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“Always, in the bygone days, men would tell me with great certainty what I should do and then, if I hesitated, would tell me again, towering over me, smelling of cigars and mouthwash, superior smirks creeping over their huge-pored faces, and then I would, often, nearly always--well, I would do it. I would do whatever that man had asked me to do, within reason, seeing this as a form of kindness on my part, so as not to force the poor fellow, who no doubt had a lot on his mind, to, uh, raise his voice or otherwise become, well, frustrated. Frustrated with me. The Frenchman was frowning. It was always their disappointment that got me. Even more so than their anger.” — George Saunders
Always, in the bygone days, men would tell me with great certainty what I should do and then, if I hesitated, would tell me again, towering over me, smelling of cigars and mouthwash, superior smirks creeping over their huge-pored faces, and then I would, often, nearly always--well, I would do it. I would do whatever that man had asked me to do, within reason, seeing this as a form of kindness on my part, so as not to force the poor fellow, who no doubt had a lot on his mind, to, uh, raise his voice or otherwise become, well, frustrated.
Frustrated with me.
The Frenchman was frowning.
It was always their disappointment that got me.
Even more so than their anger.