I had no right to be proud of myself last week. But I was, of course. Being all me about everything.
A friend from out of town was going to visit in a few days. I managed to tear myself away my busy schedule of relaxing long enough to schedule a groomer for Psycho Dog and bathe The Favorite dog.
Bathing The Favorite is super fun. My stiff 50something body gets to crouch over the bathtub in misery. The over-adored dog hates me a little more every time I do it. The entire bathroom is covered in fur and water.
Still, I manned up. It wasn’t until the dog was soaked in water that I realized his shampoo was actually conditioner. Instead of using dish soap or drying him off like a normal person, I decided to leave him mostly wet while I ran to the pet store.
Within 20 minutes, I arrived back on my one-way street to find a fire truck blocking the path to my driveway and service men in uniform fussing with a neighbor’s water main. I sat there glaring at the men for a minute, until I saw my neighbor step out of his house. He ran his hand through the mess of black hair that looked like fire on his head before he noticed me and I waved him over.
“What’s going on?”
“My basement is flooding. The plumber broke something and now they can’t get the main line turned off.”
“Holy crap!” I said, helpfully. You know, instead of something like, “I’m sorry.” Or, “Is there anything I can do?”
I glanced at the fire truck, knowing full well the rat bastards didn’t have to block the one way street to help my neighbor.
A man wrapped up in himself makes a very small bundle.
Ben Franklin
“Sorry the truck is blocking your driveway.” My neighbor said, his head down like he just learned my cat died. He’s always such a nice man and I’m always such a shrew.
I could have redeemed myself then by saying, “Dude, no worries. You just take care of yourself and call if you need anything.”
But instead, I comforted him by saying, “Not your fault.”
He turned and walked back to his flooding house while I glared at the firemen some more. My dog was wet and freezing and I couldn’t drive into my garage because these dudes locked the whole road unnecessarily.
That’s right. My DOG was wet and that’s what I was worried about.
The truck driver came out and fussed with the truck, but made no attempt to move it. Didn’t even look at me, perhaps fearing eye contact would invite a sensible suggestion from the bitch in the SUV.
I parked the car and tromped to the house while 4-5 men continued working on my neighbor’s lawn.
It wasn’t until after I bathed the dog that I understood my folly. I looked out to find the firetruck gone and several emergency clean up vans parked along the road.
“Fuck me,” I said to nobody. “Dude’s house is flooding and you’re all, ‘Will someone please get this firetruck out of my way?’.”
So I started feeling like an asshole. Tried to figure out how to prove to the neighbor I’m not an asshole. Told Husband about it, knowing he’d offer help after the fact. Could I de-asshole by association?
Is it still selfish if you find the right — the kind — response too late? If you’re concerned about something else so, when confronted with someone else’s undeniably more important plight, your brain only sees that one thing impacting your own life?
I don’t know the answer. But it’s been weeks and I’m still thinking about it.