A Million PLS
I picked up my phone with a rare sense of benevolence, the kind of mid-afternoon charity that usually only strikes when one is feeling particularly flush or at peace with the world. I dialled Uncle Nidge first, listening to the rhythmic, agonising drone of the ringing tone until it eventually clipped off into the cold indifference of voicemail. I could almost picture him at the gym, sweat-soaked and focussed, punishing a heavy bag with that relentless rhythm of his, entirely oblivious to the fact that his phone was vibrating against a locker bench.
He had no way of knowing that I wasn't calling to hound him about the debt—that nagging cloud of owed money that had been hanging over our relationship for months. In fact, I was prepared to tell him to forget the whole thing, to wipe the slate clean and let us move on as kin. But as the silence of his non-answer stretched out, my altruism curdled into a sharp, jagged spike of resentment. If he can’t be bothered to pick up his phone, then he can bloody well find a way to pay me back every last penny. The grace period is officially over.
Then there was Justin. I gave him a ring right after, expecting at least a, "hey, can't talk", but the result was the same: stone-cold silence. I know exactly what was going through his head when he saw my name flash across the screen. He likely sighed, rolled his eyes, and assumed I was calling to shamelessly beg for more PLS to bolster my wallet.
The irony is almost too much to bear. I wasn't calling to ask for a handout; I was calling to change his life. I had it all planned out—I was going to surprise him with a gift of one million PLS as a sincere thank-you for the help he’s given me in the past. It was supposed to be a grand gesture, a moment of genuine connection. But now? Now, I’m leaning toward keeping that million for myself. If he wants to live in a world where I’m nothing but a nuisance, then he can live in a world without my generosity, too.
I have no doubt the two of them are in contact, probably texting back and forth, commiserating about, "what I want this time". I truly hope they’ve enjoyed their little discussion and their shared assumptions. They’ve managed to talk themselves right out of a debt forgiveness and a small fortune, all without saying a single word to me.
He had no way of knowing that I wasn't calling to hound him about the debt—that nagging cloud of owed money that had been hanging over our relationship for months. In fact, I was prepared to tell him to forget the whole thing, to wipe the slate clean and let us move on as kin. But as the silence of his non-answer stretched out, my altruism curdled into a sharp, jagged spike of resentment. If he can’t be bothered to pick up his phone, then he can bloody well find a way to pay me back every last penny. The grace period is officially over.
Then there was Justin. I gave him a ring right after, expecting at least a, "hey, can't talk", but the result was the same: stone-cold silence. I know exactly what was going through his head when he saw my name flash across the screen. He likely sighed, rolled his eyes, and assumed I was calling to shamelessly beg for more PLS to bolster my wallet.
The irony is almost too much to bear. I wasn't calling to ask for a handout; I was calling to change his life. I had it all planned out—I was going to surprise him with a gift of one million PLS as a sincere thank-you for the help he’s given me in the past. It was supposed to be a grand gesture, a moment of genuine connection. But now? Now, I’m leaning toward keeping that million for myself. If he wants to live in a world where I’m nothing but a nuisance, then he can live in a world without my generosity, too.
I have no doubt the two of them are in contact, probably texting back and forth, commiserating about, "what I want this time". I truly hope they’ve enjoyed their little discussion and their shared assumptions. They’ve managed to talk themselves right out of a debt forgiveness and a small fortune, all without saying a single word to me.
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