COMMON MINDLESS PLATITUDES   

            Whenever anything, large or small, goes wrong in someone’s life, there always seems to be no end of insensitive clods ready to say, “Well, it could have been a lot worse,” or the even more absurd and insulting, “You were really lucky.”

Any time that I see in the news that a crass, crude fool tells a plane-crash victim, “You were really lucky!” merely because he survived (in whatever condition), I vehemently shout at the television that the victim should reply, “Oh yes indeedy! I’ve always wanted to experience a plane crash, and now that dream has finally come true!” But I fear that the sarcasm would somehow pass right above the dim heads of such cretins. So I will spell it out for all of the witless wonders: if the man were lucky, he would not have been aboard that plane, or it would not have crashed in the first place!

I remember one time, during my teaching years, learning that a dimwit had backed into my car in the parking lot. As I sat fuming in the faculty room, a colleague named Matt mouthed the trite, “Well, Jeannie, it could’ve been a lot worse.” I automatically retorted, “Yes, Matt, it could have been a lot worse. A giant meteor could have slammed into the parking lot, and obliterated every car in it, including mine. But, you know what? It also could have been a lot better! It could just not have happened at all!” Another colleague, Meredith, whom I adored, laughed very good-naturedly, and said in genuine sincerity, “Jeannie, you crack me up; I get a big kick out of hearing your refreshingly different take on things!” I thank random chance for true individuals like Meredith. Matt just stood blinking at me. With his mindless platitude having fallen flat, he was clueless as to what to say. Apparently, he had hoped to make me feel grateful that my car had been hit.

Oh yes, and let’s not forget the presumptuous idiot who is so quick to tell everyone to calm down. My hot-water heater flooded my basement. My voice was shaking when I called the plumber. He said, "Calm down." (Believe me, emotional types like me get very tired of hearing that). I'm proud of the fact that I politely replied, "This is my personality. This is who I am. Let's accept that, and move on." His reply sounded properly sheepish. Hey, to borrow a mindless platitude from above, I could have said a lot worse. Years ago, when my mother was alive but not at all well, and had a nurse who visited her here several times a week, one day I came home hopping-mad because someone (I forget who or why) had just had the audacity to tell me to "Calm down" about something. I remember that I told my mother and her nurse that I was angry about it. They both agreed with me completely, and the nurse said, "Nothing makes me more furious than someone telling me to 'Calm down'! I invariably reply, 'Don't you dare to presume to tell me how to feel! My feelings are my concern, and none of yours!’" The nurse added, "Believe me, honey, that stops them cold! I recommend that you say the same to insensitive jerks like that in the future!" During the basement flood, I was so very tempted to follow her advice. But the reason that I did not is because I needed the plumber, and was afraid that he would leave if I reacted honestly. So I down-pedaled it, when I wanted to explode. But it was not his possessions in jeopardy. Only I can assess how much any one particular object means to me.

I employed no such restraint after my mother had her massive (and ultimately fatal) stroke, and lay insensate in the dining room. Three paramedics were working on her. Now, let me be clear about what I was not doing: I was not getting in their way, and I was not screeching like a banshee. I was merely sobbing softly but steadily, and pacing between the next two rooms (the foyer and the living room), remaining close at hand in case I was needed. One of the three paramedics came after me to say, “You need to calm down.” I let her have it. I roared, “You need to tend to your patient! I am not she! Your patient is right over there! I am a private adult citizen who will not be told how to behave in my own home!” Needless to say, she was properly contrite.

Now, lest someone suggest that that was merely her clumsy way of trying to express concern for me, let me demonstrate how concern can be shown without being insulting or obnoxious. Almost a decade earlier, I was in my father’s hospital room visiting when he himself suffered a far less massive stroke right in front of me. After summoning nearby doctors and nurses, I sat in a chair crying quietly and steadily. A thoughtful nurse gently asked me, “Are you all right?” I responded softly, “I’ll be okay. Please, just find a way to save him! If you can do that, I’ll be fine.”

She was polite and sensitive. Most people, I’ve found, are not.

Isn’t it bad enough that victims of misfortune have to deal with the crisis at hand? Must we also be subjected to the needless mental gymnastics and unnecessary verbal fencing of the uncomprehendingly dense?

Why is it so difficult for people to just do the obvious? Why can’t they simply say, “I’m really sorry that you suffered adversity today. I’m truly sorry that something hurt you.” Regardless of whether that something is large or small in the opinion of the listener.

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