What do you do when a colleague's regular offers of a lift home fill you with angst? Do you tell lies and feel bad or confess and risk being seen as weird? Read the advice of our resident sage Maddy Phillipps (and email your own problems to dearmaddy@tvnz.co.nz).
DEAR MADDY: Two months ago myself and a coworker – let’s call them Daniel, because that’s their name – had to work unusually late. Daniel, being a kind and considerate man, offered me a lift home.
Now, it’s important for context, Maddy, that you understand I detest getting lifts from people. No matter how genuine the offer, it’s a favour I hate receiving. I view every minute I spend in someone else’s car as a direct affront to their personal space and blatant disrespect for their free time. Anyway.
I had just a few weeks prior moved house and told Daniel that I’m just around the corner from his place in a new apartment building. He said he knew exactly which building I meant, and my place was on the way – everything was fine.
I didn’t realise Daniel was mistaken about my address until he pulled in front of a building I’d never seen before.
I knew then I had a choice: I could get out of the car, wait for Daniel to drive away and then call an Uber to my real house, or tell Daniel that we’d clearly miscommunicated and he had parked in front of a random building.
One choice gets me out of the car, the other inconveniences Daniel even more than my presence has already.
I made the right choice and arrived home thirty minutes later filled with shame at my dishonesty.
It’s been two months and I’ve been batting away Daniel’s offers of lifts home and carpools to work like flies. I’ve looked at apartments in the building he thinks I live in, but I don’t know how I’d explain the move to my partner.
How I do come clean to Daniel? Should I keep living this lie?
Yours sincerely, Duane
MADDY WRITES: Duane! You are not alone. From the traffic-choked isthmus of Tāmaki Makaurau to the verdant beech forests of Te Anau, millions across the motu wrestle daily with awkward social dilemmas posed by idiosyncratic personal hang-ups.
We all have our kryptonite. For you, 20 minutes strapped helplessly into the passenger seat of a colleague’s 2020 Mazda 3 may as well be a ride to your execution, no matter how sprightly the pick-up and remarkably ample the legroom. But how could you bear to disclose this depth of feeling to the lovely coworker approaching your desk at 8.30 pm., armed with a transponder key, two Coke Zeros, and empathy?
For me, it’s co-workers consuming whole pieces of fruit. Being forced to partake, even second-hand, in the horrific sensual experience of someone eating, say, an overripe banana – peeling off the disgusting strings, schmearing starchy mush on the chin, inhaling the dank, sickly-sweet fug of fermenting flesh – is almost too much to bear. But how could I ever presume to (as the parenting books nauseatingly say) “yuck someone else’s yum” by confessing my true feelings, and demanding the revolting skin be safely discarded outside the building?
Yes yes, I have issues, but the point is this. People develop intense, deeply-felt hang-ups about all kinds of random, perfectly benign stuff (see: convenient and climate-friendly ride-sharing; consuming healthy, potassium-rich snacks). And for sensitive, considerate individuals like you, communicating these hang-ups to others feels scary: you worry that being honest will make them feel bad about perfectly normal, acceptable behaviour. To risk hurting their feelings just to protect your personal peculiarities feels unjustified.
The thing is, though, even if people think our hang-ups are more than a little trivial/bizarre, they’re normally pretty accepting and accommodating – especially if they like us already, the hang-up is explained with knowing self-effacement instead of entitlement, and they’re not expected to bend over backwards to meet unreasonable demands. Duane, consider what might have happened if you’d declined Daniel’s original offer by explaining your ride-aversion in self-deprecating terms, expressing appreciation for his generosity, and assuring him of his general excellence. Most likely he’d have been slightly surprised, then accurately appraised your transportation preferences as a strange but charming personality quirk and moved on.
In fact, NOT being honest about this kind of thing with someone you see regularly actually risks hurting their feelings more, because even the most well-meaning dishonesty is inevitably a slippery slope. In your case, once you accepted the ride – effectively lying about your hangup by omission – the situation spiralled, leading to the apartment lie. And now, the amenability-to-rideshare and apartment deceptions have endured for so long that belatedly admitting the truth poses a far greater risk of embarrassing Daniel than upfront honesty would have, making it even harder to come clean. And this, Duane, is how you end up wide awake at 2 a.m., researching Body Corp fees and ground rent for leaky leasehold apartments a stone’s throw from Daniel’s abode.
Duane, I promise I don’t blame you for any of this. Your desire to preserve sweet Daniel’s feelings is charmingly pure. Still, the farce cannot go on, and as I’m sure you already know, telling the truth is the only way to stop the madness.
Of course, that’s easier said than done, so here’s my thoughts on the best play here. An apology is needed, but a sobbing confession is not. Yes, you lied, but with good intentions. And as the whole series of events is frankly rather hilarious, and Daniel sounds like the kind of guy who’ll appreciate the wry humour in it all, a light-hearted (but still heartfelt) approach is the way to go. So, shout Daniel an after-work beer, then make your admission in the same kinda tone as your letter to me – sincerely apologetic about the deception, but explaining why you did it in an endearingly self-effacing fashion. By saying “I’m sorry” but keeping things light, you reframe the whole saga as an amusing anecdote and in-joke between the two of you. And crucially, the butt of the joke is not Daniel, but you, easing any potential embarrassment for him as much as possible.
Hopefully, Duane, going into the conversation with a well-planned approach designed for success will assuage your worries a little too. No doubt you’ll still feel a bit of trepidation, which will be uncomfortable, but honestly, what other choice do you have? It’s either come clean now, or request a secondment to the Falkland Islands – only to be greeted at the airport by a friendly colleague proffering a lift.
Maddy Phillipps is a barrister, freelance writer and clinical psychology student. EMAIL your life problems to dearmaddy@tvnz.co.nz.
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