The Opinionista is really, truly, very sorry. At least, she’d like you to think so:
I’m a liberal apologizer. The phrase “I’m sorry” rolls regularly down my tongue like wheeled luggage on a ramp. I’ve been told it’s a common female trait, that women are taught to be meek and cave in the face of conflict, suppressing their aggression behind an endless stream of penitential apologies. But in my case the words flow easily because they hold little actual meaning. The implicit “You were right, I was wrong” expressed in the phrase never fails to placate and mollify, so I employ it with aplomb. I can’t think of any other word that serves such multi-purposes – appeasing others, dissipating anger and deescalating nearly any situation, so everyone wins. As long as my end result is achieved, I’ll gladly apologize my way out of a bind with all guise of contrition.
I remember a girl in college who couldn’t figure out why I stopped seeing her after a minor social offense. I think she was an hour late for a date or something equally trivial.
“I said I was sorry,” she protested.
And she had, immediately, just as she had on all the previous occasions. Now, I’m not a time fascist, but I harbor an inherent distrust of anyone who will so readily apologize without feeling any sense of contrition or obligation to modify their behavior in the future.
The ability to apologize is tremendously important, but without the force of genuine contrition behind it, an apology is meaningless.
By the way, the Opinionista’s blog is quite entertaining. Among other things, it offers ample justification for one’s opinion of lawyers as evolutionary precursors to Gromphadorhina portentosa. I couldn’t help but notice this bit too:
Because junior associates in competitive law firms embody a peer group of twenty/thirtysomethings dominated by a slavish work ethic and near-maniacal eagerness to please. Be it for our parents, teachers, coaches, admissions officers, professors, interviewers, we are skilled experts in the art of presenting a human blueprint of perfection to anyone in authority. We’re the proverbial pack of Pavlovian labradors dying to salivate on cue – all you have to do is ring the dinner bell and we’ll obediently come running every time. We’ll do anything in our physical power to amuse today’s masters. But begin beating us if we fail to drool quickly enough, and we’ll crawl into our crates, lick our wounds and eventually snap our jaws at the sight of you striding angrily down the taupe hallway.
That should explain why so many lawyers are jackboot-licking Democrats. Although one of my best friends is an attorney, he’s one of the few good guys I’ve encountered from the profession. Of course, he couldn’t stand the law firm nonsense either, so he went corporate and I don’t think he’s regretted it.
Big Chilly and I once attended a reception at TPAM’s law firm when he was still there; the lawyers didn’t realize we were corporate clients and not mere lowlife friends because we were both wearing ripped jeans and t-shirts. TPAM nearly had an aneurysm trying not to burst out laughing after the firm’s resident jerk offered his hand and introduced himself to me in the most contemptuous possible manner.
I simply shook his hand, smiled beatifically, and said: “I’m not wearing any underwear.” Big Chilly howled, TPAM’s eyes bulged out as he tried to avoid doing the same and the lawyer jerk just stared with his mouth open, with no clue what to do or say.
I don’t have much interest in primate dominance games, but they can be amusing from time to time.