I have a problem. Well, I never thought it was a problem until I started to get older and noticed that I was doing things because, well, I’m somewhat of a cliché—a people pleaser.
Now I know it sounds dramatic, but hear me out. I’ve identified at least four areas in my life in which I strive, at times ever so painfully and pointlessly, to be the hardest working, most considerate human being I can be. So, indulge me whilst I flex this rather obscure and seemingly detrimental muscle, as I explain the ways in which I aim to please both strangers and those closest to me. What can I say? I’m a glutton for approval.
1. Work
As far as my employment history goes, I have always sought to be the employee who went above and beyond. It hasn’t mattered what industry I’ve been in. Working as a school portrait photographer—a job that doesn’t last more than a few months—I took every opportunity I could to show how dedicated I was to capturing that perfect portrait; the one that families would frame and fawn over for the next six years, as their innocent 13-year old traverses the turbulent waters of adolescence, emerging as a slightly less cute version of themselves come graduation.
Working as a bartender I made sure to hold myself with confidence, and at times arrogance, as I poured crudely named shots and watched sufficiently inebriated patrons struggle to stay vertical; flailing around like a Wacky Inflatable Tube Guy. I made it my duty to take this position seriously; turning down slurring patrons insisting they needed another drink, ensuring everyone’s jackets had been picked up from the cloak room come closing time, and making sure that no toilet cubicle went without toilet paper, and no sink remained clogged with whatever the last punter—and subsequent munter—had had for dinner just before pre’s.
My current position in retail has proved to be the same. I take on whatever extra responsibilities I can, needing to show management that I can and will do whatever it takes to get the job done right. Conversely, I also immensely dislike having to put so much mental energy into a job that is, at times, greatly unfulfilling. I’ve always thought that the key to keeping a job was working hard, however many of my colleagues along my working journey have proved that’s not true. If only I didn’t care so much.
2. Dentist
Now, no one likes the dentist; it is painful, demeaning (I mean you’re wearing a bib and tinted glasses) and expensive. I try to go twice a year as advised, although I’m not sure if this is recommended out of genuine necessity or pent-up occupational anger and regret.
Every time I get in that chair, adorned with my humiliating dentist garb, I instantly want the dentist to know how hard I’ve tried to look after my teeth because ‘they’re the only ones [I’ve] got’.
I lie back, smug with my twice-daily oral hygiene regime, until I hear the muffled ‘hmmm’ of concern seeping out from under the dentist’s mask. He proceeds to ask me a series of questions, all whilst his rubbery ringers remain inside my mouth. I manage to sputter something out, trying to both answer his questions and show him how funny and light-hearted I am. Please think I take this seriously, I know that oral hygiene isn’t a joke, I think, as he begins scraping away the plaque that has inevitably built up behind my adolescent, post-braces wire retainer.
After more inquisitions, alongside the biannual plug for the Water Flosser, I slink out of the chair head hung, knowing that my efforts to be an A-plus dental patient will forever evade me thanks to my nocturnal anger, which apparently resides solely in my jaw, as I grind away in my sleep. At least I can try again in another six months.
3. Grandparents
I’ve always loved old people. I’ve always strived to be liked by anyone who looks vaguely aged and wise. Growing up, I would always make sure they knew I wasn’t like everyone else my age. I don’t drink, I dress respectably, and yes I love Rogers and Hammerstein musicals. I can only imagine what these poor people thought of me.
Now, my tact is different—although my appreciation for Rogers and Hammerstein will never change. I try to be considerate, understanding and patient when I’m with my hard-of-hearing grandparents or serving older customers at work, but boy do they make it hard sometimes! I smile and nod as they repeat their stories, lecture me on how things used to be and how much easier my life is compared to ‘back in [their] day’. I have this unshakeable need to uphold the reputation of the servile grandchild—a representative on behalf of my parents. To my detriment, it has meant that I don’t always stand up for what I believe in.
My parents are very supportive of me rebutting the familial elders, respectfully and educationally. But perhaps, to save face and reputation, I will continue to smile and nod. After all, I am just a whippersnapper, what would I know?
4. Partner’s Parents
Now THIS is the real relationship test. You’ve both realised you like each other more than just friends, and awkwardly begin the integration into each other’s lives. First you meet friends and then the training wheels come off, where you’re thrust onto the family stage. You want to make a good impression, hell, a great impression. But at what cost?
When I first met my partner’s parents, it was imperative that they like me. I did not want to be out of favour with anyone who might potentially be my future in-laws. And if that meant throwing my partner under the bus at the first sign of a joke, you best believe I took it—and to this day still do (it’s been almost four years; no going back now).
I did, and still do, strive to be the effortless girlfriend, there for all the family events with a smile on my face and an ever-growing Guess Who board of names and faces in my head—does Aunty Sue wear glasses? Perhaps that’s Aunty Deb? I feel as though I’m a delegate for our relationship and want to ensure that I put only my best foot forward.
Luckily for me my partner knows my very unattractive need for validation, and goes along with the jokes and comments where he is usually the punch line. But hey, it must’ve worked, because I think his parents like me.
So there it is, my dirty little secret and shameful admission. Now if you could all just humour me and pretend that this is extremely normal, quite common in fact, that would be great. But only if you want to, I wouldn’t want to put you out. I mean, I’m no parking ticket, but validate me?
Hannah Kammerhofer is currently studying a Masters of Creative Writing, Publishing and Editing. With a BA in psychology and history, believed to be the world's most useless degree, Hannah has found ways to integrate it into her everyday life; she is always in her head and living in the past.