During the 1970s, Tradewinds operated a nightclub called `We Place’ in downtown Toronto. I should explain that I deliberately chose the Guyanese “we” to convey that it was “our place”, but Canadians, unfamiliar with the dialect, would spell it “Wee Place”, meaning “little place” – something complete different and a story for another time.
I bring up We Place here because among the waitresses we employed at the club, the most efficient was Bonnie, a quite large lady from New Zealand, who was a whiz at her job. Bonnie would come to the bar with orders from several tables, fit them all into one tray and have the drinks back on the tables before the other waitresses had filled one order. As the Canadians would put it, she was a hustler.
Bonnie, however, had her rough edges. One was that in trying to pass through a crowd – the club often was jammed on weekends – she would forego, “excuse me”, and simply move people with a friendly shove from her generous behind. It bordered on rudeness, but people took that in stride. Her other trait, however, which caused problems, was her tendency when things got hectic (West Indian people can be quite undisciplined) to lapse into the occasional choice four-letter word.
Customers would complain, eventually the complaint would come to me, I would confront Bonnie about it, and every time, here was the pattern: she would be very contrite, often to the point of tears, telling me how well I treated her, and she was so sorry, she didn’t know what came over her, and she would never do it again. Of course, “never” lasted for about two or three weeks. Then, I would get another complaint, and there would be another tearful chat, and another “never again” assurance, and then two or three weeks later, here we go again; or, rather, there she goes again.
I’m telling you this story to make the point that, generally speaking, people don’t change. Sure, we all know examples of people who turned their lives around, and altered some behaviour for the better, but they are exceptions proving the rule that when you meet a person, in whatever capacity, almost always what you see is what you get.
Mind you, it takes a while for the premise to take hold. Our egos get in the way, particularly when we’re young, and leave us feeling we can persuade people to change long-held habits or views.
We’re particularly vulnerable when we fall in love. In the euphoria of the time, we are very quick to overlook any behaviours or attitudes in our partner because – here’s the trap – our thinking is: “Look how she loves me, and I love her. In time, she will come around.” And indeed, like Bonnie, in that first early blush, when things are white hot, some attempts at change take place – John really tries to remember not to leave the toilet seat up; Jane avoids talking for four hours on the phone – but six months down the road the behaviours are back in full force, and the two former love-birds are short-tempered with each other, or, worse yet, talking to each other through a lawyer.
Scenarios like the above are not just confined to social relationships. You see them playing out in the work place where Harry gets chastised for coming in late, is punctual for a month or so, and then it’s “Anybody seen Harry,?” again. You will find yourself sometimes having to chide your plumber who didn’t show up when you call him, and he apologises, and you feel you’re making headway, and two weeks later, with the water around your ankles, your plumber is not returning your call.
Just this morning, I’m dealing with a promoter in the US (he’s a Trini by the way) and the man is leaving everything to the last minute. I don’t know what flight I’m on; what hotel I’m staying in; what flight I’m coming back on; who’s meeting me at the airport – “I’ll get back to you” is the refrain – and I’m back and forth on the phone. A friend says, “You should tell him you don’t deal with this last-minute business.” Over time you learn that those ultimatums are a complete waste of time. That’s how the Trini guy is; that’s how he operates; that’s how he lives his life. Your chances of getting him to change are slim and none. Sure, you can complain, and the Trini will apologise, “sorry ‘bout dat padna; don’t dig nuttin’”, but three months from now, when you’re dealing with him again, it’s another set of “I’ll get back to you.”
We will save ourselves a lot of frustration in life, not to mention wasted energy, if we simply accept that once a person gets out of the teenage years, the concrete is set. As illogical and irritating as you may find that person’s behaviour to be, looking for change is pointless. Indeed, it’s illogical: think of your own behaviours or tendencies or views; how likely are you to change those?
Who’s going to get you to play your music soft when you’ve been playing it loud for years? Your new lady love, perhaps for a month or so, but after that it’s back to thunder.
We are creatures of habit, every one of us. If I don’t like your habits, I need to relax and understand they’re your traits, and if they bother me to the point of irritation, I should move on. Years ago, as a young man in Canada, I used to lime with a Guyanese named Joe Texeira. Joe was a bucket of fun. However, he was the one with the car, and he was always late. We’d be going out somewhere. I would dress and walk over to his apartment, but Joe was never ready. Sometimes he’d be just starting to get ready. I’m a punctuality guy. I would steam.
I would cuss Joe up and down. He would mumble, “Sorry, man.” But three days later, I’m at his apartment door, and Joe is late again. I couldn’t stop being on time; he couldn’t stop being late. So I simply bus’ him off. We remained friends, but liming together was out.
Save yourself the frustration of expecting people to change. Despite the complaints, John will continue to leave the toilet seat up (I’m guilty of this one myself), Bonnie will continue to cuss, Jane will be on the phone for hours, and Joe will be late. So it go. Get used to it.