Riding the Slipstream

We all know at least one person who has made a career of being unhappy. People who suck the joy out of existence and every one they come in contact with, leaving only horror and despair. In their distress, these people accuse, complain, sigh, and make it difficult for others to enjoy any moment. Their self-inflicted misery makes it hard for them to let others be happy and in their loneliness and pain; they seem to do everything possible to stay lonely. I work with someone like that. Yep, I have my very own, one of a kind dementor! (How do you like them apples, Harry Potter?). He is only 26 years old, but one would swear that he's been alive for at least twice as long. There is nothing in the world that ever seems right to the poor sod. And even when it does, he can always find a way to associate it with some negativity. None of the other people at the office enjoys making small talk with him as he can make even the weather seem like a personal tragedy. The biggest mistake you can ever make is to ask him how he is doing and give him the opportunity to respond. And for reasons, only known to him and the dark Prince he worships, he seems to think that I, yours truly, enjoy listening to his anecdotes of gloom and suffering. Damn my magnetic personality and strikingly good looks! (insert hysterical laughter) I had the misfortune of being alone in a room with him today. I tried as best I could not to make eye contact or conversation, but it is kind of hard to ignore someone when there is no one else in the room to take the heat off of you. I had to listen to a 10 minute monologue on the bad state of his health, his career and how his world had begun to fall apart, and that he was now in complete emotional peril. I mostly kept quiet, fearing that a response may spur him on to share more with me than he already had. I have empathy for his... uhm… affliction, but I cannot be his agony aunt. I may have zoned out of the conversation at some point, but I finally heard him say something about not being able to see light the end of the tunnel. ME: Oh surely, you exaggerate… it can’t be that bad? (I didn’t know what else to say!) HE: I suppose… things will get better soon. Bad luck seems to follow me around. ME: You know, Dave, perhaps you should stop waiting for the light to go on at the end of the tunnel. Peace of mind and a better quality of life are sometimes found in the gloomiest of places, but you have to be willing to flick the light switch. After that arse-numbingly uninspiring conversation, I sincerely hoped I could find the switch to turn my brain back on.