Can you hear me now?

MAXINE COHEN

I’m not really a car person, although I do own a spiffy little sports

car and I do love driving it. But compared to how I hear other people

(especially men) talk about their cars, I’d have to say I fall short.

My car does have to be neat and tidy on the inside but it doesn’t

always have to be shiny clean. Actually, truth be told, this is a big

improvement; it wasn’t always this way. In bygone days, when I was

single, the primary use for the back seat of my Pontiac Tempest was

as a giant garbage pail.

When I was done with something, I’d just toss it backward.

Convenient, yes, but, oh, so slobby. My ex-husband was horrified and

succeeded in curing me of this. Gone, too, are the days of young

children when my Oldsmobile wagon was crammed full of toys and crumbs

and papers and random pieces of forgotten clothing. Nowadays, I keep

the windshield clean and I try to keep the outside of the car

presentable, but I admit, it can get pretty dirty before I get around

to washing it.

I had finally reached my limit so I went over to my the Car Spa,

the one right on West Coast Highway. I like going there. Not that

they do the greatest job in the world but it is mostly passable (see,

I do have standards) and if I go at a time when they’re not too busy,

it’s actually quite good. And there’s another benefit, too; it’s so

close to Rolf’s Wine that I can replenish my supply instead of

sitting there bored, waiting for my car.

This particular day, the Car Spa was packed but my car was so

filthy that I surrendered. I waited through the car stalls, I waited

in the line to pay, and I went outside on to the little patio to wait

some more.

I found a seat by the door and was settling in when a loud voice

caught my attention. I turned around to see a man talking (more like

yelling) on a cell phone at the other end of the patio. I could feel

myself deflate inside, “Oh no, not again.” In spite of myself, I shot

him a dirty look. His eyes met mine but he didn’t flinch.

I tried to ignore him.

Fat chance.

I turned and stared directly at him. Maybe he would get the

message. Again our eyes met, but he didn’t lower his voice and he

didn’t get up and move to a more private area.

I decided I’d better give up rather than cause a scene.

A voice next to me said, “I hate it, too. I can’t understand why

people have to be on their cells all the time and why they talk so

loud. When I came in here last week (now here’s a woman with high car

standards), the whole place was buzzing. I announced, ‘I don’t have

my cell with me. Can I come in anyway?’”

I laughed. Yup, that’s sure my experience.

We introduced ourselves. She lives on Harbor Island and said I

could use her name in this column but I think I’m gonna pass.

The woman sitting next to her chimed in, “I couldn’t help but

overhear you. He sure is loud.”

With that, I got up and walked over to him. Intending to be calm

and direct, I opened my mouth and out came, “Enough already! You’re

talking so loud that you’re bothering people. Why don’t you show a

little consideration and move off the patio?”

Nice job, Max. Kill that mosquito with a hammer, why don’t you?

The man stood up immediately and walked off.

Mission accomplished. Admittedly heavy-handedly.

I was the hero of the moment. My two new friends thought I’d done

a splendid job and the nuisance was gone.

Oops -- not so fast. Here he was back again and off his cell and

walking directly towards me. Uh oh.

“Why do you have to be so rude?” he said. “All you had to do was

ask and I would have moved.”

Yup, here was the scene I was trying to avoid.

“I shouldn’t have been so rude to you,” I replied, trying to

soft-pedal it, “and I think you should take responsibility for your

own behavior instead of making it about me.”

That he was not buying. He wanted to argue it but I kept my cool

(this time) and didn’t engage him. Clearly, he thought he’d been

wronged and he’d done nothing to deserve the treatment he’d gotten.

The thing is, I think I get it. We all want to feel special.

Nothing wrong with that. But when it’s wholly at the expense of

others, then something else is going on.

We can be anyone we want to be on a cell. We can put on public

display any aspect of ourselves that we want to aggrandize. We can

broadcast it, if we speak loudly enough, so that, whether they want

to, people are sure to notice.

The desire to be special and to feel important is an innate part

of the human condition. We all feel that we are special and want to

be acknowledged as such by others. And I believe that this is true,

that each of us is unique and special in our own way. It’s a matter

of degree rather than a difference in kind that differentiates the

pathological from the merely human.

When there is an enormous drive to feel special and to be

important -- to the extent that other people’s needs and wants aren’t

even noticed or aren’t experienced as real -- then there is a

narcissistic injury present.

This man is overly self-involved. He is tuned out. He is not

thinking about anyone but himself, about only what he needs and what

he wants. He notices how other people respond to him only when they

reflect how he wants to be seen and he filters out everything else.

So he remains unaware of the real effect his behavior has on those

around him. And he probably doesn’t care because he doesn’t feel he

has to accommodate others since their needs don’t count anyway.

And the rub is, that until he is aware of the impact he has on

others, he will never feel special enough. He will continually feel

wronged and not understand why people would treat him so badly, which

will pummel his sense of specialness and cause him to increase his

inappropriate efforts to reinforce his sagging sense of self.

Round and round, like a mouse running in a wheel, always in

motion, going nowhere.

Finally, after a long wait, though hardly a boring one, it was my

car that was ready. Shiny and clean and up to anyone’s standards.

* MAXINE COHEN is a Corona del Mar resident and a marriage and

family therapist practicing in Newport Beach whose column will appear

regularly. She can be reached at maxinecohen@adelphia.net or (949)

644-6435.