On a Scale from Idiot to Complete Jerk

by Alison Hughes

  The neighbors on the other side are very, very different. The Wicks are just plain miserable. They seem to spend their retirement staring out the window, just waiting to complain about balls that end up in their yard, kids on scooters or bikes who turn around in their driveway, or branches that slightly overhang their side of the property line. They’re very, very concerned about that property line. I really didn’t know what a property line was, but it appears to be an invisible line that separates their perfect lawn from our scrappy, dandelion-infested one. You know how when you’re sitting in the back seat of a car and you run the side of your hand down the seat and tell your brother “here’s the line” because his books and Lego are spilling into your space? That’s kind of like a property line.

  There’s this two-foot-wide stretch of grass between the Wicks’ driveway and our driveway. Literally, you can mow it by going once up and once down. Mr. Wicks has clearly measured and consulted with the city planners and stuff, because he only ever mows a very narrow strip of this grass. Not half. Maybe a quarter. So he has to position his mower mostly on his driveway to get his precise little strip done.

  This seems like a very small thing. But don’t you think that’s a jerkish thing to do? When I mow the lawn, I always mow the whole strip. He mows, and he mows the four-inch strip of grass that he technically owns and not one blade more. It’s very petty. But is it jerkish? Nah, it’s such a small thing. It’s not like he’s throwing garbage our way, or having loud drunken parties every second night, or parking a monster sun-blocking, oil-leaking trailer in front of our house. In the interests of being nice and neighborly, I’ll just classify Mr. Wicks as an idiot.

  Rating: 5

  F) Servers

  When you are a child, people who serve you at restaurants generally leave you alone. They might ask you a few polite questions, but ultimately, they know somebody else is paying.

  But when our family recently went out for dinner, the server did something that might qualify as jerkish behavior. He slapped down two kids’ menus (the kind that double as your place mat and offer lame coloring opportunities and even lamer jokes) and a glass of crayons. Two menus, one for my eight-year-old brother and one for me. I’m thirteen. Not cool. How about a bib or a high chair? Are you going to offer those too? I declined coldly, making it clear I was way too mature for the tiny-tot food and the toddler word searches on the kids’ menu.

  Because I’m not sure if this is standard restaurant policy for everyone vaguely within the age range of the kids’ menu or a deliberate choice on the part of the server, I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt.

  Rating: 3 (normal, tending slightly to idiot)

  G) Internet Trolls

  My brother Joe’s grade-one class had a robin’s nest in a shrub right outside their classroom window. The five blue eggs eventually hatched, and the class made a video of the ridiculously tiny, hungry little chicks. The teacher was so proud of the video that she added some lame music, recorded the class’s reactions (you can clearly hear my brother saying excitedly, “Baby birds sure are baldies!”) and posted it on YouTube. Anyway, cute, right? You would think so, but unbelievably, the video got some dislikes. Some big thumbs-down. What kind of jerk would do this?

  I did some research, and this was not just an isolated, robin-hating Internet jerk. Many, many heartwarming animal videos online get a similar reaction. It might be a baby panda gumming bamboo for the first time, or a tiny kangaroo peeking out of its mother’s pouch. Whatever animal it is, no matter how cute, innocent or uplifting the video, I guarantee that there will be some miserable Internet jerk ready to hate it. How could you officially “dislike” frolicking penguins? Or write negative, hateful comments about a big gorilla gently cuddling an adorable kitten?

  These anonymous haters must really be in pretty bad shape if they have nothing better to do than complain about baby animals being cute or having fun. I’m not saying they have to say “Awww!” and forward them to their friends (if they have any). But here’s an idea—maybe just don’t seek out animal videos if you know you’re really going to hate them.

  Rating: 6-8 (jerk to almost complete jerk, depending on the level of hate)

  CHAPTER 11

  Once a Jerk, Always a Jerk?

  Can jerks change their behavior and become regular, normal non-jerks? Or are they doomed to always be jerks? It’s an interesting question in the study of jerkology.

  Determined to get some scientific conclusions on this topic, I interviewed a former jerk, my uncle Dave. My mom, my grandparents and my uncle Tim all agree that Uncle Dave used to be a complete jerk. Even Dave agrees, as you’ll see in the interview. But the interesting thing is that now he isn’t a jerk. He’s just normal. Why? How? Read this interview to find out.

  ***A note on technology: I used an ancient tape recorder of my dad’s for the interview, which involved pressing giant PLAY and RECORD buttons at the same time. My dad used to use it to record “rockin’” songs off the radio. Yeah, that’d be great sound quality, Dad. Anyway, it worked and everything, so the interview below is highly accurate. Bonus marks for use of ancient technology or historical artifacts? Possibly.

  CASE STUDY #10

  Interview with a Former Jerk

  Subject: My uncle Dave

  Laboratory: Saturday evening, the kitchen, our house

  Experiment: Uncle Dave thought this was going to be a casual chat about a “difficult phase” of his childhood for some lame little school project I have. But I did my research and came prepared to get some answers.

  Observations:

  ME. So, Dave. Can I just call you Dave for this interview?

  UNCLE DAVE. Nope. Uncle Dave to you, kid.

  ME. So, Dave…Everyone agrees that you were a jerk as a kid. I mean everyone. Your sister, your brother, friends, cousins, neighbors. Your own parents even sort of sighed and nodded.

  (Uncle Dave swivels around to glare at my mom, who is chopping vegetables.)

  UNCLE DAVE. You got Mom and Dad in on this??

  MOM (laughing). Hey, all in the name of science, Dave.

  UNCLE DAVE (looking uncomfortable). Okay, okay. Look, I admit it. Many, many years ago, when I was very young, I was not, perhaps, an ideal child.

  ME (flipping through my notes). Oh, you were a long way from being “ideal,” Dave. I’ve interviewed several people, who told me about many, many jerkish things you did. Can you tell me about throwing Mom’s doll down three flights of stairs?

  UNCLE DAVE (groaning). This again? How many times do I have to say that I was seven years old and interested in flight ! It was a scientific study, like this one…

  MOM (accusingly, chopping vegetables very hard now). You were laughing and yelling “BOUNCE, DOLLY, BOUNCE!!! You followed her down three flights, Dave! And cracked Miss Missy’s hard plastic head!

  UNCLE DAVE (shrugging). It was a cheap doll.

  ME. How about when you let the air out of both of Uncle Tim’s bike tires before his first day on his paper route?

  UNCLE DAVE (covering a smile). Joke! That was a joke!

  ME (flipping through my notes). Or prank-calling your grandma and grandpa until they had to get their number changed, or sprinkling weed killer all over the lawn so it died, or completely unraveling the living room rug, or throwing water bombs from the balcony at the girls at Mom’s tenth birthday “garden party,” or jumping out at little trick-or-treaters dressed as a seriously bloodied victim of an axe murderer with the axe still stuck in your head, or tying up a bunch of rocks in old clothes to make it look like there was a body at the bottom of the neighbor’s pool—

  UNCLE DAVE (snatching my notebook and rifling through the pages). You got that pool thing? How many…? Where did you…? Gee, I’d forgotten about most of these…

  (There is a long pause while Uncle Dave flips pages and reads. Actually, I shut off the tape recorder because there are many, many pages to get through. Finally he finishes and I press the giant PLAY and RECORD buttons again.)

>   UNCLE DAVE (sighing). Okay, yes, I confess—I was a complete jerk. Thanks for documenting it all, kid. Your brother is now officially my favorite nephew.

  ME. So, Dave. Why do you think you were a jerk then, and not now? Because everybody agrees that you’re normal now.

  MOM. I said sort of normal…

  ME. Anyway, nobody thinks you’re a jerk. I’ve almost never thought, “Hey, that Dave’s a real jerk!”

  UNCLE DAVE. Uncle Dave.

  ME. Whatever.

  UNCLE DAVE (stretching his legs and settling back into his chair). Why was I a jerk? I don’t really know. Bored? Misunderstood? Needing some excitement and adventure? Too highly intelligent for the world around me?

  MOM. Yeah, takes lots of brain power to throw a doll downstairs, Einstein.

  UNCLE DAVE. Aren’t we over that one yet? I’m sorry, okay? I’m very, very sorry about Miss Bitty.

  MOM. Miss MISSY!

  UNCLE DAVE (looking bored). Whatever.

  ME. When did you stop being a jerk?

  UNCLE DAVE (sitting up). Hey, that’s actually interesting…when did I stop? I think I was probably about your age. What are you, about ten?

  ME (coldly). I’m thirteen.

  UNCLE DAVE. Yeah, yeah, I was probably about that. Why did I stop being a jerk? I don’t know…We moved, switched schools, I started being a star on the sports teams…

  MOM. And there was Trevor…

  ME. Who’s Trevor?

  UNCLE DAVE. Uh, yeah, Trevor was an older kid who lived down the street. A real jerk. Made me look like an amateur. Actually, he became a low-level criminal when he hit his teens…Anyway, let’s just say Trevor made me think about what a jerk I’d become. And where that could lead.

  ME. So now you’re not a jerk at all?

  DAVE. Not even a little bit. Just a totally normal, good guy. Great uncle, great brother…

  MOM. Well…

  UNCLE DAVE (getting up, reaching for the giant STOP button). I think we’re done here.

  Conclusions: Uncle Dave seems to be living proof that even complete jerks can become regular non-jerks. In his case, it seemed to be his decision to stop being a jerk. But in the case of other jerks, becoming a non-jerk might be a result of the exhausting, thankless efforts of parents, teachers, counselors and possibly law-enforcement personnel. (See also Scientific Illustration #3: The Path to Complete Jerkdom.)

  It remains unclear why jerks change their behavior. Uncle Dave wasn’t very helpful there. He seemed to say that a change of scene, new interests and becoming aware of other jerks were all factors. Possibly, being avoided or called a jerk might start to register on some jerks and cause them to do a bit of reflecting.

  Uncle Dave shut off the tape recorder and left quickly before I asked the last question, which was “Do you still have episodes of jerkish behavior?” So who knows?

  CHAPTER 12

  Can Animals Be Jerks?

  Until now, this project has focused exclusively on human jerks. But is the quality of being a jerk limited to humans? Is jerkishness something at which only we as a species excel? Is it related to our bigger-than-many-animals brain size, or our ability to plan?

  In this chapter, I expand the research to other species and draw some important scientific conclusions about the question “Can animals be jerks?” Let me say right now that I’m not including this chapter only to bump up my word count and make this quite an astonishingly long and thorough science project. No, the study of whether animals can be jerks seems a logical, necessary next step in the study of jerkishness.

  This was a very hard chapter to research. I mean, think about it. Animals. There are a lot of them out there. Our family dog, Daisy, was an obvious subject for study, but she’s the happiest, laziest, least jerkish creature I’ve ever known. If anybody ever does a study involving gulping food or lying in sunbeams, Daisy’s your dog. I had to really hunt around for some interesting case studies.

  A) Pets

  Ever strolled through a pet store? There are millions of possible pets to study. It could be a whole project on its own, with chapters on goldfish, hamsters and gerbils. And I’m not even including birds and reptiles. Or exotic pets, like those nine-thousand-dollar birds with curling black tongues and gray reptiley feet. Or monster snakes. Or chinchillas. No, I had to draw the line somewhere, which was made easier by the fact that none of my friends have anything more exciting than cats and dogs.

  CASE STUDY #11

  The Flyer-Route Monster

  Subject: Rosie the St. Bernard

  Laboratory: The front yard of 887 Fairlee Way, a house on my flyer route

  Experiment: 887 Fairlee Way is better known as Rosie’s house. Rosie is a monster St. Bernard with a huge, drooly mouth the size and dampness of a half watermelon. She seems a friendly enough dog until you lay a finger on the front gate to, say, try to deliver a flyer. As soon as she sees you touch the gate, Rosie starts up this deep growling, a rumbling like a huge truck in a tunnel. So you freeze. You try again. Same growl. You look into her droopy, red-rimmed monster eyes. You figure it’s not worth it and 887 Fairlee Way never, ever gets a flyer.

  My cousins Jake and Elizabeth (who have three dogs) volunteered to be research assistants in this experiment to see if they could deliver the flyer at Rosie’s house. “You need to be firm. Alpha dog,” said Jake.

  Observations: My cousin Jake’s kind of pushy, and if he hadn’t been helping me out, the way he just snatched the flyer from me might be annoying. Maybe even jerk-like. Anyway, he grabs the flyer, confidently opens the gate and walks right in. Rosie skips the growl and heads straight into deafening barking while she gallops straight at Jake. Jake moves pretty quickly, let me tell you. He gets out and we shut and lock the gate just before Rosie slams into it from the other side.

  When it’s Elizabeth’s turn, she makes me and Jake cross the street so we won’t “crowd” Rosie. “You need to understand her,” Elizabeth says, picking up the flyer that Jake dropped. We hear her talking to Rosie gently in this singsongy voice. “Who’s a good girl, Rosie? Are you a good girl? Nice dog. Nice dog…” She lays a hand on the gate, and Rosie lumbers to her feet, growling and with hackles raised.

  Rosie’s owner, a tiny old lady, finally opens the door. She snaps, “Rosie! Sit!” and Rosie, with an adoring look, sits, her tail thumping happily. The lady turns to us. “Sorry, kids. She’s so protective. But she’s just a big pup, really.” She pats Rosie, who rolls onto her back, closes her eyes and drools happily.

  Conclusions: Rosie is not a jerk. This sort of surprised me. I thought at the beginning of this case study that she might be. She’s a monster. She’s scary. She freaks out easily. But she’s just protecting her house and her tiny old lady. The old lady isn’t even a jerk. She clearly didn’t train Rosie to be all aggressive. It’s something Rosie must have figured out for herself in her little dog brain.

  No way, no how am I ever delivering a flyer at Rosie’s house.

  CASE STUDY #12

  The Four-Pound Ankle-Biter

  Subject: Peaches, a tiny white dog with a ponytail tied on the top of her head with a pink ribbon

  Laboratory: My house

  Experiment: My mom has a friend from work named Sheila. Sheila doesn’t have kids or anything. She just has Peaches. She and Peaches were over after school one day when Joe and I came home.

  Now, Peaches is adorable and tiny. Her paws are the size of quarters, and she has very silky fur and a tiny pink tongue. My brother and I love dogs, so we were kind of excited. Here’s how it went.

  Observations:

  JOE. Awww, she’s so cute. (Drops down onto his knees, holding out his hand.)

  PEACHES. RAR-RAR-RAR-RAR-RAR-RAR-RAR-RAR-RAR-RAR-RAR-RAR! (This bark is very quick and aggressive and it goes on and on. There’re only so many times you can type RAR.)

  SHEILA. Peaches! Baby girl, calm down, sweetie! (She dives for the dog, just as it lunges at Joe’s hand, and grabs Peaches by her pink studded collar.) She just gets e
xcited with people she doesn’t know. Wants to give them smoochies. Doesn’t she? Doesn’t my little one? (Struggles to hold her.)

  PEACHES. RAR-RAR-RAR-RAR-RAR-RAR-RAR-RAR-RAR-RAR-RAR-RAR!

  ME (nervously stepping away from Peaches, who has slipped out of Sheila’s cuddle and who starts jumping as high as my head while snapping her tiny jaws). Whoa, hey, down, girl!

  SHEILA. Sweet pea, down, love.

  PEACHES. RAR-RAR-RAR-RAR-RAR-RAR-RAR-RAR-RAR-RAR-RAR-RAR!

  ME. Wow, she’s little but she sure is… AAAAAAHHHHHH!

  The “AAAAAAHHHHHH” is me getting bitten on the ankle by some impossibly sharp, tiny teeth. Taking a hit for science is how I look at it. Long story short. Sheila scoops up Peaches and disappears while I bleed on the carpet and Mom hunts for the stuff that stings like crazy but prevents death by dog bite.

  Conclusions: While Peaches sure has some aggression issues and might benefit from a training class or an animal psychologist, if I remain scientifically objective I just can’t call her a jerk.

  Biting my ankle might have been slightly jerkish, but was she deliberately trying to be irritating or annoying or hurtful?

  I don’t think so.

  She was just acting on instinct. She was probably just having her tiny aggro-dog fun. She was just being Peaches. Little dogs can be scarier than big dogs.

  CASE STUDY #13

  The Night Screamer

  Subject: My friend Gus’s orange cat, Scooter. Who names a fifty-pound cat Scooter? People who name a kid Gus, I guess.

  Laboratory: Gus’s house on a sleepover

  Experiment: Gus was interested in this science project and volunteered Scooter as a subject for study. Scooter had other plans. He was completely uninterested in being studied and did as little as possible that whole afternoon. He lumbered from food bowl to couch, slept and then had a snack and another nap. Seriously, why don’t cats live forever if all they do is eat and sleep? “Oh, Scooter’s on a different schedule than the rest of us,” laughed Gus’s mom. She wasn’t kidding.