I Hate Loose Cannons

Before I get it in to this, let me cop to the fact that I have been known to be somewhat of a loose cannon myself. If you were to mention, say, Kimora Lee Simmons to me, I might tell you that I think she was the most fraudulent PETA spokesperson in history and the fact that she did a campaign for them while she was still phasing fur out of her Baby Phat line is completely inexcusable. I’ve been known to wear fur and leather from time to time, but you don’t see me naked on some billboard declaring that I’d rather go naked.

However, there is a certain kind of loose cannon I cannot tolerate, and that is the assumption-making, hateful-hearted kind. Cattiness and misdirected anger is simply not acceptable to me, and I will further explain this by giving an example, which is what I have been taught to do.

About three years ago, my best friend Edward, our friend Alison and I went to go see a show at the UCB Theater. After the show, we were waiting for Ed’s car by the valet. The valet was taking forever, and so I went to go correct that situation while Ed and Alison struck up a conversation with some woman seated outside of the coffee shop next to the valet stand.

I am not one to harp on someone’s physical appearance unless I need to paint a picture, but for the sake of this piece that’s what I need to do. Bitch was mousy. She was mousy and her clothes could be generously described as sensible (fugly) and she was wearing Lisa Loeb glasses. All of this would have been fine if she hadn’t conducted herself the way she did that night.

After getting an ETA on Ed’s car from the valet, I joined Ed and Alison’s conversation with this woman. I started by introducing myself, as I was raised to do, and asked her if she’d had a nice evening. I’m willing to admit that the next words out of my mouth were harmless, but completely socially awkward. I don’t do much beside work and hang out with my dog and occasionally go out with my best friends, so I really only ask people about those sorts of things because it’s all I can think of.  I’m not great with strangers, okay?

At this particular time in my life, I was very aware of the fact that most people in Los Angeles are here because of work and that most people do things all day that they don’t like doing so that they can eventually do what they want. Actresses are waiters, writers are assistant editors, whatever. Instead of asking her, “So, what do you do?” I asked her, “So, girl, what’s your passion?”

Look: I know it was a fucking weird question and my role in all of this still haunts me to this day. “What’s your passion,” is arguably the oddest second question to ever ask a human ever. I was hoping she’d say something interesting like, “Oh, I want to work with sea mammals,” or “I’m an executive assistant but I really like doing stand up,” or something. I was hoping for the best here, I wanted to try and ask her something that wouldn’t make her think about how much her life sucked. You want to know what she said to me?

“Excuse me? No. No. I know people like you and you’re just some L.A. user bitch. You’re just trying to see what you can get from me so I can further your career. Fuck you. You want to know what? You’re probably lonely and I go home to a good man every night who loves me and I’m happy, okay? I’m happy, and you’re just a bitch who uses people to get what you need.”

Well, to say that I was confused and hurt by this accusation would be an understatement. I was straight bewildered. I had never met this woman in my life, wanted nothing from her and honestly didn’t give a shit about her. I was pretending to show interest in her because my friends were doing the same and honestly? I wanted to go home so I could start my work for the next day and go to bed with my man, who is a Chihuahua, not sit there and talk to the homeless man’s Lisa Loeb and grill her for career advice.

I don’t even remember exactly how I responded to this attack. I think I laughed in her face and was like, “Um, okay. Does your man know you conduct yourself like this in public?” before walking back to the valet station. What I do remember was spending the next two weeks on the phone with Ed asking him every day what was so wrong about asking someone what her passion is and what it is about me that warranted this reaction from her.

I really wanted her to be a dolphin trainer. I was hoping she trained dolphins and was spiritual with animals. The last type of person I desire to randomly meet is someone who works in the arts. I have those types metaphorically coming out of every orifice on my body, thank you. And I’d really like to know how all that misdirected, assumption-based anger works for her in meetings and in her day-to-day interactions. I’d really love to know how her co-workers and “good man” feel about the fact that she’s a social liability with insecurity seeping out of every pore of her sloppy, rage-filled body.

Fact is, having dope friends who can introduce you to people or get you a meeting is great, but no one can do anything for you if you ultimately can’t do it for yourself. I don’t know what commercial audition this woman didn’t get a callback for or what one-woman show she wrote that was rejected from every theater in town, but to come at me with all that? That was a bigger failure than her career probably is. I’m actually pretty queenly and generous and don’t do well with friendships that don’t feel mutually beneficial on every level.

This is a message to that loose cannon and any other loose cannon out there: Don’t let your interior be as ugly and pointless as your exterior and for your information, Molly McAleer has never needed anyone but Molly McAleer. I was trying to be nice.