You know That Guy who's kind of tall, kind of cute, and definitely full of himself? This is the guy whose conversation opener is mildly insulting ("You're wearing all black. Why? Did you think this was a funeral or something. Haha.") and he may stare at you uncomfortably, forcing you to ask the question,"So, what do you do?" which he will then respond to with a full paragraph on all of his interests, hobbies, and extracurricular activities. Every time you think he'll pause, he won't. And not wanting to appear rude, you'll stand and listen and wait for a moment to interject a question you may have, or continue the conversation along a vein he touched upon, or maybe, in some small way, excuse yourself. But usually, when you're talking to That Guy, he won't give you that opportunity. He will just keep talking and talking and talking, assuming that his auto-biography is of paramount importance.
That Guy can be hard to spot sometimes. After all, he is usually well dressed, projecting an air of confidence, and he most likely approached you, which is always nice. But shortly after you spot the shifty eyes looking for someone else who may have noticed him, he'll drop the casual mention of his foreign car, European travels, or work-out schedule to make sure you're well aware of how lucky you are to get to talk to him.
Should you demonstrate that you may not be as fascinated in him as he is in himself, he may start to berate the people around you, making sure you know that he is the coolest person in the room. In this case, he may inadvertently insult you (again) not knowing that you may belong with the group of people he just slammed. Attempting to fend him off, you'll offer a shred of information about yourself in hopes that he may notice that he doesn't like you. But unfortunately, by this time, he's trying to look soulfully in your eyes, as if he's found something in you that he couldn't find in anyone else. (That would be the lack of an escape route.) He'll lean in. Maybe find some way to touch your arm or waist. Fearing the worst, you'll turn away, suddenly engrossed by the restroom placard across the room. And then, he'll ask you the first question of the night, "Do you want to get out of here?"
Merde alors.
Aside from the fact that he is That Guy and no one with any shred of dignity would ever go anywhere with him, is such an advance really prudent on his part? I could be a crazy person! I could be riddled with STD's or be carrying drugs in my purse or be MARRIED! I mean, Lordy! That Guy doesn't know ANYTHING about me, except maybe my name, if I even gave him my real one.
Granted, it is entirely possible that he just wanted to get out of the venue and go somewhere quieter and less crowded. Let's not make assumptions. But still, after 20 minutes of hearing him talk about how he wanted to be a spy when he was a kid but how he works for the environment now and isn't that different from what he what he thought he would be doing at this age and surely you couldn't tell he worked for an environmental organization because didn't you notice? He's wearing Italian leather loafers. He has made it abundantly clear that he's not really interested in you. He may be interested in doing things TO you, but he's waaaaay more interested in telling you all about himself.
Unfortunately, laughing and leaving at this point is usually interpreted by That Guy as the beginnings of a fun cat and mouse game. For the rest of the night, he'll lear up behind you and jump in on every conversation you have with anyone else. He'll misconstrue their faces of confusion for those of awe, and when he thinks you're not looking, he'll shamelessly lean in on any other girl gone unattended.
But there is a God, and I want to thank that Dear God. For he created the sun, which produces heat, which is absorbed by tall buildings; and raises the temperature there more than a few degrees well into the first few hours of the night. Thank God for this heat, which accumulates as people gather and drink and dance. And thank you very, very much dear Lord, for the three piece woolen suit that looks so terribly uncomfortable on That Guy as he stands on the 32nd floor of a Los Angelian loft party sans AC. And finally, thank you God for the fortitude and strength you gave me to wear that light weight, all-cotton, all black American Apparel dress all night long.
No. I did not want to get out of there with That Guy. No, I wasn't hungry. No, I didn't want to go someplace else with cheaper drinks. No, I wasn't too hot either. The temperature for me was just right. As was the music, and the people and the catered lemon square desserts, thank you very much.
Since he never asked any questions, he'll never be able to find me again.
No comments:
Post a Comment