Sometimes, people stumble into your life who you think will be interesting and compelling people, and you really WANT to like them, but they just end up being total douchebags. I met this person yesterday. He was, as I may deem, "The Typical Asshole."
The TA (Typical Asshole) came into my life as I stumbled my way out of my friend's apartment in my hungover stupor. Clutching a solo cup of tin-like tap water, I went to find my friend who I assumed would be on the deck smoking a cigarette. He was indeed, and half a set of steps down peering up at him was the TA. My friend gave me a relieved look, as though someone else would be able to keep this person occupied while my friend snuck out of the conversation and back into the house. I was in no mood to indulge this douchebag, so I was happy to oblige by perpetually picking fights.
Here is an amateur sketch of the TA in all his glory.
Basically, this guy thought he was a Jim Morrison reincarnate and made it a point to prove how in-touch with nature and out-of-touch with evil technology he was. At one point, I answered my cell and he goes "Man, I wish I was more in touch with technology." To which I said, "I picked up my fucking cell phone. That's not exactly groundbreaking."
Eventually, the cell phone anomaly turned into this sort of conversation:
Me: So, how do you remember all your phone numbers?
TA: I don't. I only carry my phone, like, once a week. It's my little sister's and has a picture of Johnny Depp as the background.
Me: That's gay. So, do you have a notebook for phone numbers or something?
TA: No. If I need to, I'll write numbers in the margins of Kerouac novels or something.
Me: Wow, how deep and pensive. Just kidding, it's gay.
What is the point of writing numbers in Kerouac novels? It's like this guy was desperate to insert the fact he reads Jack Kerouac somewhere into the conversation and this seemed the most appropriate.
Inevitably, the conversation turned to weed. He used this time to interject how he used to smoke so much weed it eventually gave him a euphoric feeling, and he understands now why Jim Morrison wrote "Riders on the Storm." Not only did my friends and I not know the lyrics to understand what he meant by the ridiculous statement, but we didn't care, and he knew we didn't know or care as well. It was like we all knew we were never going to be on the same page, yet he kept offering up these random tidbits like the two of us were eventually going to get wide-eyed in admiration and express how advanced he is for a youth.
By this point, my friend and I were bleeding from the ears and were about ready to start punching each other in the face to do the other the justice of being rendered unconscious so we wouldn't have to listen to this idiot talk anymore.
I sincerely hope this TA doesn't plague the apartments the entire year, which is where I'm living. I also hope this is a lesson to not try to prove how indie and deep you are at 10 a.m. after a long night of drinking. I'm not up to indulge you in such speak, so stick to things that we know...like when we want to go to Dunkin' Donuts.