Manic pixie libertarian dream girl
Jan. 31st, 2012 08:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sabotabbyWould you like to hear about awkward times on public transit? Of course you would.
See, the thing is, when you have hair like mine, complete strangers frequently want to strike up a conversation. I mean, if you're a reasonably presentable lass, complete strangers will strike up conversations anyway, but both the quantity and diversity of these random conversations has increased since my hair became a decidedly unnatural colour. There are more guys who try to pick me up, but there are also weird old ladies who want to talk to me about municipal politics, and little kids who point me out to their parents, and so on.
Anyway, while there was a weird old lady who saw my unconventional hair colour as an invitation to strike up a conversation about municipal politics and the entitlement complex endemic in Toronto, this is mostly a post about a dudebro who tried to pick me up on the subway.
So I got on, and he got on, and I tried to make space for him because he had a cane. It was a pretty pimpin' cane, mind you, so I wasn't sure if he was using it because of disability or fashion. Best to err on the side of making sure he could get on the subway safely during rush hour crowds, though.
Beyond clearing a path, though, I was pretty much in parka-headphones-book-unapproachable mode, as I nearly always am on transit. I could see he was checking out my book (Send My Love and a Molotov Cocktail), and, as much as I am against striking up conversations with strangers who are reading, I do get how that particular title might provoke a few questions. So he asked me if it was any good. I said yes, yes it was—some stories more than others, but overall recommended.
This was a conversation opening, unfortunately, wherein I learned:
• He liked my hair
• He read a lot, but not fiction
• Mostly technical manuals
• He did some writing
• He really, really liked my hair, wow
I wonder about people who don't read fiction but also write, so I bit: What did he write?
Articles about pot.
Oh. Uh. High Times?
No, about legal pot. Just the legal stuff. Was this subject making me uncomfortable?
I shrugged. No, I think it should all be legal. Don't do it myself, but I don't care what other people do. There was a little alarm bell going off in my head: goatee, decorative cane, technical manuals, weed.
He asked if he could give me his number.
I tend to flail in these situations. You'd think I'd be used to it, but when people hit on me in public, I tend to say really weird things. In this case, it was: "Idon'thaveaphone."
I think the entire subway car stopped what they were doing to stare. Because I have blue hair, and a book with the words "Molotov Cocktail" in the title, and I just claimed to not have a phone.
I clarified. "I have a hearing problem. It's not that I'm deaf, it's, it's like an auditory processing disorder, basically I tune out and I'm like, 'pardon?' and it drives everyone crazy. So, no phone. Everyone just e-mails me." (About 60% of that is actually true, incidentally. But I do have a phone. I sure as fuck wasn't going to give some dudebro my number, though, let alone call him up.)
"Ah, I hate computers." Oh, dudebro, this romance was over before it began. "I write all my letters by hand. Actually, I have some hearing damage too, from shooting."
Fate was clearly against this conversation ending. There are some temptations even I can't resist.
"Shooting...guns...where do you go?"
OH SABOTABBY NO. Your casual desire to go target shooting now and again is not worth getting some dudebro's hopes up. I found out:
• There's a public shooting range at the Science Centre, but it's for archery
• The Hart House shooting range isn't as closed as they'd like you to believe
• You might think you never want to own a gun, but a few weeks of target shooting and you'll change your mind
Wait a second—wait. My brain's gears were a-spinning—slower than normal, but still spinning. They did the following equation:
Goatee + decorative cane + technical manuals + interested in blue-haired chicks + pot + guns = OH SHIT I AM BEING HIT ON BY A LIBERTARIAN.
Fortunately, my stop came up, and I dashed out, hearing behind me, "That's too bad, I'd really liked to have talked more..."
Still less annoying than the municipal politics lady, though. Do you know that she goes to City Hall every day? And just sits and listens?
See, the thing is, when you have hair like mine, complete strangers frequently want to strike up a conversation. I mean, if you're a reasonably presentable lass, complete strangers will strike up conversations anyway, but both the quantity and diversity of these random conversations has increased since my hair became a decidedly unnatural colour. There are more guys who try to pick me up, but there are also weird old ladies who want to talk to me about municipal politics, and little kids who point me out to their parents, and so on.
Anyway, while there was a weird old lady who saw my unconventional hair colour as an invitation to strike up a conversation about municipal politics and the entitlement complex endemic in Toronto, this is mostly a post about a dudebro who tried to pick me up on the subway.
So I got on, and he got on, and I tried to make space for him because he had a cane. It was a pretty pimpin' cane, mind you, so I wasn't sure if he was using it because of disability or fashion. Best to err on the side of making sure he could get on the subway safely during rush hour crowds, though.
Beyond clearing a path, though, I was pretty much in parka-headphones-book-unapproachable mode, as I nearly always am on transit. I could see he was checking out my book (Send My Love and a Molotov Cocktail), and, as much as I am against striking up conversations with strangers who are reading, I do get how that particular title might provoke a few questions. So he asked me if it was any good. I said yes, yes it was—some stories more than others, but overall recommended.
This was a conversation opening, unfortunately, wherein I learned:
• He liked my hair
• He read a lot, but not fiction
• Mostly technical manuals
• He did some writing
• He really, really liked my hair, wow
I wonder about people who don't read fiction but also write, so I bit: What did he write?
Articles about pot.
Oh. Uh. High Times?
No, about legal pot. Just the legal stuff. Was this subject making me uncomfortable?
I shrugged. No, I think it should all be legal. Don't do it myself, but I don't care what other people do. There was a little alarm bell going off in my head: goatee, decorative cane, technical manuals, weed.
He asked if he could give me his number.
I tend to flail in these situations. You'd think I'd be used to it, but when people hit on me in public, I tend to say really weird things. In this case, it was: "Idon'thaveaphone."
I think the entire subway car stopped what they were doing to stare. Because I have blue hair, and a book with the words "Molotov Cocktail" in the title, and I just claimed to not have a phone.
I clarified. "I have a hearing problem. It's not that I'm deaf, it's, it's like an auditory processing disorder, basically I tune out and I'm like, 'pardon?' and it drives everyone crazy. So, no phone. Everyone just e-mails me." (About 60% of that is actually true, incidentally. But I do have a phone. I sure as fuck wasn't going to give some dudebro my number, though, let alone call him up.)
"Ah, I hate computers." Oh, dudebro, this romance was over before it began. "I write all my letters by hand. Actually, I have some hearing damage too, from shooting."
Fate was clearly against this conversation ending. There are some temptations even I can't resist.
"Shooting...guns...where do you go?"
OH SABOTABBY NO. Your casual desire to go target shooting now and again is not worth getting some dudebro's hopes up. I found out:
• There's a public shooting range at the Science Centre, but it's for archery
• The Hart House shooting range isn't as closed as they'd like you to believe
• You might think you never want to own a gun, but a few weeks of target shooting and you'll change your mind
Wait a second—wait. My brain's gears were a-spinning—slower than normal, but still spinning. They did the following equation:
Goatee + decorative cane + technical manuals + interested in blue-haired chicks + pot + guns = OH SHIT I AM BEING HIT ON BY A LIBERTARIAN.
Fortunately, my stop came up, and I dashed out, hearing behind me, "That's too bad, I'd really liked to have talked more..."
Still less annoying than the municipal politics lady, though. Do you know that she goes to City Hall every day? And just sits and listens?
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I
Date: 2012-02-01 01:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-02-01 01:47 am (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2012-02-01 01:57 am (UTC)Wait, maybe he was an anarchist?
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Date: 2012-02-01 02:01 am (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2012-02-01 02:01 am (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2012-02-01 02:15 am (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2012-02-01 02:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-02-01 02:43 am (UTC)Why does everybody hate goatees? ;_;
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Date: 2012-02-01 02:28 pm (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2012-02-02 12:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-02-01 03:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-02-02 12:40 am (UTC)This guy wasn't as scary as our tour guide, though. Like, I got the impression that he was honestly into target shooting and didn't secretly want to hunt black people.
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Date: 2012-02-01 04:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-02-02 12:41 am (UTC)I do like the random hair conversations! It's just, well, when I'm in mid-book...
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Date: 2012-02-01 05:06 am (UTC)Wait, what? I'm going to investigate.
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Date: 2012-02-02 12:41 am (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2012-02-01 07:34 am (UTC)I have the ...benefit? of most ppl I run into in public spaces not being able to figure out my gender, and thus even when my hair is really weird random people usually don't talk to me. Nowadays I generally only get ppl when I'm in my scooter and they're also using some kind of mobility device and want to talk disability stuff.
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Date: 2012-02-02 12:44 am (UTC)I used to get into the weirdest discussions when people couldn't figure out my gender. (I worked in a hardware store and had a shaved head. And the same sized boobs as I have now, but for some reason no one noticed if I was in uniform.)
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From:no subject
Date: 2012-02-01 09:20 am (UTC)I can't recall the last time I had someone try to speak to me on public transportation, but I have a friend who would tell me about the people who tried to convert her on the bus.
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Date: 2012-02-01 12:45 pm (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2012-02-01 11:17 am (UTC)*ruffles you*
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Date: 2012-02-02 12:46 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-02-01 02:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-02-02 12:46 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-02-02 03:51 am (UTC)It quickly segued into the guy explaining how he had come to Jesus after a young adulthood of hard partying (I think). I don't think he had pamphlets or anything to give the woman; he just felt inspired to tell people about the greatness of Jesus at 6:30 am.
When the woman got off the streetcar, I leaned against the window and pretended to be dozing.
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Date: 2012-02-02 11:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-02-03 10:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-02-03 11:17 pm (UTC)