Never Doing THAT Again

                I like to help people when they’re in need; whether it’s a ride to work, a couple bucks for something, or a place to stay for a few weeks, I’m there to help. The only problem with that is that people tend to take my kind gestures for granted and they don’t seem to appreciate them. Now, I’m not trying to sound selfish by any means, but wouldn’t you want a ‘thank you’ or some form of appreciation for your good deeds, too? (Keep in mind, this post doesn’t involve charity or anything like that.)

                I have this guy friend. I’ve liked him for a good three years now. Since I’ve liked him for a while, I’ve done quite a few favors for him. He’s gotten in some sticky situations over the past couple years and whenever I was able to help out, I did. The two times his car got impounded, I gave him rides to work. When he ran out of phone minutes, I bought him a minute card. When he dropped his phone in the toilet, I bought him a new phone AND a minute card. I’ve also bought him food, cologne, and numerous presents for various holidays. I don’t mind doing nice things for people. But when it comes to spending quite a substantial chunk of my hard-earned money on them and they take it with barely so much as a ‘thank you’, or the phantom possibility that they might actually do something nice for me for a change, I get a little pissed off. Well, a lot, actually.

                I had this boyfriend. He had a tough upbringing and he was a teen dad as a sophomore in high school so he dropped out and his life pretty much went downhill from there. He had an apartment with his baby’s mom for some time and he worked all day and always came home to a dirty house that he’d have to clean. When he found out his girlfriend was pregnant again, let’s just say his life got even harder and the money he had was never going to be enough. They broke up, he lost the apartment, and had to move from place to place to live. When I met him, he was staying with his grandmother who didn’t want him there, at all. She kicked him out and he was staying with friends for a few nights until he moved in with his sister and her boyfriend at their apartment. His sister’s boyfriend was bipolar, had major anger issues, smoked, drank, and his mother was even worse. She was a crack addict, and she, too, had a raging temper. My boyfriend, now ex, didn’t want to have to deal with that for too long, and eventually his sister and her boyfriend kicked him out because him being there cut into their intimate time together (I think you get it).

                That’s where I came in: being the helpful person that I am, I begged my parents to let him stay with us, at least until he got on his feet. He had no license, no car, no home, no job. The first thing we did was move him into our basement. I bought him clothes, minutes for his phone as well, twice, food, spent hundreds of dollars on gas going anywhere he wanted to please him. The next order of business was to get him a job; anything would do. He applied to at least 6 places a day, interviewed multiple days a week and they all fell through. The frustration of job searching was really taking a toll on our relationship; he’d take everything out on me, so I’d try and ease the tension by treating to movies, Roughrider games, going out to dinner multiple times, just so we could think about things other than work.

That seemed to work for a short time, but things eventually slipped back to how they were. I wasn’t happy, he wasn’t very happy, but I kept trying, doing everything I could to try and make it better. I figured things would get easier once he had his own place. He didn’t think so and broke up with me because we weren’t happy together and he didn’t want to hurt me anymore. The straw that broke the camel’s back was after the Roughrider game; he was drunk and being more affectionate than ever, and I made it a point to tell him he treated me better when he was drunk and that made him feel terrible. Ever since then, he spent every waking minute trying to find an apartment to get out of my house.

I was happy that he was trying to be a grown up and be on his own, but he was not ready at all. He didn’t have nearly enough money to be considered stable; he didn’t have furniture, blankets, pillows, no essentials for a home by any means. My parents offered to let him stay until he had enough money for a nice apartment, but he was hell bent on leaving. The other day I picked him up from work; he asked me to take him to his place so he could sign the lease. I then took him back to my house and he packed all of his things and his father was in my driveway to take him back across town to his place. I was livid: he hardly discussed it with me or my family; my parents didn't even know he was leaving that day; he barely said so much as a 'thank you' to me before running out my door. It was as if the hundreds of dollars, all that time and struggling happiness I invested in him was all for nothing. Now that I look back on it, I wouldn't call it a mistake; it's just a lesson I've learned never to do again.

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