Rejection, as I am told, is a byproduct of living. As a living species, we are both the distributor of the rejection (my preference) and the receiver of the rejection (not my preference).
The inspiration for writing on this particular topic has nothing to do with rejection more commonly associated with boy-girl, girl-girl, boy-boy relations. I mean, I obviously have no experience with any kind of romantic rejection…
Yesterday, I took a chance to ask for something and, within an instant, I was shot down. An instant is actually a longer version of what that segment of time between asking and being denied my request was.
Sample: “I would like a…’No'”
Was my question, let’s just say it was for a raise, so out of line? No. Was it slightly premature? Not really. Was I surprised by the reaction? A bit. Do I feel sad because I didn’t get my way? Naturally. Am I mature enough to handle being humbled? I will say yes because that’s how I want to portray myself.
The second rejection of the day came in the mail from the bank:
You don’t have enough money in your account and we won’t accept this check and now we are going to charge you an extra fee that we know you can’t pay off because you may have a free checking account, but you’re a dumbass. Now go ask you parents for money.
Since moving into my own place, which comes with all the necessary costs like furniture, extra clothes to fill new closets, wine for the invisible wine rack, bills, and the like, my finances require some attention–finances are super needy. Now the bank is ensuring that I only remove enough money from my starving account to charge me a fee and then to ensure the next time I try to withdraw money from the ATM I’ll get a big “NO.”
Similarly, my credit card (which is well below its limit) decided that it would keep saying declined at the register of the grocery store. Upon checking my online account it was all smiles and giggles, with a look of, “I didn’t do it.” Do I blame Yes! Organic grocery stores? I do.
Rejection doesn’t stop with my yesterdays and will more than likely continue into my tomorrows.
As an aspiring talentless writer (like all my fellow aspiring talentless writers) rejection is the modus operandi. It doesn’t detract the pain from each letter that states, “your writing is barely good enough to wipe the shit from a shoe from. You should die.”
Applying for grad school, if I decide to do that again, the letters may be more like this:
Dear Potential Student,
We would really like your money and to give you an OK education that in all reality you don’t need but because of the way the economy is and that everyone else is getting a master’s degree, you need because your bachelors is really the new pre-kindergarten.
As much as we want to offer you this chance at mediocrity, we have other students who have potential parents as donors.
It’s also been brought to our attention that you want a FREE masters and we can’t stop laughing. So thanks for brightening our day.
Pay a couple hundred and take the GRE’s again.
…free master’s. Young people today…
Evil Higher Education Institute
It’s disappointing to be rejected, to be denied something you want, and even something you don’t even want that much. It always is a blow to the ego and the shock of it is always the most painful.
The best part of being rejected is getting angry and claiming yourself as the victim.
“I can’t give a raise?! WTF? I’m worth at least 10 million a year!”
“I don’t have any money because I spent it all? What kind of a notion is that?!”
“My story, ‘Amoebas Know Best’ was rejected by Scholastic? I’m sorry I couldn’t come up with some novel idea like ‘Clifford.’ What a stupid, big, red dog.”
“I can’t believe he doesn’t like me. I’m perfect in every way. Perhaps I’m too perfect. Maybe, I just intimidated him. That must be it. His loss. Dumbass (sob sob sob).”
The next step, after escaping from victimhood, make a plan, and conquer what conquered you. And when you can’t, I’m happy my mom may slip me a 20 and a compliment.