On gifts

When I read Robin Givhan's column on Saturday, I didn't find it particularly post-worthy, but last night's roommate episode changed that.

As I've established more than once on these pages, I'm a say-thank-you-and-appreciate-the-thought person when it comes to gifts, so I feel guilty, not to mention awkward, rejecting one. Of course, the pivotal issue wasn't the gift as much as the giver and my relationship to the giver, but it was also the nature of the gift, in relation to that relationship. If you follow me. While I'm not so traditional that I believe that gifts of jewelry are only appropriate between the married and engaged, my relationship to my roommate is not one that allows for such gifts. It--maybe--would have been slightly less inappropriate if it had been closer to my birthday, but the fact that it was a full month later, and any reasonable person could be expected to acknowledged that he missed my birthday, and move on, made it even less appropriate. An appropriate, and welcome, gift for the nature of our relationship would be his buying some toilet paper for a change.

He put me in a very awkward position, but I refused to let him define our relationship toward friendship by foisting this box on me. I have never misled him; it's true that when he first moved in, I showed him around, invited him (i.e. bought him a ticket to) a fundraising event at which I was volunteering so he could try out different area restaurants, etc. But in my language, that was 'welcome to the neighborhood,' not 'be my new BFF.'

I don't want to go all Deborah Tannen on you, but there is certainly a communication gap here. There's a name for this phenomenon, but it escapes me, so you'll have to settle for an analogy. Say you're pretty softspoken, but you're talking to someone who tends to yell. You model what you see is the appropriate volume, but the other person thinks, 'I can't hear her, I'd better talk louder,' and you think, 'now it's worse, I'd better speak more softly to set an even stronger example,' except that the other person thinks the same. And that's pretty much what's happened here: I go out of my way to define my relationship with my roommate as nothing more than neighborly, and he then goes out of his way to be my friend. I retaliate by being even clearer in my boundaries; he reacts by challenging those boundaries. Which pisses me off even more, and makes me want even less to do with him.

In a way, it almost makes me understand my mom better: I understand why she sometimes snaps. Of course, in her case, there's a lot more going on, but a constant refrain is, 'how many times have I told your father..." Meanwhile, I can see how he tunes her out. Of course, often when I interact with my father on an issue that involves getting things done (say, switching gates at the airport), I get extremely frustrated with him and get the impression that he just doesn't listen. It's like that song--angry anymore. I'm willing to summon as much patience as I can for my dad; I don't see why I should have to for my roommate.

I missed another good opportunity, today, to flat-out tell him to back off. And I blame him.

I'd just gotten in; it was pretty late. He came in a few minutes later, just as I was sitting down to my dinner of celery with hummus. Because I was starving and it was instant. We exchanged pleasantries. He was about to go for a run.

RM: Am I still a decent roommate?
A.: Sure...
RM: Okay.

What I wanted to say was, "You're a great roommate. Great. The issue is your trying so hard to be my friend." And I was perfectly willing to say it-- just not in a drive-by fashion. Why would you bring something like that up, if you wanted a real answer, when you're about to leave the house and I'm holding a celery stick?

Getting through this guy's thick skull is like trying to communicate with Gracie: nothing works. Except I can't even spray him.