Do you have a whiner in your life?

I’m not talking about children—most of them go through a whiny stage which (hopefully) they grow out of about the time they figure out it doesn’t look cool.  Or whatever the current teenager word for “cool” is.

I’m talking about whiny adults.  And, although my data is empirical rather than scientific, it seems to be a phenomenon more common in men.

I’m fairly sure the couple of whiny male friends I have don’t read my blog.  And, just in case they do…

     If you think I am talking about YOU, you’re probably right.  Take heed.

I have a good (non-whining) friend from England.  He doesn’t call it whining, he calls it whinging (pronounced win-jing).  I like this term, because it sounds more like the actual sound.   That tone that affects me about like chewing on tinfoil.

Example: One day, I was in a grocery store, and a little boy was trying to get his mother to by some sugar-bomb cereal.  Mom said no, and I watched the kid very deliberately wind himself up for a loud, tearful whining session.  Crocodile tears flowed, fake sobs reverberated.  Mom hastily put the cereal in the cart and the tantrum ended instantly.

Now, I said this was not about kids, but I include this only as prelude to an event that happened later that evening.  I was in a local pub, hanging out with a group of friends.  One of these was Alex, a Cuban-American man of about forty.  It was a week night, so I was gathering up my things and making my goodbyes.

“Don’t go,” said Alex.  “We’re going down the street to do Karaoke.  Come with us.”

“I can’t,” I replied.  “I have to get up early and go to the gym before work.  Maybe next time.”

At which point, Alex turned into the little boy from the grocery store. In precisely the same tone, he proceeded to have a tantrum, with only the crocodile tears missing.

“I want you to come with us.  You always say you’re going to come next time and you never do.  I really like you, and you always manage to avoid being alone with me.  I thought you liked me, too, but you never want to …”  

EEEK!  I thought.  Does this approach ever work for him?  I left very, very quickly.

A cautionary note to mothers:  If you fold and put the sugar-bomb cereal in the cart, you could be creating a future Alex.  Yes, little Jared or Johnny could be sitting in a bar in thirty or so years, having a hissy-fit because a woman won’t hang out with him.  Save us all.  Leave the cereal on the shelf.  Please.

Another example is the person who can turn anything into a whine.   Last night, I invited a friend of mine to come by the house for dinner.  He was at work, and he called me.  “I don’t think I can be there until seven,” he whined.  “I have to work until six then drive home and take a shower first.”  Now, this doesn’t sound horrible until you imagine his tone.  It gave the sentences subtext as follows:

“I don’t think I can be there until seven (which is practically midnight).  I have to work until six (carry a poorly balanced ton of bricks) then drive home (by one-speed bicycle up the side of Mount Everest) and take a shower (undergo water-boarding torture) first.”

He whined through dinner, (the first home-cooked meal I’ve had in ye-e-e-e-ears), through the help on his resume (no one gets what I do-o-o-o-o-o) and an after-dinner beer.   He then invited me out for a drink and, to his credit, whined very little when I declined.  I had actually planned to go out for a drink last night, but after an evening of chewing Reynolds Wrap, I just couldn’t face it.

Okay, enough whining about whining.  Back to the salt mine.  Ooops, did I say that??

Waaaaah!  Back to Work!