HOW TO STOP PEOPLE PLEASING - NIGEL‘S 99 ISSUES AT THE CAFÉ

Today’s saga at Nigel’s 99 Issues Café: rain’s coming down sideways, Beatrice is warming up on the back burner, and Nigel’s already decided the day is going to test his patience. Right on cue, the bell rings.

Nigel looks up from the bar.

Last time, it was a young woman on week one, saying yes to everyone and wondering why she felt like a doormat with benefits. Today, it’s a man who looks like he’s survived three emotional car crashes since breakfast.

He drips his way to the bar and drops onto the nearest stool.

Unfortunately, it’s the farting one.

The stool releases a proper trumpet of betrayal. Nigel doesn’t even flinch.

“That’s the one,” he says. “Congratulations. You’ve hit rock bottom and the comedy sound effect.”

The man presses his lips together, mortified.

Nigel gestures to the other stool. “You can move. Shame’s not nailed down.”

He shuffles over, slumps, and stares at the wood grain like it insulted his ancestors.

Nigel studies him.

“Right,” he says. “You look like someone who received excellent advice and then did the opposite.”

The man sighs.

“I… might’ve come here once.”

Nigel nods slowly.

“Yes,” he says. “Week one. You sat over there, back when your spine was still partly functioning. You told me you were exhausted from saying yes to everyone, covering shifts, lending money, attending events you’d have happily watched burn.”

The man winces.

Nigel continues.

“I gave you one sentence,” he says. “Stop treating your own discomfort as less important than other people’s convenience. I even offered you practice. I told you to say no to the scone. You said no. I applauded. I sent you out to be a menace.”

He leans on the bar.

“And then what did you do?”

The man grimaces.

“I… said yes to everything.”

Nigel blinks.

“Of course you did.”

The man starts listing them.

“My boss called on my day off. I covered. My sister needed childcare. I canceled my own plans. My friend wanted help moving, and I did it even though he hired movers anyway. My cousin—”

Nigel holds up a hand.

“If your sentence includes the word ‘cousin,’ it’s already a crime.”

“My cousin said I couldn’t just start saying no,” the man says. “He told me people would think I was selfish. That I’d lose everyone if I stopped being available.”

Nigel exhales through his nose.

“So you trusted the council of chaos,” he says. “Excellent. How did that go?”

The man glances around the café, at the rain, his clothes, his face.

“I’m broke,” he says quietly. “I’m tired. Nobody’s any happier. They just call me sooner.”

Nigel nods.

“There it is,” he says. “You kept everyone comfortable and made everyone miserable, including yourself. Classic people pleasing. Ten out of ten execution, zero out of ten results.”

The man laughs once, bitter.

“I thought it would just… blow over,” he says. “I thought if I stuck it out, they’d see how much I do and start respecting me.”

Nigel sets a mug down in front of him—Ethiopian, dark, poured without asking.

“They did see it,” Nigel says. “And they learned you’ll do more if they press harder. That’s the education you delivered.”

He wipes a spot on the bar with more force than necessary.

“You know what actually makes people recalibrate?” he says. “Being told no and surviving it.”

The man stares at the steam coming off the cup.

“So I messed it up.”

“No,” Nigel says. “You did research. Bad research, but still research. You gathered proof that saying yes to everyone doesn’t save you. Now you’re here with data and a facial expression that says ‘this is unsustainable.’”

He nods toward the man’s shoulders.

“You can’t even hide it,” he says. “Your posture’s screaming ‘please don’t ask me for anything ever again.’”

The man lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“What do I do now?” he asks.

Nigel’s tone goes flat.

“Now you stop trying to be kind by abandoning yourself,” he says. “You’re not kind when you say yes to everything. You’re terrified of what they’ll think if you don’t.”

The man swallows.

Nigel continues.

“So we start simple,” he says. “You owe at least three people a no. Boss, sibling, cousin, one friend. Pick three. You’re going to give them one sentence: ‘I can’t do that.’ No explanation. No emotional coupons.”

The man looks alarmed.

“They’ll be angry,” he says.

Nigel shrugs.

“They’re already comfortable using you as unpaid infrastructure,” he says. “They can survive mild disappointment. Let them practice independence.”

He leans in.

“And here’s the real test,” Nigel adds. “The ones who only stick around when you’re available on demand were never staying for you. They were staying for the services.”

The man rests his forehead on his hand.

“How long is this supposed to take?” he asks.

“Beatrice took months to season properly,” Nigel says, nodding toward the chalkboard. “Give yourself the same patience. It took years to build this habit. It will not evaporate over one coffee.”

He straightens up.

“For now,” he says, “you’re going to do something radical.”

The man looks up, wary.

Nigel points at the door.

“You’re going to leave this café with only the energy you walked in with,” he says. “You’re not going to promise anyone a favor on the way home. You’re not going to answer any ‘can you just…’ messages until tomorrow.”

The man blinks.

“That’s it?”

“That’s day one,” Nigel says. “If you manage that, we’ll upgrade you to saying no out loud.”

The man laughs—real laugh this time, tired but lighter.

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll try.”

“You’ll do,” Nigel corrects. “Or you’ll come back next week looking worse, and I’ll move you permanently to the farting stool until you tell someone no. Consequences.”

The man snorts despite himself.

He drinks, stands, and glances at the door.

“Thanks,” he says quietly.

“Go disappoint someone,” Nigel replies. “It’s overdue.”

The bell rings as the man leaves, rain still sideways, Beatrice still simmering, and Nigel already mentally preparing for the next person who thinks “being nice” is the same thing as having a personality.