|
I said I wasn't interested, and at no point did I change my mind. However...
A Persian-American girl who had sat down across from me at the campus cafeteria sent me an email, wanting to meet up. She was in a relationship and I didn't feel like playing "the game", least of all since I did not see in her the qualities a girl I could have a relationship with would have to have - the sort of proud, aggressive, unaffected, culturally and socially aloof personality I find attractive.
I ignored the email. She then send another, "why have you not answered?" For several reasons, I decided to reply, and we met up.
We went for a long, long walk, across much of the city and along the beach. She talked about her boyfriend and herself; I engaged in the kind of intense, overbearing, pedantic, curiously charismatic psychoanalysis I do. I preached the Aestu approach: the best way to resolve conflict is conflict itself, and the best to get along is to assert one's reasonable wants and needs forcefully, and expect others to do the same. This was very at odds with her own timid and fundamentally passive take on life. We had fun talking.
I could see clearly that most people would see me as unmanly for being "used" in this way, being "friend zoned" or whatever by a relatively homely girl; but of course my superiority complex neatly insulated me from any diminution of my grandiose self-image. I can't stand most girls and totally disregard them.
Along our long walk, she had to use the restroom. We saw a bar, and on the door: restrooms for paying customers only. Entering we felt completely out of place, with the dim lighting, loud music, and inebriated mid-day customers. She went to the bathroom; I said, "Give me a Bud," as colloquially as I could.
"ID?"
"That young looking? Haha, thank you!" I flashed my CA ID.
"California, huh?"
"Mm-hmm."
A patron piped up. "Damn, it's hot today, huh?"
I stared at him. "Dude, I'm from the Central Valley. It's 110 in the shade there."
The bartender (about my age) and I then talked about Lake Tahoe for a minute or two; he knew the place better than I. We very obviously had no common ground.
I sipped the cold beer. I don't like drinking from bottles. I found the beverage's flavor unrewarding, so I didn't take more than a few sips; I just waited for the girl to finish so we could go.
Regardless, it was the first time I'd ordered beer at a bar. The appeal of the entire experience was lost on me.
Walking alone back to my house, there was a car pulled up next door. This big Latino guy with an MBTA badge, a police comm on his shoulder, and his women and children in the car addressed me, clearly itching to push someone around. He had no idea who he was engaging.
He ranted, probably mildly inebriated, or maybe just high on rage, something to the effect of, "Hey, these people went by, they gave me the finger!"
"Sorry, I don't know them."
"I've seen you around here, you're always walking everywhere really fast, you punk."
"I smiled genially. "OK, can I help you?"
"You can keep walking. You're a rude little bitch."
"Oh? Did I do something to you?"
"Yeah, you're a rude bitch. Keep walking."
"Why don't you keep driving?" I continued to smile genially.
"I live here, I know you live around here, you rude little punkass bitch."
"Yes, I live next door. Pleased to meet you." I extended my hand.
He did not take it. "I ain't shakin' your hand. Just keep walkin'. You rude little punk."
"Why do you say I am rude?"
"I ain't talkin' with you, bitch. Just keep walking."
"Didn't you just talk to me? If I have done you some offense, I am sorry. I have done nothing to you that I am aware of..."
A well-built mulatto got out of the far side of the car and grinned at me aggressively. "Keep walkin'."
"Alright. Well, you all have a nice day!" I waved and turned and left.
I continued to my house, next door. The guy continued to grumble, deliberately loud enough that he knew I could hear, "little fucking bitch."
I turned from my porch and called out, loudly, in a Qaz-inspired manner, "You know, you called me rude. I said I was sorry for whatever offense I may have dealt you...I do not know where you come from, but where I come from, talking behind someone's back loud enough you can hear them is rude."
"Fucking bitch!"
"Have a nice day!" I waved, fully turned my back, and leisurely checked my mail before opening the door and heading inside.
As I saw it, I had unmanned him in front of his friends and family by refusing to be cowed. I had responded not only without pusillanimity, but also without counter-aggression.
He had not expected a typically Aestunian response - above all else, refuse to be controlled by others' aggression. If he had actually hit me, I would not have fought back nor called the cops; I would have simply allowed him to hit me, and laughed at him, which would have, in effect, denied him any capitalization on his physical advantage. If you beat the shit out of someone and they just keep laughing at you no matter how hard you hit them, you either have to kill them or walk away defeated. And yes, I have tested this in practice.
Never doubt I am the same person irl as in game. Talking to me is like being hit with the Mezzer - results do vary.
Anyway, I tried a Bud in a bar. Sorry, I didn't finish it. It didn't taste bad, I just didn't care for it.
Aestu of Bleeding Hollow... Nihilism is a copout.
|
