He who sees, but is not seen

You havn’t changed a bit, you cunt.

Have fun failing.

What happened to all the nice guys?

The answer is simple: you did.

See, if you think back, really hard, you might vaguely remember a Platonic guy pal who always seemed to want to spend time with you. He’d tag along with you when you went shopping, stop by your place for a movie when you were lonely but didn’t feel like going out, or even sit there and hold you while you sobbed and told him about how horribly the (other) guy that you were fucking treated you.

At the time, you probably joked with your girlfriends about how he was a little puppy dog, always following you around, trying to do things to get you to pay attention to him. They probably teased you because they thought he had a crush on you. Given that his behavior was, admittedly, a little pathetic, you vehemently denied having any romantic feelings for him, and buttressed your position by claiming that you were “just friends.” Besides, he totally wasn’t your type. I mean, he was a little too short, or too bald, or too fat, or too poor, or didn’t know how to dress himself, or basically be or do any of the things that your tall, good-looking, fit, rich, stylish boyfriend at the time pulled off with such ease.

Eventually, your Platonic buddy drifted away, as your relationship with the boyfriend got more serious and spending time with this other guy was, admittedly, a little weird, if you werent dating him. More time passed, and the boyfriend eventually cheated on you, or became boring, or you realized that the things that attracted you to him weren’t the kinds of things that make for a good, long-term relationship. So, now, you’re single again, and after having tried the bar scene for several months having only encountered players and douche bags, you wonder, “What happened to all the nice guys?”

Well, once again, you did.

You ignored the nice guy. You used him for emotional intimacy without reciprocating, in kind, with physical intimacy. You laughed at his consideration and resented his devotion. You valued the aloof boyfriend more than the attentive “just-a-” friend. Eventually, he took the hint and moved on with his life. He probably came to realize, one day, that women aren’t really attracted to guys who hold doors open; or make dinners just because; or buy you a Christmas gift that you mentioned, in passing, that you really wanted five months ago; or listen when you’re upset; or hold you when you cry. He came to realize that, if he wanted a woman like you, he’d have to act more like the boyfriend that you had. He probably cleaned up his look, started making some money, and generally acted like more of an asshole than he ever wanted to be.

Fact is, now, he’s probably getting laid, and in a way, your ultimate rejection of him is to thank for that. And I’m sorry that it took the complete absence of “nice guys” in your life for you to realize that you missed them and wanted them. Most women will only have a handful of nice guys stumble into their lives, if that.

So, if you’re looking for a nice guy, here’s what you do:

1.) Build a time machine.
2.) Go back a few years and pull your head out of your ass.
3.) Take a look at what’s right in front of you and grab ahold of it.

FADE IN, long shot. Typical Suburban neighborhood. A patch of sprawling farmland extends outwards opposite the row of houses, and a forest borders on that. PAN downwards, three middle school-aged girls walking home from school. Very subtle piano track. Voice over (V.O.) begins, what at first appears to be narration. His voice is deep, but not rough. Age is indeterminable.

V.O.: “Their names are Carli, Jennifer, and Katy.”

CUT to the girls stepping off the road down a dirt path between the farm and the forest. They walk a ways, and, confident they will not be seen, light up a few cigarettes and set about chatting as all girls do.

V.O.: “They are all fifteen years old.”

The sky darkens as a cloud passes in front of the sun, and the girls faces grow somber as they turn to look at the trees.

V.O.: “They all have loving families.”

One of the girls shakes her head at the other two, as if refusing to investigate into the trees.

V.O.: “A mother.”

Another girl, defiantly showing bravery and blind courage, steps out of the group towards the trees. But her face, once out of view of her peers, shows her true fear.

V.O.: “A father.”

She steps into the darkness of the trees and soon vanishes into the shadows.

V.O.: “Brothers.”

The two remaining girls  peer into the trees, trying to make out her shape in the darkness, cigarettes forgotten between their fingers. Nothing.

V.O.: “Sisters.”

CUT to shot of tops of trees, a flock of birds takes flight from the forest. It is unclear whether it is in panic or migration.  This startles the two girls, who stumble backwards.

V.O.: “They are all…”

The cloud passes from in front of the sun, and the trees lighten up. The shadows retreat into the depths and before them stands the girl who went into the woods.

The skin has been torn from her face, hanging in tatters, and her lips pulled off. Tears stream from her eyes.

V.O.: “Happy.”

The two girls who stay behind scream as though it’s going out of style. A shadow appears behind the first girl, a long, lean shadow, man-shaped. It moves behind the first girl and a hand appears, resting gently on her shoulder.

V.O.: “That was yesterday. There’s still blood underneath my fingernails.”

CUT TO BLACK.

HELL YEAH!

I don’t get paid nearly enough to deal with your bullshit.

It’s not my fucking fault your disc was scratched. It’s not my fucking fault you decided to drive back to the store and ask for cashback.

Do you know how much I get paid? I get paid 8.07 an hour. That covers checking in movies, checking out movies, and putting movies back on the shelf.

THAT IS MY JOB DESCRIPTION.

It does not say ‘placate belligerent customers’. It does not say ‘bend over backwards for verbally abusive assholes with a God complex.’

‘The customer is always right. You’re here to serve me.’

No. No I am fucking not. I am here to make enough money to help put me through school and, hopefully, move out.

There’s only so much shit I’m willing to take from balding, bearded fuckmooks like you. I don’t get paid to cover your ass and give you cash refunds because you’re too fucking stupid to figure out how to work a fucking DVD.

Next time you or people like you feel that you are, in fact, above me, I will tear into you.

I don’t need more stress adding to my rapidly deteriorating health; fuck my job.

I will lay you the fuck down.