Guess who’s coming to dinner? Debbie. Debbie Downer.
That’s exactly who I had the displeasure of breaking bread with this evening. The scene took place somewhere in between the dingy crevices of New York City’s Times Square. You see, it was supposed to be a nice meet-and-greet between friends before traveling together to Jamaica later this winter. We were to meet at approximately 8pm ET at 42nd Street, which for those of you not familiar, is currently overflowing with thousands of giddy tourists setting up camp to watch the ball drop. Having walked through the swarm myself, it was hard not to get caught up in the excitement of the space, in the optimism which the start of a new year brings, or in the promise of a savory meal between friends.
Filled with this excitement, I arrived to “the spot” on time and in an upbeat mood (which is surprising considering that I just got off an 8 hour work day with only 3 hours of sleep). But not all of the attendees arrived in such a manner. No, not Debbie. Not Ms. “2 hours late, then offering a pseudo apology for being late” Downer. Yeah, that’s right- two hours LATE. She might as well have arrived the next morning. To top things off, when Debbie FINALLY managed to arrive, without any sincerity in her voice, she proceeded to offer an offensively weak apology.
Right now, you may be thinking: “so what if she was late? It happens. She apologized. Move on J.” But if only it were that easy. As they say on Bravo, “watch what happens.”
Shortly after being seated, Debbie Downer had the “cojones” to complain. Yes, really. She complained about the upcoming trip, about her meal (chicken and rice), about the crowds (both inside & outside the restaurant) and so on. She was like the Energizer Bunny of complaints- she kept “going and going and going.” Needless to say, I was very relieved once our bill arrived.
Now folks, I kid you not, the story doesn’t end here (as I said earlier, if only it were that easy). Once outside the restaurant, Debbie informs us that she refuses to go home without a personal escort. Yes, this grown woman at the age of 27 needed one in our unlucky crew to hold her hand and accompany her back home. Astounded, I felt like screaming, ” am I my sister’s keeper?,” but decided against this. Instead, after debating the subject in the cold for about 20 minutes, I chucked up the peace sign and walked away.
Here’s the moral of the story: if you see a Debbie Downer walking towards you down the street, run! Should you be that Debbie Downer (which I’m sure you couldn’t possibly be), then this I say to you: “you are the weakest link. Good bye!”
Live. Laugh. Smile.