Still Fuming.
So, about two weeks ago I made the mistake of going to Ralph's by myself around 9pm. After having a conversation with my friend Eric the day before while we were in said Ralph's about how it was good stomping grounds for single pick-up interaction. Which is an understatement. For all of you single guys out there, the Ralph's near my house, from about mid afternoon to late evening, is a teeming hotbed of young women-- professionals, students, girls coming home from the gym, what have you- pushing carts around and looking vaguely lost (the way most people look in a grocery store that they do not patronize more than once a week.) This is your chance guys. The perfect opportunity for that innocuous type of "you-can't-find-bread?-well-I-can't-find-it-either-hey-let's-find-it-together!" chivalry.
BUT. By about 9pm, the hunting ground thins out, and most of the Ralph's 22-35 year old demographic moves on to more traditional meeting venues like, you know, bars. This, apparently, leaves behind only a group of stragglers-- hell bent on squeezing Ralph's like an already-juiced orange to see if it will yield just one last magic drop of coupledom just for them- and actual functional shoppers. People who just want to grab the three things they forgot to pick up earlier in the week and then get out.
Two weeks ago after 9pm I was the latter sort, popping in for some cream cheese, extra veggies, and milk. (The milk was the motivating factor for the visit. When there's no milk, there's nothing to put in the morning coffee. When the morning coffee experience is tainted by such instances of lack, MY WHOLE DAMN DAY STARTS OFF HORRIBLY.) Anyway, while grabbing my incidental cream cheese, I am accosted by a guy in a cut-off t-shirt, reasonably well-built and pushing a shopping cart:
Guy: Hey, what's up?
Me: [not really making eye contact] "Not much. Thanks." [Finds preferred brand of cream cheese and makes to exit.]
Guy: You work out at LA Fitness, right?
Me: No. Sorry, that's not me. Have a good night. [Polite(ish) smile, and I walk off.]
The end, right? WRONG.
Two minutes later, near the apples:
Guy: [wheels over his cart] You really do look familiar, though. Where else could I have seen you? What do you do for a living?
Me: [getting exhasperated, but still managing civility] I'm a grad student.
Guy: Oh yeah? That's really interesting. What field?
Me: English Lit. [Here's where I start doing as much as possible as visibly as possible with my left hand, attempting to re-ensconce myself within the impenetrable anti-dude forcefield that the ring on my finger usually creates so reliably.]
Guy: Oh, I used to get A's in my English classes at Cal.
Me: [slightly brightening, maybe I actually *do* know this person] Really? Which English classes did you take? I went to Berkeley, too...maybe that's it.
Guy: It was a while ago. And just those English 1A and B courses that they make you take. I was always really good at them.
Me: [Nope, don't know him.] Well, great.
Guy: Yeah, but you know what the funny thing was? I didn't even care. Like, all you had to do to get an A was just to write down a bunch of bullshit. You could just, like, make stuff up the night before. It didn't even have to mean anything!
Me: [Blink. Blink.] Mhhmm. Well. I guess it's not everybody's thing. But sometimes it really does work out and the literature is actually engaging with pretty important social issues.
Guy: I guess. I just used to think it was funny. All of these other people in my class trying so hard and, like, killing themselves. And I'd just have to b.s. a couple of pages the night before.
This went on for maybe another minute before I managed to extricate myself.
But...yeah...seriously?!
I didn't thnk it bothered me *that* much until I noticed my own inner monologue at the store yesterday when I went to pick up more apples and was reminded of the incident again. "Follow me to the produce section JUST TO TELL ME THAT MY PROFESSION IS ALL BULLSHIT?! Great, guy! That's AWESOME. What a LOVELY person you must be...tell me, is that ALWAYS your angle with girls? Go find the unavailable ones, completely ignore the cues they are giving you to please leave them alone, and then see just how insulting you can be?! WHAT a good plan. If I were a single guy, I would do exactly that. Women *love* it when you undermine them--and not even cleverly- in order to assert your own dominance. A plus. D-bag."
That guy better not show up at Ralph's ever again. I'll be standing by the apples with a few Norton Anthologies and some of my favorite novels, ready to show him what "B.S." feels like when hurled across a grocery store by a literary critic who's been given just a little too much time to think.
So, about two weeks ago I made the mistake of going to Ralph's by myself around 9pm. After having a conversation with my friend Eric the day before while we were in said Ralph's about how it was good stomping grounds for single pick-up interaction. Which is an understatement. For all of you single guys out there, the Ralph's near my house, from about mid afternoon to late evening, is a teeming hotbed of young women-- professionals, students, girls coming home from the gym, what have you- pushing carts around and looking vaguely lost (the way most people look in a grocery store that they do not patronize more than once a week.) This is your chance guys. The perfect opportunity for that innocuous type of "you-can't-find-bread?-well-I-can't-find-it-either-hey-let's-find-it-together!" chivalry.
BUT. By about 9pm, the hunting ground thins out, and most of the Ralph's 22-35 year old demographic moves on to more traditional meeting venues like, you know, bars. This, apparently, leaves behind only a group of stragglers-- hell bent on squeezing Ralph's like an already-juiced orange to see if it will yield just one last magic drop of coupledom just for them- and actual functional shoppers. People who just want to grab the three things they forgot to pick up earlier in the week and then get out.
Two weeks ago after 9pm I was the latter sort, popping in for some cream cheese, extra veggies, and milk. (The milk was the motivating factor for the visit. When there's no milk, there's nothing to put in the morning coffee. When the morning coffee experience is tainted by such instances of lack, MY WHOLE DAMN DAY STARTS OFF HORRIBLY.) Anyway, while grabbing my incidental cream cheese, I am accosted by a guy in a cut-off t-shirt, reasonably well-built and pushing a shopping cart:
Guy: Hey, what's up?
Me: [not really making eye contact] "Not much. Thanks." [Finds preferred brand of cream cheese and makes to exit.]
Guy: You work out at LA Fitness, right?
Me: No. Sorry, that's not me. Have a good night. [Polite(ish) smile, and I walk off.]
The end, right? WRONG.
Two minutes later, near the apples:
Guy: [wheels over his cart] You really do look familiar, though. Where else could I have seen you? What do you do for a living?
Me: [getting exhasperated, but still managing civility] I'm a grad student.
Guy: Oh yeah? That's really interesting. What field?
Me: English Lit. [Here's where I start doing as much as possible as visibly as possible with my left hand, attempting to re-ensconce myself within the impenetrable anti-dude forcefield that the ring on my finger usually creates so reliably.]
Guy: Oh, I used to get A's in my English classes at Cal.
Me: [slightly brightening, maybe I actually *do* know this person] Really? Which English classes did you take? I went to Berkeley, too...maybe that's it.
Guy: It was a while ago. And just those English 1A and B courses that they make you take. I was always really good at them.
Me: [Nope, don't know him.] Well, great.
Guy: Yeah, but you know what the funny thing was? I didn't even care. Like, all you had to do to get an A was just to write down a bunch of bullshit. You could just, like, make stuff up the night before. It didn't even have to mean anything!
Me: [Blink. Blink.] Mhhmm. Well. I guess it's not everybody's thing. But sometimes it really does work out and the literature is actually engaging with pretty important social issues.
Guy: I guess. I just used to think it was funny. All of these other people in my class trying so hard and, like, killing themselves. And I'd just have to b.s. a couple of pages the night before.
This went on for maybe another minute before I managed to extricate myself.
But...yeah...seriously?!
I didn't thnk it bothered me *that* much until I noticed my own inner monologue at the store yesterday when I went to pick up more apples and was reminded of the incident again. "Follow me to the produce section JUST TO TELL ME THAT MY PROFESSION IS ALL BULLSHIT?! Great, guy! That's AWESOME. What a LOVELY person you must be...tell me, is that ALWAYS your angle with girls? Go find the unavailable ones, completely ignore the cues they are giving you to please leave them alone, and then see just how insulting you can be?! WHAT a good plan. If I were a single guy, I would do exactly that. Women *love* it when you undermine them--and not even cleverly- in order to assert your own dominance. A plus. D-bag."
That guy better not show up at Ralph's ever again. I'll be standing by the apples with a few Norton Anthologies and some of my favorite novels, ready to show him what "B.S." feels like when hurled across a grocery store by a literary critic who's been given just a little too much time to think.
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