guy last night

So I went downstairs around 11:30 to get my friend [one of our design interns at Mishka] who just moved here less than two weeks ago from Holland and doesn’t have a place to live yet. I told her on Friday that she could always call me if her previous arrangements fell through.
Anyway, I came downstairs to meet her. Also, I was in my house clothes which consisted of these stupid black Forever 21 boy shorts that inexplicably say ‘FLIRT’ in big white lettering on the ass, a grey and black American Apparel crop top, a red floral silk robe, and flip flops…
I walked outside into a literally perfect September evening- probably about 68 degrees with like 20% humidity and a sweet breeze. She had gone into the other building across the street so I went and got her and as we were walking back to my side of the street, I spotted a hot guy locking up his bike with a couple other guys and a girl. They were right in front of the entrance so I knew we’d end up chatting. Note: I mentioned my evening garb because for some reason, people find you 100x more approachable when you’re in what appears to be your pajamas.
So one of the other guys, a messy, long-haired, sort of clean shaven, boring looking dude in a bright purple t-shirt that was probably first worn by some kid at a summer camp in the mid 90’s, yells over to me and says: ‘WHUDDUP LADIESSSS. WHERE’S THE PARTY AT?!!’ with an ineffectively sarcastic, yet serious tone.
At that, I should have just said ‘hey’, smiled, and kept walking, but I was in a rare mood so I stopped to entertain him. I let my friend stand a few feet behind me while I did all the talking.

Our exchange was brief but here’s what was said (these guys are still locking up their bikes by the way, and aggressively calling people who apparently weren’t answering, which clearly indicated they had no idea where the party was they had obviously riden their bikes over for):

him: so whats up, you live around here?
me: yeah, this my building.
him: where’s the party at?! (he says again)
me: 513! [my apt] we’ll be raging all night. (i had just taken nyquil. this was a lie) where’d you ride from? where’s your party at?
him: well… I haven’t really been over here so I don’t know [honest response, I’m fine with it] I don’t usually come over to Bushwick. I live in Williamsburg. Like, you know… coming to Bushwick from Williamsburg is like rich people coming to party with poor people. Haha [laughs in a way that indicated he was trying to be funny, but that he was serious in his assertion].
me: ooooooh. well, we’re done here [pretending to be fake offended, and turned around to fake walk away] i needn’t keep you. You have a party to go to, and you came ALL the way over here [less than a mile]…
him: well, you guys should come by!
me: na, we’re having our own party [remember, you fucking idiot. i JUST said that] (but we weren’t, obviously)
him: cool, well, we might stop by, cool? (too bad that sentence isn’t a palindrome)
me: oooook. well, i mean, our place is really shitty, and we don’t have any beer for you to drink for free but yeah, stop by! [sincere tone, facetious response]
him: cool! [he thought I was serious, clearly having had no idea how blatantly disgusted I was by his openly pretentious, foolishly administered, attitude that indicated a full subscription to the deeply convoluted social stipulations and undertones of our youth culture.
I then walked inside. My Dutch friend was amused.

I think I touched on this in my last written post, and I hate talking about it, but I think it is an issue– that young people should think this way about one another, or rather, about themselves– This sense of entitlement awarded to onesself just because you have a subcription to Vice magazine (which is free, by the way) and kind of went to college… And live in NYC, or any city for that matter. Often I find the ones that live in small places feel it necessary to overcompensate, for whatever reason.

We are all one, and that douche’s parents probably pay for his apartment so he can ride around to warehouse parties in Brooklyn at all hours of the night. I was only talking to him to meet his hot friend anyway (Which I didn’t).

About TARA

American Photographer. Musician. Writer. Science enthusiast.
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