This is the Bullshit Grinder.
It belonged to my Granddad. Now it is mine.
It is the only thing I wanted from him after he died.
He used to sit in his chair in the living room, talking politics or religion or the Sabres and Bills. Whenever he thought what you were saying wasn’t quite right, he would grab the Grinder, cradling it in his palm and twisting its crank with the other hand. He would make this noise, too, a ‘Baaahhh,’ tinged with a dismissive, scoffing tone.
I didn’t use it much for the first few years I had it. I placed it on a shelf along with other memories: a pin from my college newspaper, earrings from my trip to Australia, a statue from my Aunt.
I chose that particular memento not because it reminded me of my Granddad, but because it reminded me of very specific parts of him. His curiosity, his love of learning, his good nature, his humor. And his skepticism.
He didn’t need the physical manifestation of his inner Bullshit Grinder, the one he was born with and honed throughout a life in the service and the steel mills of Buffalo. He knew what passed the smell test and what stank. The Grinder was just his way of letting you know that he wasn’t buying what you were peddling.
I was born with a Bullshit Grinder, too. I didn’t use it for a long time. People kept telling me not to, that it was broken. Eventually, I believed them. I let their bullshit overwhelm my instruments for combating it.
Now, my Bullshit Grinder is working overtime.
For months, I’ve been grinding up my own shit, working through the layers of crap I built up to protect myself. I’m learning how to replace those defenses with layers love, and friends, and self worth. Things that no grinder can tear through.
I also am learning to turn my Grinder outward, to use it on other people. If you can’t make it past the Grinder, don’t come any closer. Arm’s length is where I will keep you.
Not too many people have made it past the Grinder.
It’s a really hard thing for people to interact with 0% bullshit. Reaching that level of absolute honesty with another person requires a kind of vulnerability most people can’t summon. Because not bullshitting someone else means not bullshitting yourself. And that’s hard shit.
My crusade to cut through all my own Bullshit has made me reach out to people in my life that are or were once important. Mostly this means reaching out to people I have hurt and that have hurt me. Because without the Bullshit to cloud my view, I can see what I did wrong. I can cop to it.
Asking someone to stop their Bullshitting is cruel. Most of us wear it like armor. You can’t expect someone to take it down completely. When you ask that of them, what you’re really requesting is for them to look into the deepest places of themselves, the darkest corners, and reveal them to you.
That’s unfair. And unrealistic.
I have asked a few people to meet me there, at that place of 100% honesty, for small spaces of time. My friend Travis did. And we’re better for it now. My mom tried, but I don’t think we can stay there for long. That’s OK. Our relationship is fine the way it is. At least we’re now acknowledging that there’s shit we aren’t talking about, instead of pretending like it doesn’t exist.
I tried with my friend Roxie (not her real name). We couldn’t do it. I was disappointed, because I thought we could. I thought we cared enough about each other. But we don’t. And that’s OK, too.
That’s the thing about the Bullshit Grinder. You have to know when and where to wield it. You have to ask yourself, “Is this protecting me, or is it keeping people out?” Or worse, tearing them down. You can’t just whip the Grinder out for any little lie. A small amount of Bullshit is necessary for society to function.
The ‘Hey, how are ya?’s, the ‘How are your kids?’ — these things are important, even if they feel disingenuous.
I had a hard time with this during my recent trip to Florida. Small-talking with old co-workers and bar guests I hadn’t seen in years felt fake. When you spend so much time swimming in the deep shit, wading into social niceties can seem pointless. But, as I’m learning, you have to go through the shallows first if you want to reach that depth with someone.
To my surprise and delight, even those small, shallow connections pooled into something more substantial. A touch, a hug, a look that said, “I’m glad you’re here and I’m glad I know you, on whatever level.” At first, I bristled. But then I realized: There was nothing there that could hurt me. Quite the opposite: it buoyed me. I was glad I had kept my Bullshit Grinder at home.
I’m hopeful now, that after a vigorous workout, I’ll get to put my Bullshit Grinder back on the shelf. I won’t let it collect dust this time, but I don’t need to keep it in front of me like a shield at all times, either. Instead, I’ll slip it into my back pocket, restful but ready for action. To be used sparingly.
It should come with a warning label. With great Bullshit Grinder comes great responsibility.
