At the risk of sounding like a bitter, Valentine-less bitch, New York, I’d like to assert my policy on assholes.
Since the beginning of first semester, my friend Tory had slept with Bobby maybe seven or eight times. They seemed to really enjoy each other’s company; he’d whisk her away from us at the bar early in the evening to take her home, they’d talk for hours, she’d sleep over, occasionally there’d be breakfast involved, et cetera. He’d regale her with assurances that she was one of the chillest, Cali-est, down to smoke weed-iest girls at the school. He seemed really into her.
Now, Tory isn’t a novice in the game that is casual college sex. She was very aware that she and Bobby didn’t have a future beyond hanging out and hooking up; he’s a senior, a bit of a space cadet, and by no stretch of the imagination a romantic. But Tory was attracted to him and appreciated his taste in music (and his queen-sized bed), so she was fine with that. What she wasn’t fine with, however, was Bobby’s systematic and unapologetic habit of ignoring (or feigning not to see) her around campus.
After sleeping with her earlier last week, on Sunday, Bobby passed Tory in the library; clearly having seen her when he rounded the corner, Bobby pulled a Paris Hilton and pretended to tend to a pressing phone call in order to avoid the inevitable stop ‘n chat. Unequivocally annoyed, Tory decided to call him out (via text, not in the middle of the stacks; this isn’t The Real World). The conversation that ensued went something like this:
– Listen, dude, I don’t know what your issue is, but you should know that ignoring someone under any circumstances is bizarre and immature.
– I know, and I apologize. But the truth is I don’t have any feelings for you, so I don’t want to lead you on. You’re obviously really cool and I like hooking up with you, but this isn’t going to go any further than that. I think you deserve someone awesome, but I can be an asshole, so it’s not me.
– Lol, I mean saying hi to someone you know is kind of just a common courtesy. I’m pretty sure neither of us were ever trying to date each other and that we were cool with just hanging out, so I’m not really sure what “feelings” have to do with it.
– Well I’m sorry. I usually just assume that girls want more. Your friend texted me on Saturday saying that I’d f*cked up so I assume you were pissed. Anyway, I’ll be sure to give you a proper greeting the next time I see you, but I’m done with anything more. Because like I said, you deserve something better.
– Ha, well you should probably stop making those kinds of assumptions. I was pissed…my friends and I generally get uncomfortable when someone we know purposely ignores us. But thanks, I appreciate the chivalry.
Tory’s encounter with Bobby isn’t at all unique. Virtually each of my close friends—all of whom, I should mention, are decidedly beautiful, smart, cool chicks—have had an experience with a guy like Bobby: an asshole. An asshole whose hideous ego—one that’s only been aerated by girls who’ve let them believe he is, indeed, the strapping, manly, superhuman Big Dick that they so fervently believe he is—has bloomed in college. This red-blooded, chauvinistic, insufferably mediocre brand of asshole is so thoroughly conceited that he sincerely gives credence to the absurd notion that if he treats a girl he’s been sleeping with like a human being (you know, acknowledges her presence… crazy sh*t like that), her hormones and *feelings* will soar so quickly that she’ll immediately want to date marry him and mother his children. It’s f*cking infuriating and acutely sexist, and I couldn’t be more over it.
Maybe I have my all-girls’ education to thank for impassioning me about this sort of thing. Or maybe my parents. Or maybe New York. Regardless, just riddle me this, guy(s):
To be clear, you’re “man” enough to sleep with me, but not to say hello?