Ray's Place: How to Handle People Who Suck; Grappa Advice From the 90s

Dear Ray — I am engaged to the most wonderful woman. She comes from a smaller family than I do; I am very fond of her parents, and her sister is a charming character (this is fundamentally a compliment, but complicated). Thing is, her sister's wife? She sucks. She is ungenerous of spirit, incurious by disposition, and aside from some unimpeachably virtuous choices re: their children, the kind of person one would try to drum out of a party by making loud fart noises at every time they try to speak. Is there a proper way to express a broad disdain which doesn't lower my own vibrations beyond what a couple reasonable tacos could restore? — Tyrone

Mr. Tyrone, 

Hell of diggin’ on this well-written letter! Man, this lady sounds so unpleasant you could basically put her in a Jane Austen movie as-is. (Except she would wear a tight wicker bonnet, shaped kind of like the original leather football helmets, and scold pets. The smaller the pet, the bigger the scolding — you know the type). 

So, a guy who understands people as well as you probably already knows that, no, there ain’t no way to broadcast that you think this chick is big brick ’o bum-chunk. Especially since you ain’t even been down the aisle yet! If this squish diblet and your bride are close, you got to suck it up until she offends you personally in front of another family member, at which point you can defend your own honor (privately, later, but it sets the ball rolling). If they ain’t so close, and you can confide in your fiancée that her sis is a boy dog’s O-face, she’ll appreciate that you are open with her, so long as you choose your words gently. Either way, this ain’t a sitch where you come in guns blazing, ’cause that grommet-wattled jib-neck still ranks higher than you in the family totem pole, and she’s producin’ lineage. 

Of course, all that can change if you play the diplomat. Consider it a fun roleplay! And write us back to let us know how you’re gettin’ over. 

-=DOUBLE-0-RAY7=-

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Dear Ray, I have a friend who is “getting into” grappa. But that stuff tastes like old fish in turpentine. What can I tell him? — Carl

Dear Carl, 

The 1990s called, and they need Kevin James to ride a Segway across the set of Friends.  

Okay, that didn’t really tie in with grappa at all, but I want to communicate that grappa ain’t been culturally relevant since Clinton was Trumpin’ ladies over the pants in the break room. I just liked the idea of the 90s always wishin’ more 90s stuff would happen. (It’s like, The 90s Haven’t Grown! That would be a killer TV show.) 

The list of niche liquors that permanently fail to launch in the USA is as long as your arm. Grappa, cachaça, retsina, poteen, rakija, moonshine, whatever. If they’re drinkin’ it outta used 7 UP bottles in some unplumbed holler somewhere, somebody’s gonna burn through his marketing spend tryin’ to romanticize it into the US market.

But to dis a man’s special vice is to dis him as a man, so that ain’t useful water. Just let it run its course. There’s a reason the only grappa drinkers are either 25 with a Tesla, or 85 with a small beret. 

=-Bibulo-Phanatique-=

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Dear Ray, Last weekend, I was at a friend's barbeque, and everyone was starting to have a pretty good time. You know what I mean, homemade margaritas in the punchbowl and smiles all around. I found myself talking to a dude I had never met before, and after about a minute of smiling and nodding at him, I realized he was an asshole. Often, I will cut short an interaction with an asshole by pointing out what sort of asshole I think they are and briskly walking away. But this was a small, crowded deck, we were elbow to elbow, and everyone, except me, was having a great time with all the laughing and conversations, and such. I didn't want to kill the vibe, and there was no room to briskly walk away, so I had to endure this bona fide asshole for several minutes until he went to get another drink.  What is your advice for disengaging from a situation like this without ruining the scene? — C C

Dear C C, 

I have known Pat for more years than I care to count at this point, so I get you. Last month at my regular shindig around the pool, he kept coming up to every group I was in, and braggin’ about how he’d just made this big investment in some Utah-based startup company that makes solar-powered blinds. It was that thing where he was all high on risking a lot of money (embarrassing but universal rookie phase) and wanted everyone to both validate and worship him, like he was some kind of market-shapin’ whale for dropping a couple grand. In my head I was all, “Dude, your alpha on that is gonna be zero once China gives those excited Mormon kids a few tasty ones across the face.” 

 In earlier times, I would have dunked on him in front of everybody. I coulda’ said I drop more change when my pants fall down. I coulda’ asked what their Dooney Ratio was. (That’s a concept I made up just for this example, using the classic Irish Last Name + Math Term formula. If I get pushback, I say some jazz like, “it’s the coefficient of their run rate over their nationalized dividend schedule.” Toss my business salad, cause you’re eatin’ my Warren buffet.) 

But these days, I want to radiate positivity. It’s best for the brand. At the end of the road, nobody likes a bitter dude, even if he was funnier, smarter, or right. It’s always better to be remembered as the peacemaker than the saber-rattler. My method for dealin’ with a jerk in a group is, “say nothing.” Somebody takes a convo-shit in the air? Leave that hangin’ there to stink, don’t grab it and rub it all over the brand. Keep it their problem. Silence is power. 

An alternate technique is, if you want to disengage from some dud without creatin’ bad energy, point your finger in the air like you just thought of something brilliant, and say, “I know exactly who you need to talk to. Stay right here.” Then leave. Because nobody is exactly who they should be talkin’ to.  

-=Raytaliation Nation=-

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Confidential to Fantail_Frannie_NOLA: When I’m leaving on a trip I always send my luggage to the airport in a separate Uber, from Téodor’s house, and I tell my Uber driver that I just need a lift back to the airport to get my car outta long-term parking. That way they never know if and for how long I’ll be gone. I learned this from a Joe Rogan guest.