People say, 'Since you got rich and famous, you've become

Host: The bar was loud with laughter and the clinking of glasses — a low-slung place filled with the kind of neon haze and music that made people feel immortal, at least for a few hours. A game flickered across a mounted television, all roaring crowds and electric motion. Somewhere near the corner booth, a dart hit the board, missing the bullseye by an inch — followed by a chorus of good-natured groans.

Jack sat at the bar, a half-empty glass in front of him, the foam lacing the inside like the last vestiges of old pride. Jeeny slid onto the stool beside him, shaking off her coat, a smile tugging at her lips as she glanced at the napkin where he’d scrawled a quote:

“People say, ‘Since you got rich and famous, you’ve become insufferable.’ I say, ‘That’s not true. I’ve always been insufferable.’” — Shannon Sharpe

Jeeny: “You wrote that down like scripture.”

Jack: “It’s honesty, not scripture. Finally, someone who doesn’t apologize for who he is. You’ve got to admire that.”

Jeeny: “Admire it? It’s arrogance with a punchline.”

Jack: “Exactly! It’s the truth dressed in humor. Everyone wants humility from people who’ve already paid the price for it.”

Host: The bartender poured another drink, the amber liquid catching the light like warm honey. The sound of the pour was smooth, rhythmic — like a continuation of the conversation itself.

Jeeny: “You think arrogance is truth?”

Jack: “No. But I think honesty can sound like arrogance to people who can’t stomach confidence.”

Jeeny: “Confidence and self-worship aren’t the same thing, Jack.”

Jack: “And yet both come from knowing your worth. Sharpe’s quote — that’s not ego. That’s identity. He’s saying: I’ve always been this way. Fame just made you notice.”

Jeeny: “Or fame just gave him a louder microphone for his ego.”

Host: Jeeny leaned against the bar, her elbows resting on the counter, eyes catching the flicker of the screen behind Jack. Her tone was teasing, but beneath it was curiosity — the kind of curiosity that wanted to dissect pride and see what beating thing lay inside it.

Jeeny: “Why do you love quotes like this so much? You’re drawn to them — the ones that flirt with arrogance.”

Jack: “Because arrogance is honest in a way humility rarely is. Humility hides. Arrogance admits.”

Jeeny: “So, you’d rather be insufferable than humble?”

Jack: “At least insufferable people are remembered. Humble ones get thanked once and forgotten forever.”

Jeeny: “That’s a sad view of legacy.”

Jack: “It’s a realistic one. The world rewards the loud, not the kind.”

Jeeny: “Maybe that’s the world’s mistake, not virtue’s.”

Host: The music softened as the crowd shifted, laughter fading into murmurs. Outside, the night pressed against the windows — dark and wide, swallowing the neon’s reflection whole.

Jack: “You ever notice how people only complain about arrogance when it comes from success? They call the struggling confident, but the accomplished — insufferable. Why? Because one’s ambition, the other’s proof.”

Jeeny: “Or maybe success just amplifies what was always there — the cracks and the shine alike. It doesn’t invent arrogance, it reveals it.”

Jack: “Exactly what Sharpe’s saying. He didn’t become insufferable — people just started paying attention.”

Jeeny: “That doesn’t make it admirable, Jack. It just makes it consistent.”

Jack: “Consistency is underrated.”

Jeeny: “So is humility.”

Host: Her voice was quiet now, but laced with conviction. She turned toward him fully, her face half-lit by the bar’s red light.

Jeeny: “You think arrogance is power, but it’s really a kind of fear — the fear of being ordinary. Insufferable people build walls of charm and confidence because they’re terrified of silence.”

Jack: “You call it fear. I call it armor.”

Jeeny: “Same thing. Armor doesn’t make you strong; it just keeps people out.”

Jack: “Maybe that’s necessary. The higher you climb, the lonelier the air. You can’t breathe honesty up there — only bravado.”

Jeeny: “And yet, the loneliest people I’ve met are the ones who never took their armor off.”

Host: The bartender moved past them, wiping down the counter with quiet rhythm, as though time itself had slowed to listen. The television behind them erupted again — a touchdown, a cheer — and then receded into background noise.

Jack: “You think it’s wrong to embrace who you are, even if who you are isn’t pleasant?”

Jeeny: “No. I think it’s wrong to use unpleasantness as proof of authenticity.”

Jack: “So we should pretend to be nice?”

Jeeny: “No, but we should remember that self-awareness without growth is just ego in a mirror.”

Jack: “You always find the poetry in the punchline.”

Jeeny: “And you always hide behind it.”

Host: Jack laughed, not out of mockery but to break the sudden stillness that Jeeny’s words created. He took a sip of his drink, his eyes glinting with mischief — and maybe, behind it, something like self-recognition.

Jack: “Alright, philosopher — tell me this. You’ve never felt the thrill of being unapologetically yourself? Of saying, ‘Yeah, I’m not easy to love, but I’m real’?”

Jeeny: “Of course I have. But I also know being real doesn’t excuse being reckless. There’s a difference between self-acceptance and self-worship.”

Jack: “And who decides where that line is?”

Jeeny: “The people you love — and how often they stop forgiving you.”

Host: The truth of it hit like quiet thunder. Jack’s smile faltered for just a heartbeat. He looked down, the reflection of the bar lights turning his drink into liquid flame.

Jack: “Maybe Sharpe’s joke wasn’t arrogance. Maybe it was confession — the kind you hide in laughter because it’s easier than vulnerability.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Humor’s the safest way to tell the truth.”

Jack: “So maybe he wasn’t bragging at all. Maybe he was saying, ‘I’ve always been this way — flawed, loud, human.’”

Jeeny: “Which is all any of us can really say.”

Host: She smiled softly, her hand brushing the condensation from her glass. For a moment, their eyes met — understanding in silence, the kind that doesn’t need an argument to be won.

Jeeny: “Maybe that’s the paradox of pride — it starts as defense and ends as identity.”

Jack: “And maybe the real strength isn’t in being insufferable… but in admitting you are, and trying anyway.”

Jeeny: “Now that’s humility in disguise.”

Host: The jukebox clicked, shifting songs — an old soul tune filling the space, warm and melancholy. The night outside had settled deep, a mirror of reflection and noise.

Jack: “You know, maybe that’s what fame does — it doesn’t change who you are. It just takes your personality and turns up the volume.”

Jeeny: “So the question isn’t whether we become insufferable. It’s whether, when the volume’s up, anyone still wants to listen.”

Host: The two sat quietly for a while, the kind of silence that felt earned. The laughter at the far end of the bar rose again, bright and human.

And as the neon light blinked overhead, Shannon Sharpe’s humor settled between them — no longer just a joke, but a mirror:

that arrogance and honesty share a pulse,
that self-awareness can be both armor and confession,
and that sometimes, the most human truth
isn’t that fame makes us unbearable —
but that we always were,
and somehow, we still deserve to be understood.