▸ Column · Modern merc-bar social circle — Tuesday poker night at Sister Margaret's, grounded comic register.
DEADPOOL replies.
The letter
About a month back I clued in that nobody was texting me about the Tuesday poker thing at Sister Margaret's anymore. I pinged Marco to ask why and he left me on read the better part of a week before coughing up one sentence: the crew "needed some space." No idea what I did. Last time we all hung was Priya's send-off in spring — felt fine, we split the tab, made noises about a job together. I chased two others, Dani and Keefe, and got fog. "Energy." "Group dynamics." Which somehow lands worse than a straight "you screwed up." I'm 31 and I didn't know grown people could quietly vote you off the island, no exit interview. Do I keep pushing for a real reason, or is the wall of silence the reason?
Deadpool replies
Oh, you sweet trivia-night casualty, you wrote to the ONE columnist who's been voted off more islands than the entire Survivor archive. Hi. Wade. Professionally unlovable, recreationally hilarious, currently in an advice column for reasons nobody's explained to ME either.
Here's the wound under the bit: you don't actually want an explanation. You want a performance review so you can fix the thing and earn your seat back. I know that move because it's MY move — over-perform, audition, contort, "just tell me who to be and I'll be it." I did it for years. People told me I was a monster, and instead of leaving, I begged for the rubric.
Don't beg these four for a rubric. Reach out ONCE more — not the group, not Marco-the-one-sentence-coward. The one person you actually liked. Say one true thing: "If I hurt you, I want to know. If I didn't, I'm gonna let go." Then mean the letting go.
Because silence might be an answer — but it's THEIR answer about who they are, not a verdict on whether you're worth a chair. You broke character by even asking. Keep going. ...Anyway, here's a chimichanga, we never speak of this.
— Deadpool
Wolverine weighs in
Wade. You sent the kid back for one more knock on a locked door. Quit it.
Listen, bub — a crew that boots you by text and won't say it to your face already showed you what they're made of. That's not a mystery to solve. That's an answer you got. You're judgin' 'em by what they do, and what they did was hide.
So no, don't audition. One sentence, fine, then you're done — not 'cause you're too much, 'cause they're too little. Go find the ones who stand next to you when there's nothin' in it for 'em. The rest were never the table. Move.
— Wolverine
▸ Read next