When an Innocent Prank Goes Too Far

There are NOT many things in my life that I regret doing. Mostly because there’s really no point. Regret is a waste of time which can sometimes lead you down a very unhealthy path. However, there is one particular incident that occurred in my “innocent days” that I wish I’d thought about more carefully before proceeding. Because what seemed like a very innocent prank at the time soon spiraled out of control and ended up “biting me in the ass” in the worst possible way.

It all began when I got a part-time job as a telemarketer to help subsidize my other part-time job, which wasn’t exactly paying enough for me to survive in the Big Apple. (This was obviously many, many years ago when I first moved to NYC…Young, Bright, Energetic…I was ready to take on the world…Sigh!) Anyway, between selling Weekly Reader products, Phone Services, Bottled Water and Accidental Death and Dismemberment Insurance, I made some great friends among my co-workers. Especially because we could all commiserate about how much we hated telemarketing, and how we were only working there until we got our “big breaks,” whatever those happened to be.

Eventually I became part of a click that sat in a certain area of the room each night, swapping stories and jokes between phone calls. We’d bitch and moan about everything, including our roommates, parents, job interviews, acting auditions, whatever. It was a great place to vent and let off steam, and so a lot of stories came out that you wouldn’t necessarily share with your best friend—particularly if the stories happened to be about your best friend. Which sometimes mine were.

(Quick back story: In my early days of NYC, I lived with a college friend who was somewhat of a hot head. And although we got along most of the time, there were moments when he would flare up at me or at other people, and become the biggest “drama queen” on earth. His outbursts became sort of a running joke with me, because after witnessing several of them, they never had as much weight. Like the boy who cried Wolf. If your general demeanor includes yelling and screaming on a regular basis, people don’t take you quite as seriously any more. Plus, if you’re a rather funny, dramatic person to begin with, your anger doesn’t have quite the same bite. And despite all that, my Hot Head friend was a very nice and generous person…most of the time.)

That being said, it should come as no surprise that my Hot Head friend became the target of many of my bitching sessions at the telemarketing job. So much so that several people said they would never want to meet him in person, because they’d probably punch him in the face. I guess my somewhat exaggerated portrayals of him might have painted a bleaker picture than was actually there, but not by much. And my Hot Head friend was not unaware of his reputation. In fact, he rather enjoyed it. So when I’d occasionally tell him about my friends at work, and how much they hated him, he thought it was funny.

Anyway, at some point I developed a very nice friendship with a guy who had recently gotten married and moved to NYC with his wife. We became part of a small group that began to socialize outside of work, our lives becoming even more interconnected than they were before. And so through the natural process of socializing, my friends would now become their friends and vice versa. With one exception. No one wanted to meet my Hot Head friend, as they’d already written him off as “unacceptable.” The most adamant people about not wanting to meet him were the young married couple; who just happened to be the exact people I would most want to get along with him. And since I’d always referred to the Hot Head by his real name, I couldn’t exactly pass him off as someone else. Or could I?

And this is where the story starts getting uncomfortable…at least for me. Because I felt like I was in a bit of a dilemma. I hated having to split my time between my new friends and my Hot Head friend. I wanted them all to mix together, and get to know each other, and then I could have the best of both worlds. I knew there was bound to be a social occasion or a party or something where both would eventually be in the same place, so I got this idea about how to lay the ground work for that. What if I introduced my Hot Head friend to the married couple as someone else? That way, they could get to know him as a person, and not as the monster I’d colorfully created of him. And once they got to like him (as most people did), then I could tell them who he really was, and we’d all have a great laugh. At least that was the plan.

Then one night, the wife got free tickets to a show and asked if I wanted to go with them and bring someone along. I thought this was the perfect opportunity for them to meet Hot Head. I suggested we all go out to dinner first, so they’d really get a chance to talk to him, and meet the real person. Hot Head was more than willing to comply, as he loved the idea of becoming someone else for the evening, a great opportunity for him to display his many acting talents. And he did. He was very funny, down to earth and charming, and I could tell the young couple really liked him. So much so, that I wasn’t really sure how to broach the truth at that moment. We were all having such a great time that I didn’t want to ruin it by blowing Hot Head’s cover. So I didn’t. Nor did I tell them the following day when they called to say how much they enjoyed Hot Head and how funny they thought he was. Nor the following week when they asked when we could all go out together again.

And that’s when it finally dawned on me what a stupid thing I’d done. It never occurred to me that I might be breaking their trust by pulling this stunt, as I thought it would all be over in one night. But since I’d now dragged it on for a few weeks, it was becoming more and more uncomfortable to deal with.

So one day at work, I decided it was time to come clean and I told the friend what I’d done. I was hoping he would find the whole thing funny, and maybe punch me on the arm or something. But he didn’t do that. In fact, he didn’t do anything for a few moments. He just stared at me, as if he was trying to see something in my face that he hadn’t noticed before. At that moment, I felt like the worst human being in the world, and apologized profusely for lying to him. I defended my actions by saying that I was only trying to integrate Hot Head into the group, because I felt like I’d misrepresented him during my bitch sessions. And since the couple had told me they’d never want to meet him, I thought the disguise would help them see who he really was. It didn’t.

In fact, it ruined our friendship. And even though the married couple said they weren’t that upset by the incident, we slowly drifted apart and eventually the guy couldn’t even look at me at work. My frequent attempts at rekindling our friendship were met with icy excuses and evasiveness. And though I never intended to hurt anyone, I realized that I’d broken the one thing that keeps friendship going through all adversity---trust. Without trust, there is no reason to give someone your time, energy or attention. And that is exactly what the young couple felt about me. That I wasn’t worth their time. It was a sobering jolt to my carefree existence, and an experience that has haunted me for years. If only I hadn’t done that. If only I’d handled it better. If only…

As I said before, regret is not a path I often go down. And though I definitely regret my actions in this matter, I learned such a valuable lesson about friendship that I’ve never done anything like that to anyone again. I guess that’s why I’ve never particularly liked Ashton Kutcher’s show “Punk’d.” How can he sleep at night?

But that’s just me. Is there anything you’ve done in your past that you somewhat regret?

Henson's Hell Wins An Award!

Henson’s Hell has won an award. And I didn’t even know such things were possible. But Jon from The Ups, Downs and Sometimes Insane World of Freelance Writing has given me the esteemed “Arte y Pico Award.” It is part of a tag initiative from the “Arte y Pico Blog,” where you pass along the compliment to other bloggers.

I am truly honored by this award, and have so many little people to thank for helping me achieve such recognition. Yes, it has been a long struggle to win this achievement, and yes, I had to compromise every moral and value I held sacred just to scratch and claw my way to the winner's circle. But now I am here, and I have no one to thank but myself. And all the millions of pixels that help form my blog every day. (Forgive me for this little sarcastic interlude, but I just couldn't help myself.)

Now on to the important stuff. To follow are the rules and then my own personal selection of five deserving winners:

1) You have to pick 5 blogs that you consider deserve this award for their creativity, design, interesting material, and also for contributing to the blogging community, no matter what language

2) Each award has to have the name of the author and also a link to his or her blog to be visited by everyone.

3) Each award winner has to show the award and put the name and link to the blog that has given her or him the award itself.

4) Award-winner and the one who has given the prize have to show the link of "Arte y Pico" blog, so everyone will know the origin of this award. http://arteypico.blogspot.com/.

And though I wish I could tag everyone with this special honor, I can only choose five. And here they are:

Meltwater. Torrents. Meanderings. Delta.

Roxiticus Desperate Housewives

Magic and Moments at Dragonfly Cottage

Daisy the Curly Cat

The Roller Blog

Please visit all the great blogs above, and see why they are at the top of their game.

How to Deftly Deal with a Distracted Listener

Have you ever been in the middle of a conversation with someone when you suddenly realize they’re not even listening to you? Sure, they appear like they’re listening—they nod their head at various intervals, or interject pointless questions to keep you going. But as far as "active listening" is concerned, they obviously “checked out” long ago.

This practice is becoming a standard during phone conversations, when people are easily distracted by other factors while talking to you. Especially people who insist on calling you when they’re in traffic jam, so you can listen to them constantly scream expletives at other drivers. (So much fun!) Or the parent who calls you just as his child is having a tantrum, so you can suffer through two simultaneous conversations—the one the parent is having with you, and the one the parent is having with his child. And guess which conversation eventually wins? That’s right, the escalating argument with the child. Sometimes the parent even leaves your conversation to go yell at his children, and then never returns. They also forget to hang up the phone, allowing you an uncomfortably intimate peak into their domestic dynamics, an opportunity best left untaken. (Trust me!)

Nevertheless, I am used to people zoning out during phone conversations. We tend to be a society addicted to multi-tasking, so most phone conversations now take place while people are working, driving, on the computer, reading a book, or any number of other actions which allow them to talk at the same time. (However, if I ever hear anyone flush a toilet at any time during our conversation, I immediately end the call. After all, there are certain “distractions” I don’t need to be a part of.)

So during phone conversations, I give some leeway when it comes to a person’s attention span. But when someone is standing directly in front of you and you suddenly notice their eyes glaze over, or their attention shift to the table next to you, chances are they’re thoughts are elsewhere. At this point, I usually stop talking, allowing their processing system to catch up on their lack of participation. The more abrupt, the better, because this will immediately jolt the inactive listener into “defense mode.” They suddenly become very attentive and scramble to remember the last tangible thing they heard you say. Usually it was something you said at the beginning of the conversation, a realization that not only embarrasses your distracted listener, but hopefully keeps them attentive for the remainder of your exchange.

So whatever happened to good listening skills? Have we become so busy and over-extended in our lives that we need our conversations served to us in small bite-size portions in order to fit them into the rest of our schedule? To me, there is nothing more satisfying or stimulating than a good conversation with people I enjoy. I hope the era of text messaging doesn’t eventually encapsulate our interchanges into a series of blips and beeps, because the human voice is a terrible thing to waste.

But that’s just me. What do you do when you notice someone zone out during a conversation? Or do you even notice? (Which may have completely different implications.)

The Incredible Journey of Wine

I’ve never been a particularly big wine drinker. Except for the occasional sip of wine I got during church communion, wine never held much interest for me. And because of a rather embarrassing incident at a recent wine tasting party (humorously recounted in the online mystery “It Happened in Plainfield”), I don’t think I’ll have occasion to ever raise a glass of Chablis again. And yet I still receive bottles of wine as presents from friends and relatives. Even though most of them know I don’t drink wine, they still insist on bringing me a bottle every time they come for dinner or a visit. Unless they were intending for me to open it while they were there, I can’t really see a reason for the gesture. (In fact, it really seems more like an empty gesture, because they hadn’t bothered to listen the last seven times we discussed my dislike for the beverage…but I digress…)

Anyway, the best thing about getting a bottle of wine is that you can pass it along to someone else at your next dinner party, or birthday celebration, or family intervention. (Well, maybe not the latter.) Which is exactly what I do. Every time I need to give someone a present, I go to the trusty old supply of wine bottles I’ve accumulated, and pick one that doesn’t look too dusty. And since I know very little about wine, or their preferred expiration dates, I’m not really sure if a 1993 Pinot Noir is better than a 2007 Chardonnay. And frankly, I don’t care, either. As long as my host is happy with my selection, that’s all that counts.

And though I’d like to think I pay close attention to the intricacies of the bottles and the types of wines that pass through my doors, I rarely look at them before banishing them to the bottom of the liquor cabinet. All except one particular bottle which I happened to notice one day. It had a very unique design on it, but I also discovered that someone had scratched my name on the back of the label. The writing was small and almost undetectable, but it was obviously someone’s attempt to separate this particular bottle from the masses they intended to distribute. As I stuffed the bottle into an overpriced gift bag to give away that night, I tried to remember who might have given me that particular bottle. But after searching my memory for maybe two minutes, I was distracted by something else and never thought of it again.

Until two months later, when I happened to notice the same bottle on the wine rack of a friend’s house. It was not the same friend I’d given the bottle to, but rather someone else who had apparently received the bottle from them. And I knew it was the same bottle, because I found my name still scratched on the label on back. Obviously, no one else had the eye for detail that I did, though I certainly didn’t mention my discovery that evening.

Then about three weeks later, I attended a birthday party and found the EXACT SAME bottle of wine among the gifts. At first, I found it terribly amusing. But then I began to wonder if somehow the bottle of wine was stalking me. Maybe it was trying to punish me for giving it away in the first place. Maybe I was meant to keep that bottle of wine for some reason, and there was some kind of universal karma that was constantly bringing it back to my attention. Or maybe I was just a little tipsy from too many jello shots, and so the bottle of wine took on much more significance that it needed to.

Needless to say, the bottle did eventually make it back to me. Nearly a year after it was originally given it out, the winsome wine had made an incredible journey around my social circle, and eventually ended up right back where it started. And who knows how many other homes it had visited besides my friends? It made me wonder if all bottles of wine go through a similar journey on their way to the proper owner. Too bad you couldn’t put a notch on a bottle every time you gave one out, so others would know how many times it had already been passed before they received it. You could even make a game of it. Track the journey of wine.

At any rate, this amazing bottle of wine now remains a permanent fixture in my cupboard. It deserves a special place in my bottle collection, because like a young adult, it went out into the world, had a little adventure, and now has come home to age gracefully. And who knows, someday I might even drink it. After all, should auld acquaintance be forgot, and never brought some wine? I think not.