"Oh,"
was the original, witty response I lobed back at him. It is my
default response when saying anything that would reflect what I'm
really thinking is as unacceptable as *not* responding to a stranger
obviously trying to engage me in a conversation. Then my inner
Midwestern Politeness Battle-ax took over my mouth and I quickly
added, "I haven't seen either one of them. Sorry."
He
elaborated that one of the movies was something he had wanted to see,
but that he was hesitating because the director had a reputation for
making very violent movies. The other one was by a director he loved,
but he had never heard of this movie until tonight when he had
accidentally stumbled upon it while browsing.
This
time I managed to muster an impressive "Oh," as if he had
told me he likes pretzels or that he once had a goldfish named Bill.
It was my "Oh" that said, ‘Whatevs. I don't really give a
shit. Why are you still talking to me?' Then, appalled by my bitchy
near-non-response, my inner Midwestern Politeness Battle-ax again
commandeered my mouth and I heard it tell him, "I always love it
when serendipity leads me to a good movie I have never heard of."
He
put the violent movie back on the shelf and wished me a good evening,
then wandered up front to rent the serendipitous movie by the
director he loved. A few minutes later, he came back, explaining he
had changed his mind. “Oh. I do that all the time. I’ve actually
been here since noon because I can’t pick a movie,” I joked.
“What made you change your mind?” I asked.
“I
wanted to talk to you again,” he said.
“Oh…,”
I said as my mind slipped into panic mode. It was my “Oh” that
really meant, ‘Oh f*ck. Why the hell did I have to open my big fat
mouth again? Why can’t I just let go of the opportunity to tell a
joke? Why do I have to try to make every stranger like me? Why am I
so needy? Holy crap, I need to go back to therapy. Every day.
Jeez…how the hell am I going to get out of this?’
He
apparently took my “Oh” as interest on my part, and with the
artful subtlety of a double-decker bus at a Mini Cooper rally, he
started to tell me about his job as an Executive Producer of a
children’s movie “complete with big musical production numbers.”
He emphasized how stressful he found it to produce a children’s
movie.
“Besides
being incredibly physically fit,” he bragged, “I am also
incredibly patient. Those two things have saved me during this movie.
It only makes me cry a few times a week.”
“Oh,”
I replied yet again. This time it was my “Oh” that meant ‘I
don’t have a f*cking clue what to say to you in response. And you
obviously have no f*cking clue that bragging is as big a turn-off for
most women as crapping your pants. And yet you chose to
metaphorically crap your pants right in front of me, loudly and
proudly. Why do men do that?! Does bragging *EVER* work as a pick-up
strategy?’
“Yes,
I’ve heard making a movie is very stressful,” I replied with
deliberate nonchalance. I grabbed a movie off the shelf and looked
around to find my daughter, who was wandering the aisles with her
friend. When I turned back around, he was next to me leaning in. “You
have amazing eyes,” he half-whispered.
“Oh,”
I said as I lowered my eyes and looked at the floor, “Thanks.”
This was the “Oh” that signified my exhaustion with him. As in
‘Oh crap…just go away. I have no interest in you. I have a
boyfriend. I just want to rent a movie in peace and go home. Is that
so much to ask?!’
Then,
my daughter approached me while rolling her eyes. “Mom, can we *GO*
now?” she said in an impatient manner that only a middle-school
girl would use with her parent in public. “Yes!” I replied, happy
to be granted this deus ex machina from Braggy McCrapPants by my
obnoxious daughter.
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