become combative. I end up turning my benign chitchat with Samantha Brown—possibly the nicest, most genuine and gracious person on the planet, by the way—into a single-sided duel. I hear myself badgering her, and I can sense that my aggression is not exactly appreciated, but I can’t stop myself because I have no idea what else I can discuss.
What am I going to talk about? The new exhibit at the Art Institute?60
The delicious tandoori chicken at the Indian place on Devon?61
Any one of the amazing dramas at Chicago’s world-class theaters?62
My friend Gina, who’s unbelievably social and able to talk with anyone about anything, keeps diving in to try to rescue me, but the damage has been done.
I’m upset with myself because not only is my awkwardly aggressive camera time not what Survivor producers would want, but this isn’t how I want to be. This is a problem.
Correction, this is a problem in need of a resolution.
But how do I fix a problem when I’m not even sure what it is?
I spend a lot of time soul-searching over the next few days, and I don’t like the conclusions I reach.
The issue here is that I’m a dangerous combination of stupid and mouthy.
Wait, that was way harsh, Tai.
Let me rephrase that—it seems that the root of the problem is that I’ve stopped challenging myself, and I’ve become intellectually lazy. I mean, for Christ’s sake, I just expressed my existential angst by quoting Clueless.
That’s just messed up.
I was laid off seven years ago, but I realized only recently that it had nothing to do with incompetence. My hubris led me to believe I was perfect in my job because of my outstanding sales record, so I never cultivated the softer social skills I needed outside of a meeting. Back in the office, shouting was my canvas and insults my paint. Sure, I could sell, but I was incapable of dealing with anyone in my organization without a healthy dose of condescension. Gritting my teeth and simply being nice wasn’t nearly as easy63 as hurling smart-assed retorts, so that’s the path I chose.
Maybe I’d have never been laid off in the first place if I could just have an innocuous conversation about boring stuff like theater or dining or art or something.
Okay, now I’m seriously having an epiphany.
Maybe when my old company was forced to make cuts, they didn’t keep me, despite my numbers. Instead, they kept the people they liked.
Maybe not being an asshole was more important than being good.
I don’t want to let that happen again. I don’t want to lose the chance to continue to live my current dream because I’m too lazy to Google Baudelaire and too lippy to avoid mocking everyone. In this case, being a successful author has something to do with writing but even more to do with being savvy enough to conduct myself professionally. Up to this point I’ve done well by spying on my neighbors and calling people “ass-hats” but that can only take me so far.
I’m worried that as my career grows and I’m presented with more opportunities, I’ll keep screwing them up if I don’t learn how to be smarter and