We're All Arseholes

You’re an arsehole, I’m an arsehole, we’re all arseholes. But there are different levels of arseholery. Sometimes it is just in your mind, an errant thought. A smirk at someone stumbling, disdain at a fashion faux pas, giggling at a fail on social media. We are all arseholes.

If you think of your close circle of friends, one of them is an arsehole. If you cannot think who it is, it is probably you. I can freely admit that, amongst my close friends, I am probably high up on the arsehole list.

Most of my friends are social animals, approachable and easy to get along with. I can be most of these things and am a lot of the time. I can also be standoffish, inexplicably haughty; an arsehole.

This is not something I would put on a dating profile. Nor do I generally boast about my character flaws but I feel recognising ones own foibles is a necessary trait in being an adult. See? Haughty.

Watch reality television? Whether it is a painful talent show or vacuous attractive people, we watch - not me. Don’t do reality television. Haughty - confident in the knowledge that we would not embarrass ourselves in such a manner.

It does not matter that we know deep down it is mostly faked for our entertainment. We still observe the shows with an air of superiority. Confident that in the same position, we would do better or make more sensible decisions. Of course we would.

Rampant arseholery used to be a city thing. Whenever I left the city and visited somewhere more rural, the warmth of strangers would impress and confuse in equal measure. Unfortunately, the internet and social media put paid to that, exposing the rural masses to the avarice and consumerism of the big city.

Now, everyone believes they too should have the life of ‘influencers’ they see online. Everyone wants to live the ‘millionaire’ life without the millionaire work. A belief in the west is that we are all entitled to a certain standard in life. We are not. We’re just arseholes.

Having worked with the general public in various customer-facing roles for nearly four decades, I have encountered my fair share of arseholes. Anyone who works in any customer service capacity has.

Of course, there is the skewed view that most of us naturally have, remembering the rude, obstinate and abrasive exchanges, which, unless you are a true arsehole, make up less than five per cent of encounters. But those are the ones that stick. Most people are nice enough or, at the very least, cordial even if they are arseholes.

Still, in a post-pandemic-ish world, where cleanliness is expected and required, very few would say they know a cleaner outside of where they work.

Nor is there a surge of people becoming cleaners. Even though the country’s workforce has decreased by layoffs during the multiple lockdowns. Who do people think does all the expected cleaning?

Here, in the United Kingdom, many still expect the same standards of service they received before the pandemic and better cleanliness, even though there is obviously less staffing. Arseholes. Interactions with entitled individuals - arseholes - is, for those of us who work with the general public regularly, all too frequent.

This is all conjecture, entirely my own thinking and as such not definitive. There is a way, in my not so humble opinion, to definitively prove that you too are an arsehole. On some level.

It is a thought experiment. What would you do if you won the lottery? Not a few hundred thousand pounds, or even a few million, but upward of one hundred million?

Besides the shopping spree, most people will lie to themselves and say they would help out so many people; family, friends, sick animals. You know the sort of thing. Maybe they would. I would. Scout’s honour. Still, that is not the arsehole question. Too easy to cheat yourself with the answer.

A better question is; what would you do if you were in charge of everything? When I say everything, I mean an absolute monarch, able to make decisions and decide the fate of all you survey. What decisions would you make?

You think the planet needs saving. You want to reduce emissions, so everyone has to go electric or ride a bike. Arsehole. You love animals and dictate that we all go vegan. Arsehole. You don’t like Mondays and decide to end Monday working, tanking the economy. Arsehole.

You believe in capital punishment. Arsehole. You believe in the rehabilitation of violent criminals. Arsehole. You think everyone should retire at forty to enjoy their retirement whilst still mobile. Arsehole.

No matter your particular beliefs, religious, agnostic or otherwise, many will oppose them and consider you an arsehole. In turn, you will consider their lack of vision and understanding arseholery of the highest order.

There is no answer to that question that does not lead to you being an arsehole in some regard. Feed all of the world’s starving children? A laudable feat and admirable goal, no doubt. The logistics of it and the fact that someone, somewhere, has to pay for it will make you an arsehole.

Accept it. You’re an arsehole. I’m an arsehole. Social conventions and laws hide the fact for the most part. As long as you can embrace your, hopefully, occasional arseholery, you can do better next time. Maybe. But we’re all arseholes.