I first met Cindy during my second year of college. It was in the cafeteria where she bumped into me. Yes, she literally bumped into me and her food tray went crashing into everything. I heard her mutter under her breath, “What an idiot!”
“Pardon me,” I replied, not knowing what else to say, but definitely feeling that it was not my fault. “Oh no,” she said, “It’s always my fault. I am really so clumsy. I am very sorry.”
Then I realized that she was referring to herself when she had said, “What an idiot.” Over the months I got to know her a little better. Sometimes we’d sit at the same table in the cafeteria and other times I’d be sitting next to her in a class.
It never ceased to amaze me how often she repeated the phrase, “What an idiot”, at the smallest thing that happened. It was as if she had been programmed to respond to the slightest misfortune with self-blame. One day I finally asked her why she kept referring to herself as an idiot. Her eyes opened wide as she said that she was not aware that she did. She confessed that it was probably a habit and that she...
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