When Tariq and I were in the “courtship” phase of our relationship, we decided to go to Subway for lunch one day.
As we approached the counter, I saw someone I knew.
Someone I had gone to junior high with. Someone who I had been… extremely unkind to.
I grabbed my one day life partner’s hand as hard as I could and said, “We have to go… we can’t eat here,” while dragging him out with the kind of desperation I now apply to my small children when they’re having tantrums in the mall.
“What… the… you don’t like Subway all of a sudden?”
“It’s not that. It’s that I was, well, a total bitch to that girl behind the counter, and I don’t want her to recognize me.”
And, yes, she would have recognized me, because I know this is hard to believe, but out of the 500 or so kids that attended the junior high in our sandy little beach town on Florida’s east coast, I happen to be the only one that was of Pakistani descent.
She was totally going to recognize me.
And she was totally going to take my food in the back and spit on it.
And I totally deserved it.
Tariq doubled over with uncontrollable laughter. “HAHAHAHAHAHA… you were SO mean to someone that you’re…. HAHAHAHAHA…. afraid to eat food…. HAHAHAHA… that…. HAHAHA…. they’ve…. HAHAHAHA… touched?!!”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying this,” I muttered as I went over the other possibilities for lunch in my head.
When he finally stopped laughing, I said, “Okay, so let’s go to Chili’s or something… I wasn’t in the mood for fast food, anyway.”
“No.” He smiled… to this day, I insist that it was an evil smile. “I… want… Subway.”
“Well, we’ll have to go to another Subway.”
“No, I want a sub from this Subway.”
“Why are you being such a JERK?!”
He giggled. Yes. Giggled. “Come on, we both have a class in 45 minutes, and we’re going to be late if we try to go somewhere else. Let’s just go in and get our food.”
“You go in and get my food.”
He looked at me. “No.” Then, he grabbed my hand, “Come on.”
Of course, there was a line.
Of course.
So, I’m standing there, sweating it out… imagining what this woman was going to say me. As I reviewed our history together, I became fully aware of the undeniable fact that I had been a first rate a-hole to this girl. You know the story well. She wore the wrong clothes, had the wrong hair, said the wrong things… and, of course, we punished her for that.
It was awful. We were awful.
And, now, I was going to have to look her in the eye ten years later and hope to high heaven that she wasn’t going to recognize me or put bad mojo all over my Veggie Delight sub on whole wheat bread.
This is the perfect place to insert that I am fully aware that there is no viable reason that someone who is preparing a Subway sandwich would actually have to take a sub to “the back”. I know this, and I am pretty sure that I knew it then, too. So, the truth is, I’d been a jerk, had gotten away with not having to answer for it for ten whole years, and now the respite was over and I was going to have to face the oil and vinegar.
When it was finally my turn to order, after a wait that felt like nothing short of an eternity, I mustered the absolute kindest facial expression I could possibly project, I also miraculously bred the softest tone of voice I could muster with the friendliest tone I could conceive of and said, “Hey, how are you?”
That emphasis on the you is to denote that I said it the way you do when you know someone.
“Great,” she said in a tone in which the physical equivalent would be swatting at a mosquito, “What can I get for you?”
“Um…” I placed my order, but the whole time, I’m thinking, Do you not remember me? How could you forget about ME? I was the one who stuffed that fake love letter in your locker. I was the one who instigated the nickname Sears and Roebuck which subsequently followed you into the ninth grade… I was absolutely and unreservedly the most effing AWFUL 12 year old you know… HOW COULD YOU JUST FORGET ME?”
And, then, it dawned on me. I suspect she hadn’t forgotten me.
She was treating me exactly how I deserved to be treated… like I didn’t matter. Every question that they have to ask, “Lettuce? Tomato? Onions?” was asked with a dead stare into my eyes. A stare that said, I know you… I remember you… but, you do not matter to me anymore.
Honestly, I’m happy for her, and that she had that moment. I’m glad she was able to make me feel like I didn’t matter. And not because I narrowly escaped some horribly awkward confrontation at a Subway counter, but because she had moved on. Actually there was a quiet dignity in her eyes told me she was more than okay. Of course, that will never make the way my twelve year old self acted okay, but… I don’t know, it somehow made me feel better.
It’s been nearly fifteen years since Subway, and I still think about her. I should have said I’m sorry. But, how was I supposed to do that? “Yeah, um… no mayo, extra mustard, and uhhh, yeah, also, I’m sorry I was such an asshole in junior high.”
Maybe now? Maybe if she searched “Faiqa who was an ass to me in junior high” she might come across this post.
I am so sorry, I was wrong, I was insecure, you were fine, your clothes were fine, what I said and did to you was a reflection on what a mess I was and not on you. I know you don’t care and that you shouldn’t and that I don’t matter to you and that I shouldn’t matter, but, please just know that I am sorry.
Also?
Thank you for working at a place fifteen years ago where you could not take my food to the back.
Because… yeah, I totally would have deserved that.
About Faiqa Khan
You are such a kind, loving person to me. But I know we all have our Jekyll and Hyde sides. I can’t think of anyone who was horrible enough to me where I’d even bother confronting them about it.
I think, honestly, junior high is when girls get really ugly with each other. Must be those raging hormones and the prevalence of cliques, or something.
Still – I’m glad she had her moment, too.
If you ask me the best part of this story is that you recognized that what you had done was wrong and felt guilty about it. It doesn’t remove the past, but it demonstrates growth and that is important.
I have been out of high school for almost 25 years but I still run into people who think that it is cool to act like we are still hanging out in the quad.
Twitter Name: thejackb
I don’t think there’s anyone who wasn’t a dick to a peer or two at some point. I still feel bad about a kid I used to torture in fourth grade. Maybe I’ll start hanging around at Subways, hoping to find him and make things right.
Twitter Name: betadad
As hard as it is for me to believe that you could ever be mean to anyone, fact is, a lot of kids are …lets just say..not themselves in junior/high school. What you are today is what matters in the long run. The values you have now are what matters since you now have an opportunity to pass that along to your children so that they will never make a child feel bad.
PS: For what its worth, I do hope this girls catches up to you some day and gets a chance to know you as I do today. She will love you as so many do. You truly are an amazing gift to mankind.
Yeah, I agree with Jack. The fact that you recognize your bad choice is SO much better than MOST people ever do. How many people would have walked in there and thought, “Oh, there’s that loser/nerd/reject” and continued to be obvious to their behavior?
Yeah, like 90% of them.
Twitter Name: DTKMMeLookCrazy
I “confronted” that mean girl on the phone who denied ever being mean to me. I had her best friend deny it as well. She wrote to me and wanted to talk to me on the phone. I denied her the privilege.
At least you were sorry and recognized it. Good for you
I can’t believe YOU were a mean girl!!! In all honesty, though, girls in grade 7 and 8 are awful and give their parents a hard time and made my dad go gray way too young. Wait, that was my sister… I was PERFECT! ;)
Wait – you were a bitch in high school? Where was I?
Heh. I crack me up.
Twitter Name: Avitable