The Reject
A fictional short-short story
I‘ve always had two disadvantages: I’m quiet and — I know we’re not supposed to use the word anymore, but I’m talking about myself, so I’ll say it: I’m ugly, or what the thought police insist be said, “not conventionally attractive.”
And I’ve always paid the price.
As a child, kids weren’t mean to me; they mostly just ignored me, for example, not coming over to me on the playground, let alone inviting me to their birthday parties.
Even the teachers would — and maybe it was just my imagination — were a little harsher on me than on other kids. I remember one time when I was in the fourth grade and forgot to have my mother sign the permission slip for the field trip. The teacher sighed and pursed her lips. That’s understandable. But when one of the good-looking kids also didn’t bring the slip, she just said, evenly, “It’s okay. Just bring it tomorrow.”
As I went off to college, I was hopeful: After all, so many people, so many activities. I joined the Campus Moderates Club, but as always, people were polite but never asked me to socialize after meetings, even though I made a point of dawdling before I left. Pretty girls always said no when I asked them out, and even the “not conventionally attractive” would usually say no when I asked her for a second date.
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In my senior year, I started applying for jobs. My grades were good and I wrote careful cover letters, so I got interviews. But even though I told myself to be enthusiastic, my built-in blandness and maybe my looks kept me getting more than a polite no.
Finally, I got a job, at a third-tier company, a coordinator position, which as I feared, is a grade-inflated, no-cost-to-the employer term for an administrative assistant nee secretary. I saw much flirting in the breakroom and stops to chat by Pretty People’s cubicles, but not at mine. It particularly hurt when one person whose work could be charitably called lackluster, got a big promotion. She was one of the Pretty People, and flirtatious — clothes, giggles, sashay.
Of course, looks matter a lot on the dating apps so, no surprise, I got few responses and, on first dates, the response was as before, for example, “You’re a nice guy, but there isn’t quite the chemistry.”
So as I’m writing to you, I’m sitting at home, cat on my lap, and musing: Should I work harder to have “personality? That feels dishonest and unsustainable — Even if I were energetic enough to get results, I’d have to keep that up forever.
My looks? I’m not the type who’d get plastic surgery to make my face look nicer. And I think I’ve already optimized my appearance with clothes and posture.
Self-acceptance? That’s hard, a little scary.
I’m petting the cat to calm down.
I read this aloud on YouTube.
Marty Nemko is a career and personal coach, and author of 36 books including the just-published Favorites: his best articles and short-short stories. You can reach him at mnemko@gmail.com
