Wednesday, December 13, 2006

a man named steve.

Exam time in law school is, unsurprisingly, utterly insane. Self-doubt, along with the requisite overcompensation by the law school equivalents of frat boys, reigns supreme. I sit with
my hundred-page outlines (way too long, because as anyone who knows me knows, I am anything but concise) and try to coax my recalcitrant brain into retaining, you know, anything.

Civ Pro was 3.5 hours long. When it was over, we had to wait around in the atrium for forty minutes while the registrar made sure all of our wireless submissions went through. Maybe someday they will have the technology to, you know, send us a text message or e-mail or something, instead of having us wait until they put a SIGN IN THE WINDOW.

After the sign went up, I went to the pool, did my requisite kilometer and a half, bought a burrito (mango salsa wins all) and tried to study for Con Law. I tried. So hard. Eventually I managed to, but my brain was soooo very angry. In fact, it is still angry. I guess studying for twelve-fourteen hours a day does that to you. Lest you think I am crazy, there are plentiful stories out there about nutty kids staying up all night in the library. This I will never do. There are creepy people from the streets who go there and ejaculate on your shoes. (I wish I was kidding, really.)

Speaking of creepy people, I met a man named Steve a couple weeks back. Steve followed me a few blocks, trying to catch up to me on his bum leg, which was mangled in a hit and run. Or so he says. Anyway, Steve finally gets my attention, and rattles off some flattery. Then he says, "How would you like to make some money? I need you to come with me, so I can take some head shots. Come with me." I say no. He goes on. And on. And on.

He tells me how he is a photographer for the Enquirer. How Bob Guccione has requested his work and how he's looking for the next big Penthouse model. How I am perfect for this. How my bone structure works. How my ribs are proportional. How he makes women's emotional selves come out in photographs. How I can make instant money and be famous. How he's been looking for someone like me for a long time.

"Would you like to make $30 right now? Just come with me. I'll do some head shots. You don't have to take your clothes off. It'll just take ten minutes. Just ten minutes!" This goes on for far, far too long. I say over and over that I have no interest in modeling, nor the time for this crap. He says, finally relenting somewhat, will you at least call me? Please? Please? (Since he likes to surround himself with women).

Eventually, I walk away, saying no, no, and no.

I deeply resent when people cannot take no for an answer. I don't mean this in the "I say 'maybe', but I really mean 'no', and they should get it" kind of way. I really do say no, unequivocally and absolutely.

But I also find it amusing when they think they will be able to persuade me, as though I will eventually cave. It's kind of an Asian-girl phenomenon, I've found. There was this one guy trying to pull me into a job cam once - he kept saying I wasn't like all the other Asian girls, that I was assertive and willing to take chances and not just do what my parents told me to do. Amusingly enough, he was saying that so I would feel flattered and fall straight into his idiotic scam, because he thought Asian girls were easy to manipulate. He said as much, in an earlier conversation.

You aren't like all the other idiotic job-scamming salesmen who try to trap teenagers into moneymaking schemes for yourself. You're so much worse at this than they are. And dude? I am much, much smarter than you. And I can kick your ass. Because I'm a natural kung-fu genius. Comes with the blood, buddy. Comes with the blood.

Anyway. Steve eventually left me alone, though he lives very close by and I make sure no one is following me when I get home. He wasn't sleazy or slick like the salesman was - he looked kind of homeless, considering he just had on some shorts and a jacket with no shirt underneath in 1 degree weather. He just seemed very desperate. It was kind of sad.

Yep. It never gets boring around here.


tova said...

you write well. never does get boring there, eh. stay out of trouble, you. or, at least, keep trying to. how did those exams go?

Adrian said...

Exams are for suckers! Archaeology post grad = no exams ever.


Yeah, like Sohko said, nothing ever gets boring around there. Except maybe the exams... and the studying for the exams.


Much love and Merry Christmas from Swiss Alps.

Adrian ~

PS - You like the word "requisite"

Adrian said...

^ "the Swiss Alps"