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Drama's
Roll Call
From Drama Queen
By Patrick Price
From users to soul mates, drama often enters in the guise of a person. It just loves to have someone push our buttons. While it's impossible to list every definitive character, I submit a survey of the most common archetypes to cross our lives -- bringing enhancement or headache or, more often, a bit of both. You'll recognize your friends, enemies, and perhaps yourself. In fact, the more you know someone, the easier it is to see them as a unique combination of "types." Perhaps now you'll understand why any day with your friends is potentially more angst-ridden than an entire season of Dawson's Creek.
The Gym Addict
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The Gym Addict is always in a tank top -- regardless of the season. While some feel uncomfortable in certain blends of wool, he appears allergic to sleeves. Admittedly he looks good in his filled-out tank, but he has the tendency to believe a clean, freshly bleached undershirt is dressy enough to go anywhere. And you're not sure if you're more embarrassed or jealous that he's often right.
In a quest to get the most out of his pricey membership, he essentially lives at the gym: grazing on Power Bars and protein shakes, socializing with the other gym bunnies and dancing to the pumped-up beat spun by the in-house deejay. For all the overtime effort, too often the result is an oddly distributed, cartoonlike body that challenges gravity. He's all inflated chest, huge, melonlike biceps, and little chicken legs -- an action figure joined at the tiny waist of Malibu Barbie.
The Gym Addict is good for free visitor passes and helpful advice on your form if you can follow the cultlike language of lats and reps. He'll let you know if you're doing crunches or a bad Suzanne Somers impersonation. But away from the realm of sweaty mats and Nautilus equipment, Gym Addicts are rarely free, because they have to get in their precious gym time. Otherwise they whine how soft and flabby they're getting, as if gross atrophy were instant punishment for one skipped session. The 7:30 P.M. abs class is more essential than breathing. They are problematic as lovers, because you can't get too close -- they're always sore. As a friend, you're forced to constantly compare your body to theirs, and no matter how much you remind yourself that you lead a more well-rounded life, you still feel puny next to them.
The Public Address System
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The Public Address System is a total gossipmonger who loves to live vicariously. He always seems a sympathetic ear, but it's not because there's any empathy -- he's simply too busy taking notes to interrupt you. The private shrine to Ted Casablanca is a dead giveaway. He's not necessarily mean-spirited; there's just no discretion valve on his flapping mouth. A good tale is too good to keep to oneself. And asking him to swear discretion is like celebrating Celine Dion's retirement. You know it won't last.
Unfortunately, stories tend to grow until they're far from the original truth. You confide that an old friend sometimes bugs you with his whining and soon he's hearing you put a hit out on him. Or you confess to a mild flirtation with a co-worker and suddenly you're in a mad-crazy affair with the CEO.
The trick is to learn how to positively harness the Public Address System's nature. He is especially useful for getting the word out when necessary. Just tell him about a "top secret" party and in no time he'll save you lots of effort and postage by inviting everyone you'd want and even those you'd accidentally overlook. Just remind yourself, a fate worse than being talked about is being deemed worth ignoring.
The Big Ho
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The Big Ho sees himself as a porn-star-in-training, an Olympic athlete of the erotic sports. He's a people person -- a hands-on healer, so to speak. He believes all romantic liaisons are a matter of public record and thus loves to kiss and tell or, better yet, have witnesses. And there's always TMI (Too Much Information) -- as if they want you to score them.
The Big Ho's friendly company, but you can't go anywhere without his attention straying to the next conquest. And sex is the only topic up for discussion. Any objection instantly brands you an uptight prude. It's amazing, but all scenarios are potential aphrodisiacs to him. His allure is so seemingly irresistible even an intrusive telemarketing call can be turned into foreplay. A practiced glance is his mating call, and it's remarkably effective, if somewhat indiscriminate: flight attendants, sales clerks, waiters, receptionists, bi-curious "straight" guys, delivery men, the homeless, America's Most Wanted, Republicans, or frankly anyone with a pulse who returns his intense, beaconlike stare. The "type" of guy doesn't matter. He fancies the chase and all those persuasive pheromones.
What psychology drives this boy? Is it the pursuit of proof that he's desirable? "I'm just sexual," he says. More likely he had no sex in high school or college -- at least not with boys. Now others may in truth be equal -- or even bigger hos -- but they're less apt to kiss and tell, campaign for the title, apply for world records, or broadcast the latest count, as the case may be. Never get suckered into a game of "Have you. . . ?" or Truth or Dare. That shameless slut wins every single time.
The Freeloader
The Freeloader needs to visit the ATM only once a month, and it's not because he's frugal. He's found a better way to stretch his resources indefinitely: use yours. The big mooch's tiresome catchphrase is "Thanks, sweetie, I owe you." Well, it's time to collect.
Everyone's been caught empty-handed sometime, but when your "Let's go Dutch" is interpreted as "I want to take you to Holland," there's a problem. How many times will you fall for "Can you loan me a dollar. . . .or twenty?" Of course, he may not know what he's doing. (Yeah, and Jennifer Lopez values modesty.) He's got to learn to play fair. While there's no need to whip out the calculator to figure out everyone's share to the decimal point, it would help to count him in. A friendship is not a free ride.
Copyright ©
2001 Patrick Price.
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