It’s all Facebook’s fault. Maybe not entirely. The woman is more than a little high-strung. See, I helped her pack for L.A. this past summer. Let’s call her Tiny because she’s not very big. Tiny had gotten herself into all kinds of trouble I won’t detail. She was melting down in front of me. Bad choices, she admitted, which is what we used to call stupidity.
Emotionally, she was all hot springs and fury. Say the wrong thing, or say the right thing with the wrong tone, or say nothing when she wanted a response, or speak when she expected your attention – she went all baboon on you. Eventually I got her calmed down. It sure seemed like I left Tiny’s place on her good side.
Three days later, when I called, she pretended she didn’t know me.
Subsequent emails after she settled in L.A. were also ignored. I said screw this; I have a life with friends, hobbies and cable. Who needs her?
Skip ahead to this winter. Facebook, as is its wont, kept messaging me I should contact Tiny, suggest friends for her. I finally decided to follow through and go on her page. Strangely, there had been no activity for months. No postings, no friends added, nothing. Out of concern, I messaged one of the girlfriends listed on her page, asking if she’d heard anything from Tiny. She never responded.
I shrugged and went on with my existence.
About a month later I’m told by a mutual friend that Tiny had been arrested and jailed in some Southern state. This person wants nothing to do with any of it because she and Tiny had a falling out. In fact, Tiny burned bridges with just about everyone around here. She was, as I said, majestically high-maintenance.
Again, out of concern, I contacted two of her Facebook friends, asking if they had any info. No response. Do any of these people actually know or care about her, I asked myself.
I sent her a regular e-mail, dug up her cell number, and the next day gave her a call.
Tiny answered and proceeded to inform me she and others got drunk at a convention, were arrested, charged with disorderly conduct, and released the next day. Unfortunately, her HR department had called Tiny’s emergency contact, whom she forgot to replace with someone she wasn’t fighting with. Tiny said her job might be on the line.
Remember, she is the one who got drunk.
I commiserated, God did I commiserate.
Tiny was furious with the contact for blabbing about her arrest and angry with me for contacting her Facebook friends. DID YOU WRITE ANYTHING ON MY WALL?! was one of her concerns. Which I hadn’t.
She was conciliatory enough to suggest we meet when she visits NYC in June. I clicked off, feeling at least we’d reestablished communication.
A week later the phone rang. Tiny was on the other end screaming, accusing me of telling all her girlfriends what happened. I don’t even know her girlfriends. She wouldn’t let me get a word in, promised she would delete me from her page, her life, etc. After 30 seconds of exploding land mines bursting from her mouth, I hung up.
I have since sent two emails pleading absolute innocence. No response. If Facebook had just let me alone and never bombarded me with pleas to contact Tiny and get activity pumped into her page, none of this would have happened.
Well, it probably would have happened because I’m a sucker for the needy ones. Now I wonder how many of my 88 Facebook friends really care about me.
Would someone like to be my emergency contact? — Joe Del Priore