Dear Pity By Proxy,

Hi! I’m so happy right now because I finally got to experience an effin earthquake. When it hit, I was a taking a nap with a guy and I thought he was relentlessly whackin’ off or something. I was like “Do
it man, do it!” Then a chandelier fell on him, it was annoying.

Let’s get to the question.

Hey Amber!

Thanks for considering this,
Jenn in Georgia

Jenn in Georgia!

Thanks for writing in. Hopefully you aren’t a hot mess anymore. If you’re still a steaming side of gravy over it- pretend you are paralyzed (from the waist down) and take a bath in a tub full of 7-11
bubble gum flavored Slurpee slush. Be sure to dunk your head in it so you get a REAL brain freeze. This will both cool you off and make you feel like a stupid sticky sack of Slurpee.

It wasn’t wrong to ask the dude in the wheelchair to move up a little. It was wrong of you to not say this to the bitchy lady who yelled at you:

“Hey Lady, why don’t you take your pity-by-proxy-personality and scrape your eyeballs out of your face with my ticket stub?”

I know that sounds mean. I’m just annoyed by people who have “pity-by-proxy” syndrome. These types of people, let’s call them PBP’s, thrive off of someone else’s misfortune for their own benefit.
I’m sure he would have happily have scooted up a little for you and your friends. It seems as if that lady just waits for opportunities to pounce on pity. I wonder if that guy wishes his legs worked so he can run away from her.

Oh my God, this is like the movie Misery with James Caan and Cathy Bates. Maybe the guy in the wheelchair at the movies is a famous novelist and the grouchy lady is an obsessed psycho fan. Yeah, let’s pretend that’s the truth.

This was probably their conversation before they went to the movies and harassed you. I’ll just call them Cathy and James because those are nice Catholic sounding names and I looooove the Body of
Christ.

Ok. Here we go. No seriously, let’s get this scene going. Ok. Now. You ready? Yeah, me too.

Beginning of scene:

Cathy and James are sitting at a table with a ceramic pig on it. James is miserable and Cathy is sipping tea staring at him with that “I’m not going to murder you tonight, but maybe tomorrow” look.

James doesn’t speak. He just keeps his thoughts in his brain because he is too scared to say anything. All of his dialogue is in ( ) aka parenthesis.

C: I’ve been thinking.

J: (You are such a cunt face, stop thinking. All of your ideas suck, especially your idea to perform the ankle shattering procedure “hobbling” on my ass.)

C: You’ve been cooped up in this house too long and your writing is weak. Maybe we should get out of the house and do something. Remember I’m your number one fan.

J: (You are still a cunt face)

C: Maybe we can go to a movie. What do you think?

J: (I think if you were featured in a wax museum you would be a cunt with the face for radio on it)

C: I’ve been wanting to see The Dark Knight ever since Heath Ledger died.

J: (If you were the star of a movie they would call it The Dark Cunt Face.)

C: Oh, let’s do go to the movie James!

J: (I’m sick of thinking of things that refer to a cunt face. I’m an award-winning novelist I’m better than a cunt face reference. And, I would actually love to see The Dark Knight!)

C: Now, when we are out in public DO NOT say one word or I’ll kill you. I’m going to act like an overprotective asshole. Remember, I’m your number one fan.

J: (I digress. My next book is going to be called Cunt, the Story of a Face.)

End of scene.

Oh wait, I forgot to reference the ceramic pig I put in the scene set up. Umm, the pig foreshadows something I’m not going to write. All you need to know is that Cathy slaps James with a slice of bacon after they get home from the movies.

Ok. Now it’s the end.

My point is, don’t let that lady live rent free in your head. She’s a sociopath and loves any type of attention she gets.

The more I think about this type of behavior the more I’m reminded about my family. We are sort of sick. Check this shit out.

Back in 1993, my family and I went to Disney World. We put my healthy little sister in a wheelchair so we could bypass the forever lines. Although my sister is healthy, she has a hair loss disease, Alopecia, and she’s completely bald. She was five years old at the time and she looked like a really cute kid with cancer.

We put her in a wheelchair and HOLY SHIT, it was like walking around with Oprah or a cute puppy– everyone smiled and stared and wanted to talk to us.

We were like, “Uhhh. Yeah. She sure likes wheelchairs! ” We had to keep telling her to look like she was sick because she kept getting up and running around.

That chair on wheels worked like a lucky charm on a charm bracelet. We rolled right past the three hour lines, rode a few rides twice and got backstage passes to those fun little shows they put on.

I ended up making out with Minnie Mouse in a closet – it was a dude under that gear! It was so confusing making out with a guy who dressed like a chicky mouse in a closet. It’s the perfect metaphor for my sexuality, minus the mouse part.

Anypity, we were completely guilty of “pity-by-proxy” syndrome – but at least we had a good God damned time, we were friendly and I put out.

In closing, forget about that goosey grouchy lady and know that there is a time and place to be a PBP and it’s at Disney World (or any overly crowded place with horny people in costumes). Oh, and remember - bald kids come in very handy sometimes, especially around Christmas time.

I live in Hypocrite City. Come and visit.

BOOM!

Peace,
Amber

Amber Tozer is a stand-up comic/writer living in Los Angeles. Everyone
tells her she’s adorable, but the only thing she sees when she looks
in the mirror are two eyes, a nose, and a mouth. You can email your
questions to her at ambertozer@gmail.com. Check her out -
www.myspace.com/ambertozer

Tags: amber tozer, ask amber, columns

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