Maybe I still believe in being kind. But that doesn’t mean that I can’t make exceptions on occasion. This is one occasion where I deem it necessary to be an asshole by telling the rest of the story behind a recent post.
It was about being on social media and feeling betrayed and deleting my account on an app.
Here’s how it went down.
I had posted about liking where I lived. Folks liked the post. One woman named Jennifer in particular. She really liked it.
But I did not like what followed. I held back to protect other’s feelings, and it was dishonest. Because I don’t give a half-fuck about her feelings. She triggered me and freaked me out. Saying anything less was misleading, and my code does not distinguish that from telling an outright lie. I apologize.
This woman DMd me several days in a row, twice a day.
She said that she was touched by my post. I mentioned that I had this site, but didn’t give the web address. I was not plugging it, and besides, even when I do plug this site, nothing happens. My year-end stats would depress any other blogger. Me, I just don’t have much to say about it.
She found it.
First red flag.
In a DM she said she had driven through the supermarket parking lot to meet me and see if I wanted some beef stew.
Wait, what?
Look folks, supermarkets are busy places, and to go looking for someone you’ve never met in person in one drive through a parking lot is weird. Known also as: stalking. Second red flag.
The beef stew? I’ve had 5 stalkers, and they never offer shit. Beef stew? What the fuck is that?
It’s the third red flag.
There came another day not long after where, in another direct message, she said she had driven through the supermarket lot again searching for me. Do you have any idea what the odds are that a predatory stalker would find someone they’ve never met in two swipes past a market? The most jaded odds makers in Vegas would run for the hills. They’d also throw up along the way. Them hills’d be running with brooks of bile. Rivers of regurgitation. Ponds of puke, valleys full of vomit.
So, stalking it was. Fourth red flag.
“Just to introduce myself and show support”, came the message. When someone expresses the need to explain why they just did something, it demonstrates that they are aware of how wrong their behavior is and how you might react. Fifth red flag.
So I messaged that if she really wanted to meet, she could call my phone and we could set up a public meeting. I encourage women to never meet a stranger outside of public view.
I added, though, that she should make sure that her husband was cool with it. I’ve been in that situation before, and I have nothing good to say about it.
Came the response, “I will never ever call you but I’ll text you here from time to time.”
Bitch, you were looking for me, and texting me twice a day. Now it’s “from time to time”?
Red flags and alarms everywhere.
Why?
Either she was married and didn’t like what I said, or she wasn’t and didn’t care for what she perceived as presumption on my part. Now her furious quest to meet me was over? Ha!
I’ve been here before. It ain’t no place to be.
I’m not a better man. I never did a heroic, honorable thing in my life.
Oh, and did I mention that she subscribed to a Baltimore newspaper just so she could access articles about the prosecution of my parents, which happened 33 years ago?
That’s not being inquisitive.
Since only a few articles were written, it’s just plain demented.
I’m no better man. I won’t try to be, either. I cannot rise above the sum of my fragmented parts.
I’m just an asshole. So lady, if you’re still reading, I suggest you get less interested in me with all possible speed. There’s nothing for you here.
And I don’t want anyone to love me. Fuck it. Don’t mean nothing.
Memoirs of an American Asshole 