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Getting In Touch With Your Inner S.O.B.

Too many of us are too nice for our own good. Some clueless klutz carelessly crunches our left foot while we're standing on line at the multiplex, and we're quick to offer our apologies. 'Excuse me for not seeing that you wanted to invade my personal space,' we effectively tell the intruder. 'How gauche of me not to remove my foot in abject deference to YOUR foot.' Or the Director of Human Resources notifies us that we're being sacked in favor of a youngster who's willing to do our job for two-thirds of our salary. Instead of slugging the villain who contrived our downfall, we wish the company well while we gather our belongings, trudge out the door and slide into a terminal depression. Somebody definitely should be slugged. 

Even your Cynical Guy has found himself trapped in the thankless role of Nice Guy since childhood -- too generous by half toward snooty classmates, capricious girlfriends and conniving colleagues. And look at the British, especially the upper-crust sort who used to run the world's greatest empire: their incurable politeness was their undoing. They resigned themselves to self-rule for their colonies as meekly as a freeway resigns itself to rush-hour traffic. They 'niced' themselves to third-rate status as a world power, and now they're even in danger of losing sovereignty over their own cozy little island, at least if the Scots and Welsh have their way. Not only doesn't Britannia rule the waves; soon enough she won't even rule Britannia.

No, it's the unapologetic S.O.B.s who dominate the world in our time: the ferocious media moguls and studio heads... the slippery superagents and overpampered celebrities... corporate climbers so focused on self-advancement that they have to schedule appointments to see their children... politicians who value expediency above trust or honor... greed-crazed day-traders who 'short' a stock to make money off other investors' misfortunes... obnoxious purveyors of rap, rock, techno, or whatever other forms of purported music are currently mesmerizing the young... and let's not forget the whole horrific circus of terrorists, muggers, drug dealers, con artists, schoolyard bullies and other assorted scoundrels: these are the folks who get what they want in life, and there's hardly a nice guy in the bunch. 

Should we follow their lead? Should we capitulate and recognize the superiority of their ways? If we find that our lofty principles and decency of conduct are no longer serving our needs... if we're tired of losing out to the weasels of the world... If we want to turn fortune finally to our favor... should we do an abrupt about-face and join the S.O.B.s in their profitable evil? I say NO, don't join them. Simply learn their techniques and use them to your advantage. Let your inner child take a well-deserved nap for a change; if you're in danger of being trodden under with the weak and the infirm, it's time to get in touch with your inner S.O.B. That means saying No when others are trying to wheedle a Yes out of you. It means daring others to dislike you for foiling their best-laid plans. It means coming across less like Mister Rogers and more like Mister T.

I've been getting in touch with my own inner S.O.B. lately, and I can tell you that it feels as exhilarating as an autumn hike in the Adirondacks. About time, too: for years I had been the easy mark for stock swindlers and bogus charities throughout the English-speaking world; my name must have appeared in bright red ink on every telemarketer's sucker list, and it has cost me countless green fistfuls of honest cash over the years. Yes, your Cynical Guy was one of those obliging but spineless souls who couldn't say No. Until now. 

What brought about the latter-day transformation? My fiancée Anne D. and I are buying a house: a century-old converted stable that's long on charm and short on space, in a handsome but gritty urban neighborhood where pit bulls probably outnumber golden retrievers three to one. We're spending a more-than-middleweight sum on this atmospheric abode, and I want to make sure it doesn't turn into an OBESE sum. 

When our real estate agent suggested that we apply for a quick and convenient 'no-doc' loan at seven percent and change, I insisted on a standard loan at six percent and change. We got it. Against our agent's advice, I requested that the owners pay half our closing costs. Score another one for the Cynical Guy. When the inspection revealed some hitherto undisclosed structural flaws (one support beam was ready to crumble into wood-chips, and the front wall of the old tack-room was threatening to wash away in the next storm), I calmly insisted that the owners pay for the entire cost of repairing those flaws. Our agent was aghast at first (My deal! My beautiful deal! It's melting, MEL-ting!), but she rapidly came around to my way of thinking. 

My newly discovered aptitude for hardball surprised and delighted me. I was in the catbird seat for once, smiling contentedly while other folks sweated to do my bidding. I wasn't being nice; I was being tough. But it was a righteous toughness. (It's relatively easy to be an S.O.B. when you have justice on your side.) I drew upon the eternal wisdom of Gary Cooper, John Wayne, Clint Eastwood. I stared the enemy in the face and refused to blink.

A few nights ago I ran into my old friend Ben at the local coffee house. We hadn't seen each other in months, and Ben thought I looked different. He asked if I had slimmed down; no, my weight hadn't changed. He couldn't put his finger on it, but he remarked that I looked more like a predator than when he had seen me last. He could see it in my eyes, he said. He meant it as a compliment, and we both laughed. Yes, I told him; I'm a confirmed meat-eater now, a genuine carnivore. I didn't mention that I had been getting in touch with my inner S.O.B. After all, I wouldn't want my friends to get in touch with theirs.

Cynic's Pick of the Week
Jane Fonda, the former sex kitten, Serious Actress, leftist agitator, fitness guru and consort to Ted Turner, has announced her latest incarnation: born-again Christian. I'm pleased that Jane has found spiritual grace, and I certainly won't mock her new-found faith -- but let's say I won't be surprised if she comes out with a bestselling series of Jesus videos.

© 2001 by Bridget Petrella Media Relations. "Some Cynical Guy" appears here by permission of the publisher. If you'd like this column to appear regularly in  your own site or publication, write to UPBEATmag@aol.com.

Profile of a Cynic...

Bayan, who claims to be a "kinder, gentler cynic," currently lives in Allentown, Pennsylvania. His weekly column, "Some Cynical Guy," is published and syndicated by Upbeat Online. 

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