Moving to a huge city like New York is like shotgunning your first beer: You see everyone else crushing Natty and think to yourself, “Looks easy, I think I can do it!” Turns out it’s fucking cold, a lot harder than you expected, and an all-around train wreck.
After embarrassing myself on every form of public transit, I had to sit down with a bottle of wine and talk myself into toughening up. The dreaded subway system was my new home, and I needed to get used to the casual piles of vomit on the sidewalk and adjust already. In my head, this involved closing myself off from people.
As much as I hate the term “resting bitch face” (ugh), I admit that I suffer from a constant state of not smiling. Don’t get me wrong: laughing is my chosen form of exercise, Forgetting Sarah Marshall makes me cry tears, and I once even did stand-up—I just don’t walk around with a giant Kimmy Schmidt smile everyday.
It wasn’t until my partner in debauchery—you know her as Tine_Vogue—and I were shit-talking dudes’ Bumble bios in the lunchroom that we realized: we aren’t as nice as we used to be.
We’re both ex-sorority gal pals, for god’s sake. Granted, we were the black sheep of our chapter, but there was indeed a time in my life where talking to strangers didn’t make me want to rip my eyeballs out Indiana Jones-style. (KALI MAA! KALI MAA!)
It suddenly dawned on us that we weren’t just being mildly antisocial — we had become downright mean. So we did something very reminiscent of a ‘90s movie makeover scene and decided to make a conscious effort to be nice to people. Here’s what happened:
1. I got hit on and it wasn’t awful.
Pleasantly surprised how easy a conversation can be when you ask normal questions instead of quoting SpongeBob. PS: Parker if you’re reading this please text me I want to take the next step in this text-relationship and make out with your face.
2. I got hit on and it was awful.
For all the fellas out there, here’s a lil ‘ol tip: Grabbing my face and pulling it towards you does NOT make me want to make out with you, it makes me want to punch you in the jugular.
3. I watched less Criminal Minds: SVU.
But I didn’t quit completely, because Ice-T.
4. I enjoyed conversations more.
Being nicer applied to more than just people I talked to in real life. The guys I actually messaged on Bumble seemed to enjoy having a normal conversation as opposed to my usual opener of black santa emoji and three question marks.
5. I wasn’t a piece of garbage drunk asshole like usual.
And it felt really good to not be the worst.
6. I think I smiled more.
Jury’s still out on this one.
7. Work was much more enjoyable.
I have upgraded from just being friends with Tine and the mail guy who gives us chocolate. I’d call it a success but I’m too busy with my one new friend
8. I’ve never slept better.
Because being nice is exhausting, draining the life from my cold, tired heart.
If I’m going to continue this outrageous behavior, I’ll need a lifetime prescription of Adderall. Any takers?.