Fight Club Meets Sesame Street

Mark and I had an argument a few years ago when I was arranging a party. I don’t even really remember what the argument was about, though I’m pretty certain it was party-related.

Mark’s idea of entertaining is a big slab of brie, some crackers, something with chocolate, and fizzy water. That’s it. He doesn’t bother with decor because why would anybody bother with decor when there’s a big slab of brie, or something chocolatey to be interested in? It doesn’t really matter if the number of guests are 2 or 52, his solution to partying would be the same. If there are kids coming, he might condescend to add some pizza, and a fizzy drink or two, but that would be about it. And if I were to point out that a party requires more than some crackers and a big slab of brie, he’ll reply, “Not for me, it doesn’t.”

I am completely the opposite. I like a lot more bells and whistles. Sometimes, it could be said I go a little over the top and obsess about something that’s not worth obsessing about -like the color of the napkins matching the theme of the occasion.

If I happen to make the mistake of mentioning something like my concern about napkins to Mark, he will look at me like I have just told him I want to spend the rest of my life calling myself Hazel and dressing as a mythical wood nymph. We’ve both mellowed over the years and begrudgingly both learned the word ‘compromise’.

Anyway, the point is, a few years ago we had an argument and that’s why I found myself off collecting 25 yellow, smiley-faced, helium balloons on my own.

Now here’s what I can tell you about helium balloons: they do brighten up a room. Even just a couple of well-placed wee balloons can say celebration. But the best thing about them is, when you’re waiting in the shop for them to be filled with helium, that’s a good long time to soak up some resentment about…well, about how brie is a frickin stupid idea for a party for example. Or how having the right colored napkins for the right occasion is manners and not lunacy. Or about if a person is so resistant to social occasions, then maybe that person should go and live in a frickin cave, on their own, with nothing but magazines about French cheese-making for company.

The point is when I headed back to the car with my 25 yellow, smiley-faced, helium balloons, I had a belly full of righteous resentment.

Now here’s another thing worth knowing about helium balloons. They’re fabulous for a party when they’re tied to the back of a dining chair, or a decorative weight of some sort. But when you’re just holding them in your hand in the open air, you have to be very careful not to let go.

Fortunately, as I was so very bad-tempered, I was gripping onto my 25 yellow parcels of joy with a very firm hand. But when I opened the back of the car and tried to get them into the trunk, the trouble began.

You see, helium balloons aren’t designed to be herded like a wee flock of sheep. Especially in the outdoors, when there’s a gentle breeze.

Were it one or two balloons I might have managed. But no sooner did I get most of them in, than one rogue one would pop out. I tried shoving them all in there and just closing the trunk really fast, but in doing so nearly lost about four of them.

Before long it became clear that no matter how much I wrestled and no matter what I did, those frickin helium balloons had a mind of their own, and there was no negotiating.

And that is why, late one Saturday morning, I found myself wrestling 25 smiley-faced latex fuckers in the parking lot outside a party store, like some mash-up of Fight Club meets Sesame Street.

This is the part where I would love to tell you that I sat down at that moment, holding on to my 25 yellow smiley-faced helium balloons like an arty scene from some French film, and came to some deep spiritual conclusion about the meaning of it all.

But no. No, I fucking didn’t.

Reminding myself that I am not a quitter, I went full force at the balloons deciding that a combination of speed, swearing, and brute force would be the answer.

And that is why when the gentleman came to help. I was hot (and not in a sexy way) breathless, and throwing a punch at a particularly rogue smiley balloon yelling, “Just get in there you fucking fucker.”

“Do you need some help?” he asked, in a gentle concerned voice.

I turned round and saw a guy in his twenties dressed in a short-sleeved shirt and chinos. I’m guessing he was someone who maybe worked in customer service or traveling door to door selling religion or something, because he seemed completely unphased dealing with a wildly unhinged middle-aged woman.

“I’m trying to get these balloons into the car,” I said - a little sheepishly.

He smiled. “Yeah, we noticed.”

I looked across the parking lot. Three other guys stood by the doorway of the shop. I suspect they were friends of his rather than workmates, because though they were grinning when I looked over, their expressions quickly turned to terrified when they saw my mood.

Chino-wearing guy though, remained totally calm.

“Why don’t you give me the balloons, open the back passenger door, then reach through the car for the ribbons and pull the balloons in that way?” he said pleasantly. “Then once they’re all in, I’ll close the trunk.”

I looked at him suspiciously for a moment. It crossed my mind that if I gave him the balloons he might just run off with them, and I’d never see them again. Surprisingly, that thought didn’t actually displease me as much as I thought it would.

So I handed him the balloons, went round, opened the passenger door, and reached through the car for the ribbons. I pulled the bunch of balloons into the car, and they came in. All of them. Mission accomplished, the polite chino-wearing guy closed the trunk of the car.

“There you go.” he smiled.

I thanked him profusely, to which he replied. “No problem. Have a nice day.”

“Oh, thank you. And you have a nice day” I said. And then called over to his three friends, “Have a nice day, guys.” They smiled (strangely nervously) then retreated into the shop.

Afterwards I drove home, a little less strident than when I’d left. I still had a fair amount of righteousness, but the yellow smiling faces that popped into the rearview mirror as I drove, reminded me that even (and sometimes especially) when I’m certain that I’m right, I can simultaneously be a complete arse. And I am not alone in that.

Mark and I do argue periodically but it tends to be more a grumble about something because somebody’s tired or hungry more than anything else. Between me, Mark, Ferg, and Lachlan we do disagree on stuff from time to time. But I’ve stopped trying to make them think like I think, or do what I do, because frankly I am perfectly capable of really annoying myself. None of us are perfect. We embrace being in the gray zone.

And here’s the bit where I would love to tell you that I do not get myself into ridiculous situations like balloon wrestling anymore. And mostly that’s the truth.

But this past couple of weeks I’ve been trying to control stuff that’s just uncontrollable. Other people’s timetables - can’t control that. The policies of large organizations, can’t control that. The time of the year, not mine to control. Other people’s opinions - not my business. Other people’s incompetence - annoying but not within my control. Morality, injustice, traffic, emails, idiocy, tech glitches, travel times, clothes sizes, pointless rules and regulations. None of them mine to control.

And yet over and over again I find myself trying to negotiate all of those things with the same approach I used with 25 smiley-faced helium balloons.

It’s exhausting, and it doesn’t work.

So, in order to find some solution, and in the absence of calm-customer-servicey-chino guy, and his three petrified friends, I sat down and wrote myself a note.

Dear Lynn,

One big lump of brie may not indeed constitute a whole party, but then again neither does a bunch of balloons. Casting yourself as the lone, misunderstood, crusader in a world full of injustice, is the shittiest and loneliest part to play. Everything is easier with a bit of help from people - even when you’re not sure you actually like those people, or you find them annoying, or when they might even be “wrong”.

When something feels like it’s so important that you can’t focus on anything else, sit your arse down and make sure you do. Take a breath, or go outside, or drink a cup of tea. You don’t know the answer to everything yet.

The best thing about being human is…well, being human..

Sincerely.

Lynn

Till next week

xo

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