the friend who's "down for anything" (and will veto everything you suggest)

It's Memorial Day weekend. Someone has to plan the trip. That someone is not Marcus.

Marcus is "down for anything." Marcus will also reject every single thing you suggest in the next three weeks of planning. The Airbnb in Hudson is "kinda pricey." The lake house in Jersey is "mid tbh." The cabin that sleeps eight and has a hot tub is "actually I heard that area has bad traffic." Marcus has opinions about everything except which option he wants to do. He's not against planning — he's against your plan, specifically, as soon as you name it.

This is the veto friend. They live among us.

how to spot one in the wild

The tell is in the phrasing. "I'm down for whatever" is usually the first signal. This seems cooperative. It is not cooperative. It is the removal of accountability while retaining full veto power. They will express zero preferences upfront — a vacuum — and then fill that vacuum with objections the second you try to fill it for them.

Other common phrases:

• "I mean, we could… but have we thought about—"
• "No no, if everyone wants to do that, I'll do it" (said while clearly not wanting to do that)
• "I just feel like we always do that"
• "I don't know, this just doesn't feel like a us trip to me"

That last one is particularly powerful because it implies a shared vision — a canonical "us trip" that they have privately defined and that literally no one else has access to. You are failing a test you didn't know you were taking.

the taxonomy of the veto

Not all vetoes are created equal. There are at least three distinct species:

The Soft No. A redirect disguised as enthusiasm. "Ooh, I actually just saw something kind of similar — can I send it?" What they send will be either more expensive, less available, or wildly off-theme. The goal is not to offer an alternative. The goal is to reopen the conversation.

The Technicality Veto. The place has a two-night minimum and they'd rather not commit. The dates overlap with something that "might happen." The checkout time is 10am and they hate that. These objections are not wrong, exactly — they're just deployed only against options they don't like. When they do like something, checkout times become irrelevant.

The Retroactive Veto. This one hits after you've already booked. They'll go quiet, then a few days later: "Hey, random question, but is that place near the water? I just feel like I'd really want to be near water." You are not near the water. You are now in the middle of the water problem.

why they do it (a generous interpretation)

Okay, in fairness — the veto friend usually isn't trying to be difficult. They genuinely are flexible, in the abstract. They just have a vision of the ideal trip that they've never articulated because they haven't consciously identified it themselves. They don't know they want to be near water until you are not near water.

The issue is that "I'm down for anything" is a promise they can't actually keep. They mean it when they say it. They just say it too early, before reality has given them the chance to realize they have conditions.

If you're reading this and relating — if this is landing a little close to home — consider trying this phrase instead: "I have some preferences but I'm flexible." It's longer. It's less clean. It will save everyone six days of Slack messages.

what to do about them

First: get their veto out early. Before you propose anything, ask directly: "Is there anything you know you don't want?" This is not a trick. You actually want this information. The veto friend sitting on a silent dealbreaker until day three of planning is genuinely avoidable if you just invite the dealbreaker into the room upfront.

Second: stop presenting options as a group. The options approach creates a panel of judges. Someone will vote everything down and feel zero responsibility for the deadlock. Instead, have one person — a person, not the group chat — make the call and send it as a decision, not a proposal. "We're doing the Hudson Airbnb, June 7–9. Who's in?" Marcus may still have notes. But his window for them is much smaller.

Third — and this is where we come in — you send him a card. Not a mean card. An affectionate card. One that says, gently, in the loving language of someone who has known Marcus for eleven years: you are the reason we've been in the same Google Doc for three weeks. The group chat cards we've got are diplomatically phrased enough that Marcus will receive it in the spirit intended.

The goal is not to destroy Marcus. The goal is to get Marcus on a porch somewhere with a drink in his hand by Memorial Day weekend.

Make the card at /create. Be specific. "You said you were down for anything and I have 47 screenshots that say otherwise" hits different than vague frustration. Marcus will laugh. Marcus will probably also say something like "okay but the Poconos cabin was far." He's not wrong. But you'll have the whole weekend to argue about it — on the porch you finally booked without asking him first.