next time you're thinking of inviting yourself ... don't
I was supposed to meet Vinny Saturday night to play soccer (futbol), but I realized about a half an hour before I left to wait for the bus that the whole plan was crap, or as they like to say here, chato. I was getting on a bus, with a co-former-student of the Portuguese language school who is getting somewhat annoying in his propensity to invite himself along to stuff, to go meet Vinny in Pernambues and then go to Shopping Iguatemi (which is much easier to find than Pernambues) to play futbol. So I was pissed. And kept asking myself “Why don’t we just meet at Shopping Iguatemi? This plan is chato.” So by the time I’d been waiting along with my freeloading, self-inviting Portuguese language pal (who insists on speaking English all the time – NOT cool) at the bus stop for about 30 minutes with no sign of the Pernambues bus, and multiple buses for pretty much every other neighborhood from here to Recife, I was a little steamed.
I just read that last paragraph again and realize that I write run-on sentences with too many and long dependent clauses. For the both of you that read this blog, I apologize. I would revise it if I had the time but recently I’ve had none. I’m not sure if that’s a good or bad thing at this point, but hey, it’s reality. Again, my apologies, and if you continue to read you have my utmost and most heartfelt thanks.
We waited for half an hour, with the other student speaking to me in English and me answering in short, choppy Portuguese sentences. Finally I was so pissed that I gave up and started speaking English, and said we should find a phone. I was inclined at this point to bail, but somehow when things go to shit transportation-wise it always seems to turn out OK, so I didn’t give up hope.
To get to Vinny I had to find a public phone that was off the main road because you can’t hear anything on the phone near the bus stop since the buses are so freaking loud. So I had to walk a good 5 minutes around the corner, out of sight of the bus stop. This practically guaranteed that once I turned the corner, all 3 Pernambues buses were going to show up, but I was at the end of my rope as far as the waiting went. Vinny has no phone and lives with Edilza, so I called her cell phone, not knowing if she was going to know what the hell I was talking about because I still have a tough time talking on the phone in Portuguese. Fortunately I had no problem there, and got Vinny. I told him the situation and he was like, “No, you still have time.” I didn’t have the patience or vocabulary to explain to him that we probably already missed the bus and would have to wait at least another 30 minutes or so, by which time the futbol game would have already started. I asked him if we could meet him at Shopping Iguatemi and he said it was way too complicated.
I really hate to bail but in some situations it’s just better to cut your losses. I did have a backup plan which was slightly more attractive – I’d read in A Tarde (local newspaper) that the Stephen Spielberg movie Munique (aka Munich) was playing at a few theaters in Salvador this weekend (ironically, one of them was Shopping Iguatemi) – and at this point it seemed like a much more realistic plan, even if I did have to endure going with the self-inviter. So I gritted my teeth and told Vinny I thought it might be better if we just postponed until next week. He, being perhaps the most laid back Brazilian I know (and that is freaking laid back) was like, “Sure, whatever.” But I insisted on beating myself up about it and frantically apologizing at least 10 times on the phone and later the next day when I saw him at Adriana’s for a Spanish-food-party (more on that later I guess). I’m sure he could have cared less.
I hung up the phone. We walked to Shopping Barra, which is way closer, to see if it was playing there. Unfortunately there’s only 2 theaters – one was the Jim Carrey movie and the other was a Brazilian comedy (which you wouldn’t even be able to begin to comprehend sucks so much worse than any American comedy) so we grabbed a bus to what we thought was Shopping Iguatemi. Turns out it leaves from the neighborhood of Iguatemi. So we (i.e., the self-inviter) had to ask someone on the bus how to get there, and found out that we’d have to get off and take another bus, basically in the opposite direction. So after jumping off that bus in the middle of the most busy intersection in Salvador and sprinting across the street to beat the cabs coming down the road thirsty for tourist blood, we caught the right bus and arrived at our destination. I was so freaking hungry at this point that I had just stopped talking altogether. The movie started in 15 minutes so I decided to go the health food route dinner-wise, and bought a huge popcorn and a couple of candy bars.
At this point you may find yourself asking the question: Why would anyone not tell a self-inviting person to just go away. It’s not like he’s your friend. And he invited himself ... he’s asking to be told to go to hell.
The answer is that I’ve unfortunately had a lot of experience with self-inviters. I’m not sure if my experience is similar to others (there’s not a lot of data on the subject as far as I know, anecdotal or otherwise) or if I have some sort of quirk that attracts self-inviters. I have gotten so annoyed at this type of person at least once or twice that I’ve flat-out told them to get the hell out of my face. And although doing that can be mildly rewarding in the short-term, I always feel like a complete dick afterwards, usually for years. In part this is because the phenomenon of the self-inviter is tragic. The same kind of people are often described of as “clingy”. They tend to have some sort of minor social problem. In my co-student’s case I think it’s that he has an ultra-cynical sense of humor, which to him is funny but to humans is insulting, and he’s missing the gene makes him sense that last part. And he usually does fine in social situations, with the exception of inviting himself places when it’s clear that he wouldn’t be otherwise. Most people can’t say no. You might say that he takes advantage of most people’s politeness and so deserves to be told to go to hell, but that’s a fine moral line and my experience tells me it’s better to be on the safe side and not do that. Although I really would like to. Unfortunately unless there’s some sort of lucky coincidence which results in the de-escalation of tension (i.e., my level of annoyance) the likely end to this scenario is that I will blow my top and lose it on the guy in a way that makes me look like an irrational maniac. All I can do is hope that when this happens it won’t be in front of people I know. Because then you get the “Hey man, you really freaked out back there. You alright?” And nobody needs that.
But back to the movie - I should mention that the popcorn had to be the goddam saltiest thing I’ve ever eaten in my life. It made jerky taste like oatmeal. And the only reason I bought 2 candy bars was because I was in a hurry at the food counter to get my stuff and get a seat, but the jackass selling the stuff, a kid in his early 20s, was exactly the kind of sweet-talker selling the same crap back in the States. I couldn’t understand (and didn’t really care) a word of what he was saying, but I said I wanted a candy bar with my large popcorn and he said something like “Well, you can get 2 candy bars for 50 cents more” or whatever. I said I just wanted one, and he gave me a look like I was crazy, and really just didn’t give me an opportunity to purchase the one candy bar, which of course is their goddamn business strategy. I think that luckily for the both of us I wasn’t willing to get into an argument with him about it, because if he’d been an English speaker I think things might have gotten ugly.
HIM: You don’t want the second candy bar? It’s only 50 cents more ... It’s practically free.
ME: Listen, dickfuck. If you don’t give me what I ask for, I’m going to take this cup of colored straws from the counter and jam it down your throat, make my own shit back there, and then it will ALL be free. So just give me what I want.
Like I said, it was probably better that I didn’t understand him and just caved in.
The movie, by the way, was well worth the trouble. In the sense that I was quite realistically horrified out of speech when it was over.
At this point you may be saying to yourself.
I just read that last paragraph again and realize that I write run-on sentences with too many and long dependent clauses. For the both of you that read this blog, I apologize. I would revise it if I had the time but recently I’ve had none. I’m not sure if that’s a good or bad thing at this point, but hey, it’s reality. Again, my apologies, and if you continue to read you have my utmost and most heartfelt thanks.
We waited for half an hour, with the other student speaking to me in English and me answering in short, choppy Portuguese sentences. Finally I was so pissed that I gave up and started speaking English, and said we should find a phone. I was inclined at this point to bail, but somehow when things go to shit transportation-wise it always seems to turn out OK, so I didn’t give up hope.
To get to Vinny I had to find a public phone that was off the main road because you can’t hear anything on the phone near the bus stop since the buses are so freaking loud. So I had to walk a good 5 minutes around the corner, out of sight of the bus stop. This practically guaranteed that once I turned the corner, all 3 Pernambues buses were going to show up, but I was at the end of my rope as far as the waiting went. Vinny has no phone and lives with Edilza, so I called her cell phone, not knowing if she was going to know what the hell I was talking about because I still have a tough time talking on the phone in Portuguese. Fortunately I had no problem there, and got Vinny. I told him the situation and he was like, “No, you still have time.” I didn’t have the patience or vocabulary to explain to him that we probably already missed the bus and would have to wait at least another 30 minutes or so, by which time the futbol game would have already started. I asked him if we could meet him at Shopping Iguatemi and he said it was way too complicated.
I really hate to bail but in some situations it’s just better to cut your losses. I did have a backup plan which was slightly more attractive – I’d read in A Tarde (local newspaper) that the Stephen Spielberg movie Munique (aka Munich) was playing at a few theaters in Salvador this weekend (ironically, one of them was Shopping Iguatemi) – and at this point it seemed like a much more realistic plan, even if I did have to endure going with the self-inviter. So I gritted my teeth and told Vinny I thought it might be better if we just postponed until next week. He, being perhaps the most laid back Brazilian I know (and that is freaking laid back) was like, “Sure, whatever.” But I insisted on beating myself up about it and frantically apologizing at least 10 times on the phone and later the next day when I saw him at Adriana’s for a Spanish-food-party (more on that later I guess). I’m sure he could have cared less.
I hung up the phone. We walked to Shopping Barra, which is way closer, to see if it was playing there. Unfortunately there’s only 2 theaters – one was the Jim Carrey movie and the other was a Brazilian comedy (which you wouldn’t even be able to begin to comprehend sucks so much worse than any American comedy) so we grabbed a bus to what we thought was Shopping Iguatemi. Turns out it leaves from the neighborhood of Iguatemi. So we (i.e., the self-inviter) had to ask someone on the bus how to get there, and found out that we’d have to get off and take another bus, basically in the opposite direction. So after jumping off that bus in the middle of the most busy intersection in Salvador and sprinting across the street to beat the cabs coming down the road thirsty for tourist blood, we caught the right bus and arrived at our destination. I was so freaking hungry at this point that I had just stopped talking altogether. The movie started in 15 minutes so I decided to go the health food route dinner-wise, and bought a huge popcorn and a couple of candy bars.
At this point you may find yourself asking the question: Why would anyone not tell a self-inviting person to just go away. It’s not like he’s your friend. And he invited himself ... he’s asking to be told to go to hell.
The answer is that I’ve unfortunately had a lot of experience with self-inviters. I’m not sure if my experience is similar to others (there’s not a lot of data on the subject as far as I know, anecdotal or otherwise) or if I have some sort of quirk that attracts self-inviters. I have gotten so annoyed at this type of person at least once or twice that I’ve flat-out told them to get the hell out of my face. And although doing that can be mildly rewarding in the short-term, I always feel like a complete dick afterwards, usually for years. In part this is because the phenomenon of the self-inviter is tragic. The same kind of people are often described of as “clingy”. They tend to have some sort of minor social problem. In my co-student’s case I think it’s that he has an ultra-cynical sense of humor, which to him is funny but to humans is insulting, and he’s missing the gene makes him sense that last part. And he usually does fine in social situations, with the exception of inviting himself places when it’s clear that he wouldn’t be otherwise. Most people can’t say no. You might say that he takes advantage of most people’s politeness and so deserves to be told to go to hell, but that’s a fine moral line and my experience tells me it’s better to be on the safe side and not do that. Although I really would like to. Unfortunately unless there’s some sort of lucky coincidence which results in the de-escalation of tension (i.e., my level of annoyance) the likely end to this scenario is that I will blow my top and lose it on the guy in a way that makes me look like an irrational maniac. All I can do is hope that when this happens it won’t be in front of people I know. Because then you get the “Hey man, you really freaked out back there. You alright?” And nobody needs that.
But back to the movie - I should mention that the popcorn had to be the goddam saltiest thing I’ve ever eaten in my life. It made jerky taste like oatmeal. And the only reason I bought 2 candy bars was because I was in a hurry at the food counter to get my stuff and get a seat, but the jackass selling the stuff, a kid in his early 20s, was exactly the kind of sweet-talker selling the same crap back in the States. I couldn’t understand (and didn’t really care) a word of what he was saying, but I said I wanted a candy bar with my large popcorn and he said something like “Well, you can get 2 candy bars for 50 cents more” or whatever. I said I just wanted one, and he gave me a look like I was crazy, and really just didn’t give me an opportunity to purchase the one candy bar, which of course is their goddamn business strategy. I think that luckily for the both of us I wasn’t willing to get into an argument with him about it, because if he’d been an English speaker I think things might have gotten ugly.
HIM: You don’t want the second candy bar? It’s only 50 cents more ... It’s practically free.
ME: Listen, dickfuck. If you don’t give me what I ask for, I’m going to take this cup of colored straws from the counter and jam it down your throat, make my own shit back there, and then it will ALL be free. So just give me what I want.
Like I said, it was probably better that I didn’t understand him and just caved in.
The movie, by the way, was well worth the trouble. In the sense that I was quite realistically horrified out of speech when it was over.
At this point you may be saying to yourself.
posted by n10471 at 7:06 AM
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