Wednesday, September 8, 2010


Deep down, there are very few of us who are completely fearless in any and all social situations. Some are constantly afraid of accidentally insulting the others in a group. Or afraid that they don't dress well enough. Or there are some people who simply get anxious in social situation in general, or get anxious whenever they are alone.

I, luckily, am not any of those people. I'm fairly comfortable in most such areas (though I really hate when there are long silences in a conversation - I assume that I have become too uninteresting or awkward to bear), and am generally an enjoyable person to be around.

However, I do have one overriding and only barely irrational social fear: being "that asshole."

Who is "that asshole" you ask?

You know who I'm talking about. You might know one personally. And you've almost certainly come into contact with one, or worse yet, one's infuriating aftermath. In fact, you've more than likely been "that asshole."

"That asshole," also known as "that/this guy," "some idiot," and "the jerkwad" is the pain in everyone's backside that does something without thinking that inconveniences other members of a community. He is the one that changes lanes without noticing that you are there. She is the one who somehow wanders in line absent-mindedly in front of you. They're the ones who play ping pong in the common room when you're trying to study. It's the buttholes who are laughing a BIT too loudly and don't take the damn hint of your glares to shut the %&$ up.

And I swear to God, I'm Him.

Or at least I feel like I am constantly in the position of being Him.

Take last night for example:

My friends wanted to go out to celebrate our friend's birthday tomorrow early with a quick drink at a local watering hole (a disgustingly American establishment, but whatever: it was close). I had a lot of reading to do tonight before class tomorrow, so I declined ("That guy" moment 1: wet blanketry).

I was soon convinced to go through peer pressure, but made everyone wait as I took my stuff upstairs ("That asshole" moment 2: being the late friend).

When we got to the alcohol-serving establishment, we were stopped by another group of Americans, who explained that the Cabinieri (the local military police who carry very large and very automatic weapons and look like they would gladly beat the tar out of you and tell the higher ups it was for self-defense) were taking passports. I did not have mine, nor did I want them to become particularly knowledgeable about it even if i did, I instead sat around and stared at the poor souls who had gotten theirs confiscated ("Some Idiot" 3: watching the pain of others awkwardly - for them).

We eventually tore ourselves away, we made our way back to the school. I went up to go get my laundry, but had forgotten that all the dryers were broken. So I spent a good 20 minutes running crouched back and forth like a homely Solid Snake clutching wet clothing instead of, I don't know, whatever Snake carries, attempting to avoid underpants to the face while trying to find an open clothesline ("Some asshat" 4: the guy who moved my clothes around on the line and obviously took too much damn room on the line because of his apparently ginormous clothing).

Ladies and gentlemen of the Nonsense, I don't want to be "that guy." I really, really don't. But sometimes I'm just too oblivious and sheltered to know any better. So next time you get angry about someone who clearly has no idea what they are doing, think of me, and think of this post. Even the most capable, handsome, intelligent, and sexually attractive members of society have moments of idiocy or near-sightedness or self-centeredness. And we are sorry for it.

If we notice in time.


The Shanner of Attention said...

Hahahaha you were totally "Him". But as long as it doesn't involve indecent exposure, heroin, or hurting puppies, I think people will forgive you.

soft nonsense said...


As much as your qualifications help, Shannon, it only barely makes me feel better. Mostly because, hey, who doesn't like indecent exposure?

...besides most?

The Illustrious D said...

I think the fact that you feel as though you're a 'him' disqualifies you from actually being one. True 'hims' know their being a bag o' dicks and don't care that others may not appreciate their dickery.

You are not 'him'.

Dick weasel blasting is shitty hip hop out of his cell phone speakers in the middle of the are 'him'.

Post a Comment