“What is the matter with you, Jerry? How many times do I have to tell you these things?!”
I sat timidly outside the office door as Jerry, the neophyte television director, was being raked over the coals by Sid, the crusty, old-school producer.
Sid’s voice was coarse and strident: “Can’t you do anything right?!” Jerry’s was faint and timid: “Yes, you’re right, Sid. I know I need to do better.”
The upbraiding was relentless. “Why don’t you ever listen to me? You are a serious disappointment!” If a tongue lashing could actually pierce flesh, the faded photographs of the has-been TV stars mounted on the wood-paneled office walls would have been splattered with blood.
Jerry was unfailingly repentant: “I am so sorry, Sid. Please give me another chance. I can do better.”
The rancid concoction of Sid’s venomous tirade and Jerry’s pitiful responses twisted my stomach into knots. I felt like I personally was on the receiving end of this never-ending barrage. “Why doesn’t Jerry stand up for himself?” I screamed inside my head. “This guy’s self-esteem must be in the toilet! How much more abuse can poor Jerry bear?” (Hell, it was almost unbearable for me, and I was in the next room!)
I was working as a staff writer for a daytime television series about fictionalized couples in therapy. It was my first professional job as a writer, and I was also in the midst of my doctoral program in psychology. So, it was a fortuitous — if not odd — melding of those two worlds.
Despite my Zorro-esque yearning to leap to Jerry’s rescue, I felt absolutely powerless to do anything about it. First, Jerry was an adult and should be able to fend for himself. And second, frankly, I couldn’t risk losing my job. But I figured the very least I could do was to offer him my empathy and emotional support. So, I asked him out for an early-morning meal the next day.
Now, some life lessons can only take root with the benefit of decades of hindsight. Others require months. Still others take only weeks. But this one needed less than twenty-four hours. And it happened at a coffee shop counter over a power breakfast of pancakes, sausage, and eggs.
I didn’t quite know how to broach the subject. I started with some general chatter about the perils and pitfalls of show biz, the challenges of creativity, and blah, blah, blah. Then I gingerly brought up the topic of Sid. I took a breath. “Jerry, I really feel for you.” I sympathetically queried, “How can you stand to listen to his abuse?”
His mouth full of scrambled eggs, he just shrugged it off: “Aw, who bothers to listen?” I kinda sorta laughed, “I can’t tell if you’re serious.” He affirmed, “Of course! I just ignore it. If he wants to get an ulcer, that’s up to him. As for me, it doesn’t cost me anything. I still have a job. And no ulcer.” And with that, he ravenously polished off his pancakes.
Here I thought the poor guy suffered from abysmally low
self-esteem. But I was wrong. In fact, his self-esteem was so healthy — so solid — that he was impervious to the rabid onslaughts of a bellicose, infantile bully…who, I realized in that moment, was actually the one with the low self-esteem issues.
Jerry sopped up the last nub of his sausage with a puddle of maple syrup, and we headed back to the office where it all had started. But I had newfound admiration — even envy — toward Jerry. And with it, a new perspective for learning how to cope with some of the Sids in this world.