In 2011, I introduced My Ideal Douche Bag. Three years later, I want to introduce to you his older fraternity brother. I suppose, from whom he precociously learned his douchebaggery ways.
During 25 minute assessments, it's quite simple to deter someone from befriending you.
He came and sat at our table with subtlety. In fact, I did not notice him. I assumed he was one of many people whose faces or names I didn't know, but once we did our round of introductions, I knew that he, at this point, had no credibility from anyone at our side of the table.
Once barely acquainted, he would say my name occasionally to bring me into the conversation and ask me a question. Anime? Cartoons? TV shows? Nope, books and music.
"That's boring," he said with a smirk. I felt my face turn red.
This comically brought me back to just the day before, when Cliff and I were waiting for a train. I saw a girl clutching a kitschy tote bag that said in big, ugly print a John Waters quote: “If you go home with somebody, and they don't have books, don't f*** 'em!”
I blinked a few times before I replied, "Well... that's one way to look at it..."
He shook his head with a slight smile, as if to kind-of say he was joking. "No, no," he inaudibly said. To save the sinking ship, he asked me what kind of books I liked. I immediately felt both overwhelmed and irritated that I had to come up with responses that he would even remotely recognize. What's the point.
He enthusiastically nodded his head as if he knew or cared about Jonathan Franzen and David Sedaris. I was cringing, and perhaps, our tablemates were cringing with me.
The more he talked, the more agitated I became. All he blabbered about was himself, slipping comments like, "...and as a singer..." trying to hint that IN ADDITION to his first talent, he ALSO sings, and ALSO knows Alec Baldwin, oh AND Julianne Moore, TOO.
I looked at him unresponsively but everyone else was almost too polite.
Later, he asked me what I "do." "Education nonprofit," I said, reluctantly. Even if I explained it, he wouldn't understand NOR care. But I heard myself keep going and stopped with what felt like ellipses invisibly hanging in the air when I recognized the face of feigning interest. I didn't want to shout across the table to explain my work to an idiot.
"That's cool," he said. "That's really cool," he reassured me.
I know, I wanted to say. And if you provoke me, I will blog about you.
