The man in the suit.
Tonight I was stood up by a girl I'm not dating.
How could this happen, you might ask.
Well let me tell you.
I was supposed to go meet some female friends of mine for dinner, and then go to a club with them. The dress code was fancy, so I got dressed up. It had been a long day already, but I wanted to go out. I wanted to spend time with my friends, people who care about me and who I care about. In fact, I'd actually had another invitation to go over to another friend's house and watch a show, and I chose to go out with these girls instead.
So I got ready. I took a shower. I got dressed. South Beach is a ways from my house, so I left early. I stopped by the ATM, to make sure I had cash for the club....
And they still weren't ready yet. Seriously, how long does it take to figure out which restaurant to meet at?
I was about halfway there, and they still hadn't called, so I stopped downtown and grabbed a slice of pizza. I had not eaten since breakfast 9 hours ago, and I knew the restaurant would take a while to get the food out; one slice of pizza would hold me over, and kill some more time.
Still nothing. I send a "what's up" text.
Nothing.
So I stop by a bar that was right there. By myself. In club clothes.
I have a beer. Still nothing.
And then..."We're not going to the restaurant. We're going to the club at 11." On a Sunday. I have to work tomorrow. I was only coming out because it was going to be "early".
And like I've done so many times before, I said fuck it, and walked out. I got in my car, drove home, and felt sorry for myself.
None of that sounds so bad, really just a communication problem. But the feeling. Oh the feeling.
It is the feeling that you get when you walk in on the girl you love, who you pour your heart out for, who you would do anything for....when you walk in on her having sex with the asshole. The guy in the suit who treats her like shit, but gets to fuck her, while you treat her like the princess you think she deserves to be, and she rewards you by crying on your shoulder about the asshole things the suit does.
My mother told me once that when girls are young, they don't know what they really want, that they learn later in life to want the nice guys.
My mother was wrong. Because girls might someday realize that they need a nice sap to help them raise the children of the asshole she used to sleep with, but they will never, ever be attracted to the nice guy. NEVER.
And honestly, who gives a shit if a girl is with you, if she is not attracted to you, if she is really, deep down, still into the asshole.
And so nice guys, the ones who were somehow born or taught to be nice to girls...they get to walk home in the rain while the girl they love is getting fucked by some guy in a suit. And forever, they are scarred, damaged; they have this memory of that pain. And deep down you know that it is not the other guy's fault. It is just who he is. He deserves to sleep with her. And you want to hate her for it, but you can't because you really do still love her, and this a part of who she is, and she can't help it. So the only person left to hate is yourself.
And girls will never change. And because girls will never change, we have a choice. We can live the rest of our lives in the rain, watching, hating ourselves and everyone else.
Or we can become the man in the suit.
How could this happen, you might ask.
Well let me tell you.
I was supposed to go meet some female friends of mine for dinner, and then go to a club with them. The dress code was fancy, so I got dressed up. It had been a long day already, but I wanted to go out. I wanted to spend time with my friends, people who care about me and who I care about. In fact, I'd actually had another invitation to go over to another friend's house and watch a show, and I chose to go out with these girls instead.
So I got ready. I took a shower. I got dressed. South Beach is a ways from my house, so I left early. I stopped by the ATM, to make sure I had cash for the club....
And they still weren't ready yet. Seriously, how long does it take to figure out which restaurant to meet at?
I was about halfway there, and they still hadn't called, so I stopped downtown and grabbed a slice of pizza. I had not eaten since breakfast 9 hours ago, and I knew the restaurant would take a while to get the food out; one slice of pizza would hold me over, and kill some more time.
Still nothing. I send a "what's up" text.
Nothing.
So I stop by a bar that was right there. By myself. In club clothes.
I have a beer. Still nothing.
And then..."We're not going to the restaurant. We're going to the club at 11." On a Sunday. I have to work tomorrow. I was only coming out because it was going to be "early".
And like I've done so many times before, I said fuck it, and walked out. I got in my car, drove home, and felt sorry for myself.
None of that sounds so bad, really just a communication problem. But the feeling. Oh the feeling.
It is the feeling that you get when you walk in on the girl you love, who you pour your heart out for, who you would do anything for....when you walk in on her having sex with the asshole. The guy in the suit who treats her like shit, but gets to fuck her, while you treat her like the princess you think she deserves to be, and she rewards you by crying on your shoulder about the asshole things the suit does.
My mother told me once that when girls are young, they don't know what they really want, that they learn later in life to want the nice guys.
My mother was wrong. Because girls might someday realize that they need a nice sap to help them raise the children of the asshole she used to sleep with, but they will never, ever be attracted to the nice guy. NEVER.
And honestly, who gives a shit if a girl is with you, if she is not attracted to you, if she is really, deep down, still into the asshole.
And so nice guys, the ones who were somehow born or taught to be nice to girls...they get to walk home in the rain while the girl they love is getting fucked by some guy in a suit. And forever, they are scarred, damaged; they have this memory of that pain. And deep down you know that it is not the other guy's fault. It is just who he is. He deserves to sleep with her. And you want to hate her for it, but you can't because you really do still love her, and this a part of who she is, and she can't help it. So the only person left to hate is yourself.
And girls will never change. And because girls will never change, we have a choice. We can live the rest of our lives in the rain, watching, hating ourselves and everyone else.
Or we can become the man in the suit.