It’s weird when you find out someone hates your own personal guts. I’m not oblivious, when someone’s in front of me crying, screaming, threatening to call the authorities, getting a restraining order, you know, a Tuesday, I catch on pretty quickly.
But when someone I know I’ve never met hates me, well, to paraphrase NASA, “Moron, we have a problem.”
I’m talking to a guy when he introduces me to someone. I offer my hand and he refuses. I’m not surprised (even though I am quite hygienic!) and give it no thought.
“You’re an asshole.”
I guess I’ll have to give that some thought.
He went on to explain that I was mean to him. I’ve got to start taking notes or pictures. I think it’s a good thing to remember people you’ve been mean to. Even if just for survival sake.
When I told him that would be difficult because, personally, I’ve never met him. Turns out he didn’t believe me and, well, that should be the end of it. Once I’m at an impasse with someone, to me, that stalls communication.
He started talking to the other guy and it turns out he had a bad experience with the company I work for. Not me. Wasn’t my project. But I guess, in a shit storm, I’m just as good to hate as anyone.
I went on to explain that, although I’m sorry he had a bad experience, I wasn’t involved in it. He went on to say that it was, indeed, my fault.
“That’s like blaming your math teacher because you skipped class so failed.”
I disengaged and, again incorrectly, thought it was over. What else is there for me to say?
“You hate me.” He says.
“Untrue. I have no emotion for you at all.”
I guess what he meant to say was he hates me. I became aware of that when he pulled out a knife.
“What would happen if I cut you?”
“I’d bleed. Guess you didn’t pay attention in biology either.”
In closing, nothing happened. I kept my precious fluids, he kept his rusty hate. I went back to ignoring him. He went on stewing.