I’d like to complain about something called A Complaint Free World.
Essentially, it’s a website that encourages people not to complain. To assist with this, you contact the website to obtain a purple Complaint-Free-World wristband. It’s similar to those yellow LiveStrong bracelets everyone used to wear until they realized Lance Armstrong is a great big wally.
The Complaint Free World notion originated with a Rev. Will Bowen, who suggested his congregation go for 21 straight days without complaining. Then one member of the congregation said: “Oh man, I really hate stuff like that.” So Rev. Bowen shot him with a Glock pistol.
Ha, I just made the last bit up. The shooting bit. Anyway, in order to promote the good reverend’s notion, parishioners purchased purple bracelets. The idea was, you’d switch the bracelet from one wrist to the other each time you complain. This constant switching becomes so tiresome, the urge to complain recedes.
Keep it up for three weeks, you’ll become a non-complainer. That’s because, according to “scientists,” it takes an average of 21 days to drop a bad habit. And without complaints, “your life will be happier, more loving and more enjoyable,” says the Complaint Free World website.
But I think the opposite is true.
People are much happier when they complain. Indeed, complaining makes everyone happy — both the complainers and those listening to litanies of woe. It’s what Dr. Phil would call a “win-win” scenario.
Here’s an example. This summer, my car was broken into. Vandals made off with my stereo, CDs and a car blanket. As a sort of pièce de résistance, they stole part of the dashboard, too.
This was bad enough. I could hardly stand the thought of hooligans listening to my copy of Creedence Clearwater’s Live in Europe. No doubt they kept cosy wrapped in my car blanket, waving that piece of my dashboard merrily and chuckling with pleasure as Keep on Chooglin’ blared through my car-speakers — which they’d also stolen.
The capper, however, was that ICBC told me I was out of luck in the insurance department. That’s because my policy has a $300 deductible. An entry-level stereo like mine is worth only $125, while the speakers are not covered because they weren’t built into the car. The car’s contents — such as CDs and car blankets — are also not covered. As for the missing bit of the dashboard, ICBC seemed utterly disinterested.
Oh, how I complained. First I shared my tale with co-workers and friends. Then I complained endlessly to my wife. I even griped on Facebook, lamenting a world in which vicious car-blanket-stealing thugs are allowed to prosper.
Well, all this griping made me feel tremendously good. I felt alive, young and chock full of noble purpose. It’s true friends and acquaintances began to avoid me as — like a junkie requiring a fix — I reiterated my complaints over and over, adding heretofore overlooked details and clenching my fists in new and exciting ways.
Complaining about the car theft for a solid two weeks was pretty fabulous. It’s almost tempting to park my car (now repaired) on Harris Green overnight with my windows down, in order for a repeat experience.
I also enjoy hearing complaints. True, other people’s griping tends to be less fascinating than my own. These complaints lack the same poignancy, drama and inherent nobleness of mine, tending instead to be whiny, petty and generally pointless.
That’s OK. Give me a man or woman who doesn’t complain, and I’ll give you someone who’s hiding something. These are the people who say, “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything,” or “Let a smile be your umbrella,” or “Someone’s got a case of the Mondays.”
But at least these people give me something to complain about.
