I was out with my friend Chelsea and we ran into a fast-talkin sonofabitch last night. Seriously, by the time I got home I was ready to fight.
Let´s clear one thing up. I´m not an aggressive kind of gal. When I played on a soccer team in San Diego I´d cower in the corner--in a sport where you don´t even use your hands. However, if free whiskey shots were distributed before the game, perhaps I´d have been able to keep up my end. Otherwise, no. I´m not one for confrontation.
Anyway, this dude sucked. His name was Alp. Yes, Alp, like the mountains. But he in no way resembled something tall and majestic. He was short, with a Mike Myers shit-eating cheesy grin, hair parted to the side like a 1980´s weather forecaster and wore a blue sweater vest. Ah, maybe I should try and speak positive--he was in business-professional attire. Fuck that, this guy was a professional douche.
Living in a foreign country, a common topic of conversation is language itself. It comes with the territory, so to speak, so after Alp´s initial question of, ¨Hey are you guys American?¨ he set the stage for an English conversation about, well, English. And Spanish. And how he´s from Turkey and how he´s lived and traveled all over the world because he´s a business professional who studies wind (and I´m not being ironic here).
At first, he didn´t seem that bad. A bit long-winded with a fetish for the phrasal verb ¨come on¨before and after every other sentence, but all in all mostly harmless. Then, as if we called him Mr. Alp, he said it would be educational for us to begin speaking in Spanish. This is my two cents on that: Yes, of course it´s useful to practice my Spanish, but that doesn´t mean I have to speak in Spanish with you. Especially when you start speaking fast and unclear, as though you´re more interested in flaunting your fluency. Am I jealous? Slightly, but this doesn´t make me want to go home with you, and chances are, neither does my friend. My other two cents: The language you begin a conversation with when meeting someone for the first time is going to be the predominant language. No matter how many languages you speak in, that first path of communication will be the foremost.
Chelsea and I had to be up early the next morning but Mr. Alp insisted we share a drink with him. Both of us passive, we agreed to an after-dinner chopito of Disaronno. Still, mostly harmless. Yet his eagerness was becoming more and more evident, as he mentioned twice that we should go out for more drinks after the fact, all the while eyeing Chelsea with glistening teeth. When he got up to go to the bathroom I leaned in and told her I was pretty tired but I wasn´t going to leave her alone with him. She also agreed that this was not in the cards for her either, but, ah, twist our arms, we agreed to have another drink with the Turk fucker at another bar next door.
My best friend Leigh Anne has a pretty solid standard for bar etiquette. Don´t talk about religion and don´t talk about politics when alcohol´s involved. Especially when you don´t know the person. "Is the glass full or half empty? Do you prefer blonde or brunette?" these kinds of questions are more appropriate for a place like this but instead, Alp asked us if we were republican or democrat. I answered neither.
Because I didn´t say, ¨Democrat,¨it meant I am a conservative republican who does not support Obama. I was a bit surprised by his change of tune, and felt myself get defensive. I don´t appreciate anyone assuming they know me or my political stance and are so quick to throw a dagger. I´ve encountered types like these before, folks so eager to ¨discuss¨that they don´t bother listening to what you have to say. I told him I like Obama, that being a ¨democrat¨or ¨republican¨has nothing to do with it, I´d rather judge a candidate or an issue individually than wrap myself up in a package to be sold on one side of the isle. Then, inevitably the conversation shifted to us being American and how most of the world hates (or hated, depending on who´s in office) America and how we are no longer a melting pot since the US has become more strict on immigration policies. This coming from a dude who´s never been to the States, talking to two people who are currently experiencing their own troubles with European immigration. It´s across the motherfucking board. Oh, the best part was when he said we are responsible to solve the world´s problems since we´re a superpower. Yes, Chelsea and I are so deliriously powerful that we can shift the Earth and cure the world. We sure disguise it well, don´t we?
I commend Chelsea for staying calm and open to what he was saying, because I surely wasn´t. I was already annoyed with his constant "come on" phrase after everything I said, as though anything I said was invalid. And with the friction spawned by the political discussion, he became twice as eager about us going out and drinking more. The guy was already clearly drunk and aggressive. We explained that tomorrow was a very busy day (12 hours for me) but apparently that makes us weak because there´s always someone else who has to work more. We began talking to a couple of other people at the bar while Mr. Alp mysteriously disappeared. I assumed he had wandered off somewhere, to find other ladies to torment for the evening, but he was actually waiting outside for us. He came back inside and sneered at me that I was impolite and disrespectful for making him wait outside. I think I more or less told him it was nice to meet him and to go fuck off somewhere.
I was eager to leave right then, I was tired and put off by such nonsense, but I didn´t want to leave alone. Truthfully, he reminded me of a white collar rapist eager to dash on someone and then tell them it was their fault. All in all, Chelsea and I left together, eyeing every corner until she was safely in the cab. I walked to my apartment with my fists clenched.
Alp, if you read this, you´re a fucking loser. End of story. The end.
Let´s clear one thing up. I´m not an aggressive kind of gal. When I played on a soccer team in San Diego I´d cower in the corner--in a sport where you don´t even use your hands. However, if free whiskey shots were distributed before the game, perhaps I´d have been able to keep up my end. Otherwise, no. I´m not one for confrontation.
Anyway, this dude sucked. His name was Alp. Yes, Alp, like the mountains. But he in no way resembled something tall and majestic. He was short, with a Mike Myers shit-eating cheesy grin, hair parted to the side like a 1980´s weather forecaster and wore a blue sweater vest. Ah, maybe I should try and speak positive--he was in business-professional attire. Fuck that, this guy was a professional douche.
Living in a foreign country, a common topic of conversation is language itself. It comes with the territory, so to speak, so after Alp´s initial question of, ¨Hey are you guys American?¨ he set the stage for an English conversation about, well, English. And Spanish. And how he´s from Turkey and how he´s lived and traveled all over the world because he´s a business professional who studies wind (and I´m not being ironic here).
At first, he didn´t seem that bad. A bit long-winded with a fetish for the phrasal verb ¨come on¨before and after every other sentence, but all in all mostly harmless. Then, as if we called him Mr. Alp, he said it would be educational for us to begin speaking in Spanish. This is my two cents on that: Yes, of course it´s useful to practice my Spanish, but that doesn´t mean I have to speak in Spanish with you. Especially when you start speaking fast and unclear, as though you´re more interested in flaunting your fluency. Am I jealous? Slightly, but this doesn´t make me want to go home with you, and chances are, neither does my friend. My other two cents: The language you begin a conversation with when meeting someone for the first time is going to be the predominant language. No matter how many languages you speak in, that first path of communication will be the foremost.
Chelsea and I had to be up early the next morning but Mr. Alp insisted we share a drink with him. Both of us passive, we agreed to an after-dinner chopito of Disaronno. Still, mostly harmless. Yet his eagerness was becoming more and more evident, as he mentioned twice that we should go out for more drinks after the fact, all the while eyeing Chelsea with glistening teeth. When he got up to go to the bathroom I leaned in and told her I was pretty tired but I wasn´t going to leave her alone with him. She also agreed that this was not in the cards for her either, but, ah, twist our arms, we agreed to have another drink with the Turk fucker at another bar next door.
My best friend Leigh Anne has a pretty solid standard for bar etiquette. Don´t talk about religion and don´t talk about politics when alcohol´s involved. Especially when you don´t know the person. "Is the glass full or half empty? Do you prefer blonde or brunette?" these kinds of questions are more appropriate for a place like this but instead, Alp asked us if we were republican or democrat. I answered neither.
Because I didn´t say, ¨Democrat,¨it meant I am a conservative republican who does not support Obama. I was a bit surprised by his change of tune, and felt myself get defensive. I don´t appreciate anyone assuming they know me or my political stance and are so quick to throw a dagger. I´ve encountered types like these before, folks so eager to ¨discuss¨that they don´t bother listening to what you have to say. I told him I like Obama, that being a ¨democrat¨or ¨republican¨has nothing to do with it, I´d rather judge a candidate or an issue individually than wrap myself up in a package to be sold on one side of the isle. Then, inevitably the conversation shifted to us being American and how most of the world hates (or hated, depending on who´s in office) America and how we are no longer a melting pot since the US has become more strict on immigration policies. This coming from a dude who´s never been to the States, talking to two people who are currently experiencing their own troubles with European immigration. It´s across the motherfucking board. Oh, the best part was when he said we are responsible to solve the world´s problems since we´re a superpower. Yes, Chelsea and I are so deliriously powerful that we can shift the Earth and cure the world. We sure disguise it well, don´t we?
I commend Chelsea for staying calm and open to what he was saying, because I surely wasn´t. I was already annoyed with his constant "come on" phrase after everything I said, as though anything I said was invalid. And with the friction spawned by the political discussion, he became twice as eager about us going out and drinking more. The guy was already clearly drunk and aggressive. We explained that tomorrow was a very busy day (12 hours for me) but apparently that makes us weak because there´s always someone else who has to work more. We began talking to a couple of other people at the bar while Mr. Alp mysteriously disappeared. I assumed he had wandered off somewhere, to find other ladies to torment for the evening, but he was actually waiting outside for us. He came back inside and sneered at me that I was impolite and disrespectful for making him wait outside. I think I more or less told him it was nice to meet him and to go fuck off somewhere.
I was eager to leave right then, I was tired and put off by such nonsense, but I didn´t want to leave alone. Truthfully, he reminded me of a white collar rapist eager to dash on someone and then tell them it was their fault. All in all, Chelsea and I left together, eyeing every corner until she was safely in the cab. I walked to my apartment with my fists clenched.
Alp, if you read this, you´re a fucking loser. End of story. The end.
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