The Hater’s Lament
Shouts & MurmursPhotograph from GettyAs I lay dying, I look back with regret on time not spent pointing out things that suck. I have so much bile left to give, but my time is at hand.Actors that gained weight, singers with weird heads, athletes who donated to different charities than I would have—there was a time when they all would have been subjected to my takes. Now I can barely summon the strength to be a wet blanket.If I die tonight, tell Tim Burton he stinks.Could I have been a better jerk? Perhaps. I’m haunted by those countless hours spent enjoying friends or breaking bread with family, when I could have been eating a co-worker’s lunch because I resented their success; when I could have been muttering on the bus. I can never get those moments back.Remember me as a huge dick.As I reflect on a life lived, I wish I’d complained more. I should have dragged that vlogger for his lisp. I could have written a nasty review of a blender that I don’t own. I should have mocked birds on the off chance that they comprehend snark. At the end of the day, you have to put yourself out there to make others wish you hadn’t.When I was younger, my whining was vigorous and robust. Nothing was too small to trash. Moleskine notebooks, metal straws, lesser flavors of chips—all were worthy of a rant. Hell, I would go at my spouse about how that orange shirt made her look like a carrot. She pretended to hate it, but deep down she knew I was making some pretty good points.I hope she and her new husband are doing well.But life is short, and so is that guy on Facebook I called short. Tomorrow is never assured, so don’t wait to tell someone that their sneakers look cheap. If you have an opinion, you should always state it. It’s easy to find excuses not to kill the vibe at a dinner party, but you can’t let that inner voice stop you from shaming guests for eating meat.Don’t compare yourself with others. It’s wasted energy better spent review-bombing films based solely on their trailers. When the world doesn’t care what you think, make it care—in ALL CAPS. Remember: a stranger is just a bridge you haven’t burned yet.My father once told me that spewing negativity leads to a sad and lonely life, that pessimism is a prison that blinds you to the beauty that surrounds us. He said some other stuff, too, but I stopped listening because he drives a lame car.Sorry, but I don’t take advice from dudes in Dodge Darts.The future is yours, young hater. I pass the baton of bitterness to you. Now go out there and get a waitress fired for an honest mistake. Let your niece know that she won’t be President. Tell a Beatles fan that the band is all hype. Only then will the world learn what ticks you off and adjust accordingly.As I draw my last breath, I’m comforted by the knowledge that I brought zero to the table. But I must go now, for my existence is at its end. My soul has left my body, and my voice is too weak to mock “Jeopardy” contestants.I see a white light. Could be whiter. Could be brighter. Not impressed. ♦
As I lay dying, I look back with regret on time not spent pointing out things that suck. I have so much bile left to give, but my time is at hand.
Actors that gained weight, singers with weird heads, athletes who donated to different charities than I would have—there was a time when they all would have been subjected to my takes. Now I can barely summon the strength to be a wet blanket.
If I die tonight, tell Tim Burton he stinks.
Could I have been a better jerk? Perhaps. I’m haunted by those countless hours spent enjoying friends or breaking bread with family, when I could have been eating a co-worker’s lunch because I resented their success; when I could have been muttering on the bus. I can never get those moments back.
Remember me as a huge dick.
As I reflect on a life lived, I wish I’d complained more. I should have dragged that vlogger for his lisp. I could have written a nasty review of a blender that I don’t own. I should have mocked birds on the off chance that they comprehend snark. At the end of the day, you have to put yourself out there to make others wish you hadn’t.
When I was younger, my whining was vigorous and robust. Nothing was too small to trash. Moleskine notebooks, metal straws, lesser flavors of chips—all were worthy of a rant. Hell, I would go at my spouse about how that orange shirt made her look like a carrot. She pretended to hate it, but deep down she knew I was making some pretty good points.
I hope she and her new husband are doing well.
But life is short, and so is that guy on Facebook I called short. Tomorrow is never assured, so don’t wait to tell someone that their sneakers look cheap. If you have an opinion, you should always state it. It’s easy to find excuses not to kill the vibe at a dinner party, but you can’t let that inner voice stop you from shaming guests for eating meat.
Don’t compare yourself with others. It’s wasted energy better spent review-bombing films based solely on their trailers. When the world doesn’t care what you think, make it care—in ALL CAPS. Remember: a stranger is just a bridge you haven’t burned yet.
My father once told me that spewing negativity leads to a sad and lonely life, that pessimism is a prison that blinds you to the beauty that surrounds us. He said some other stuff, too, but I stopped listening because he drives a lame car.
Sorry, but I don’t take advice from dudes in Dodge Darts.
The future is yours, young hater. I pass the baton of bitterness to you. Now go out there and get a waitress fired for an honest mistake. Let your niece know that she won’t be President. Tell a Beatles fan that the band is all hype. Only then will the world learn what ticks you off and adjust accordingly.
As I draw my last breath, I’m comforted by the knowledge that I brought zero to the table. But I must go now, for my existence is at its end. My soul has left my body, and my voice is too weak to mock “Jeopardy” contestants.
I see a white light. Could be whiter. Could be brighter. Not impressed. ♦
