Thursday, November 17, 2005
The Orange Man
Every now and again I'll be out with my girlfriends and we'll see a guy. Unprompted, one of the ladies will say, "He so could have gone to Syracuse," and we will all nod knowingly.
There was a certain type of guy that went to Syracuse, at least when I was there. He was usually tall and dark and in the winter would become a strange shade of orange due to copious use of the tanning booths. Back in the late 1990s they often drove Pathfinders or Blazers and listened to far too much Jay-Z or Wu-Tang, even though they were more than likely from suburban New Jersey. I never particurally trusted these guys, mostly because they dressed better than I did.
Upon arrival in NYC, these guys set up camp on the Upper East Side or in Murray Hill, and basicaly continued their glorified frat boy existance. Since I'm not one to frequent the East 30s, I rarely had to interact with them. Our species generally don't mix well.
Unless, of course, I go to a Syracuse Alumni event.
Last night Allison and I went to go see Prof. Robert Thompson speak at Lubin House. You know Robert Thompson. You've seen him on every network news show imaginable, talking about TV and other aspects of pop culture. He's a brilliant guy and wonderuflly funny. Last night after we all enjoyed an open bar and some serious snacks, he gave a talk about everything from DVRs to the supposed death of the sitcom.
After the talk I needed to use a ladies room and so I headed up to the "secret" bathrooms on the second floor. I was still groggy from all the painkillers I took the night before, so initially I didn't notice the two guy who were also standing in the hall by the bathrooms.
"Um, we were waiting," one of them said.
I turned around and saw two guys, no more than 25, staring at me. They were typical Syracuse guys in their flat front khakis and crisp collared shirts. Their hair was slicked back with far too much gel. I believe I was taller than both of them. (Shazam!)
I watched them as they stood around, talking about sports or whatever. And even though they looked really clean and had shiny shoes, I thought they were gross. After all, who cared if I cut them in line for the bathroom? I was the woman in this equation. If I wanted to go first, why not let the lady go first? Why start pulling rank while waiting for a bathroom?
Then again, maybe it's hard to be a gentleman when you're still a momma's boy.
Anyway, that's my etiquette lesson for today: If you're a guy and a woman seems to be cutting you in line for a bathroom, or the bodega or whatever, just let her go. Otherwise she will talk shite about you not only to her friends, but on her blog as well. (And yes, we all have them.)
Next week: Why you should never invite adults to weddings without guests. Particurally me.