Don’t Hate the Haters

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A friend of a friend of a friend of someone who I’m trying to be friends with on Facebook just posted this long rant about how people with nothing better to do than complain should keep her name out of their mouths.  When people spout off like that, it really whets my curiosity and leaves me a little frustrated for being left out of the loop of whatever drama they’re going through.  So next time you decide to let off some steam on a social network, remember to be social about it and fill us in on all the gory details.

But that’s not what tweaked my interest.  A friend of that friend of a friend of a friend of someone who I’m trying to be friends with replied by saying the woman should be lucky to have haters, because haters tell you things about yourself that you wouldn’t have known otherwise.  She went on to say that if weren’t for haters, our lives would be completely boring.  That’s when I realized what I’ve been missing my whole life.  I gotta get me some haters!  I mean, how am I going to achieve any degree of Self-Actualization unless I’m able to learn everything about myself?  Here I’ve been going through life trying to be a good guy to everyone, you know, some poor schmuck going around like everybody’s feelings were made of eggshells.  I really had to sit back and review the way I’ve dealt with folks, and I was ashamed to discover that whenever a hater drifted into my life I bent over backwards and jumped through hoops to turn them into whatever a hater isn’t.  I’m here to tell you it hasn’t been easy doing all that hopping and bending, especially at my age.  If I wanted to achieve any sense of Enlightenment, I’d better start hunting up some serious haters.

So that’s what I did.  Since I’m chronically lazy (and proud of it) I started with the Yellow Pages.  No such luck.  I guess if I wanted to get some haters, I’d have to go out and find them.  But first, I had to find out what a hater really is, so the first person I came across – this young guy with his hat sideways, his pants down below his ankles and a mouth full of automobile parts – I asked him to define a hater.  He looked at me as if sizing me up for a coffin and then said, “Man, a hater is someone who talks shit about you because they ain’t got what you have.  Haters are jealous!”  As he shuffled on I was left scratching my head.  He must have had fleas.  I couldn’t really buy that explanation because nobody in their right mind is going to say, “Yeah, I’m jealous coz they got an Armani suit and I don’t, so I’m gonna put ‘em down.”  No, that’s envy.  Jealousy is when you think you possess something – usually another person – and you’re afraid someone else is going to take it from you.  I guess you could hate anyone trying to steal your friend of a friend of a friend, but I’d rather put my hater eggs in an envious person’s basket.

The second person I came across was an old man with tobacco drooling from his mouth and who smelled like he’d been wetting his pants for years, so I decided to skip him.  Then another young man strolled toward me, this one dressed like someone who should have been named Biff, with corduroy pants, a violet shirt and a sweater tied in a knot around his well-groomed neck.  I asked him to tell me what a hater is and he said, “That’s someone who can’t be happy about someone else’s accomplishment, so they feel compelled to put that person down.”  I really liked that definition, so I shook the guy’s hand and went on my way, my ears and eyes peeled for any unemployed haters I could hire.  Unfortunately, people don’t go around with big neon signs on their forehead flashing “HATERS”, so I really was back to square one in my hunt, whatever a square one is.

I must have passed a dozen people without having a clue if they were real haters or not, and I was beginning to think I’d have to advertise when this big, hairy, gruff-looking guy came plodding toward me.  I found myself feeling nervous which I took as a sign, and stopped him.  As his eyes bored into my brain (or was he seeing the fleas I’d picked up?) I asked him, “Excuse me, could you tell me what a hater looks like?”

His bushy face kind of imploded in on itself as he frowned and pursed his toothless mouth.  “What the hell do you think I am, some kinda damned answer girl?” 

That’s when I realized he was a she and I fought the sudden urge to turn tail and run.  Instead, I stammered back, “Um, I just thought you – “

Sasquatch cut me off.  “That’s what you get for thinking, idiot!  I hate people like you!”

I signed her on the spot.  Now my life’s complete.

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About jaytharding
Christian Mystic-in-training, burgeoning Apologist, Writer, Poet, Philosopher, all-purpose curmudgeon Therefore, if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature; old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new. 11 Corinthians 5:17

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