Despite the fact that I haven’t worked in damn near two years, have a very small savings account (um, like $8), and admit that at times I do return pop bottles for gas money, lately I am feeling rather snobby. Surprisingly, this attitude seems to be rearing its ugly even though lately my overqualified ass (see what I mean) has not been able to find a job even as I keep getting told I am “great,” “extremely experienced,” and “more than qualified.” I have also managed to keep up a less than lackadaisical appearance with no roots (since I went back to my natural color that is), and thanks to discount shopping stores my fashion hasn’t suffered too much, although I still am in need of some hot new boots. But hey, whatever.
This feeling of snobbery hit an all time high the other night while out and about scoping the scene in town. Some guy (who will remain unnamed) at some lame bar (which will also go unnamed) thought it okay to begin to get his flirt-on with me. So, here I am, looking hot in my new black skinny jeans and über high heels kind of feeling the night and thinking this could be good. Semi-good looking dude is chatting me up with the basic compliments (yawn) and giving me the puppy-dog eyes (endearing at times, not so much tonight). We get to the breaking point of me thinking, well, maybe this guy is decent enough to share a few more moments on, after all the bar is not hoppin’ tonight. Then he begins to tell me how hard he’s been working lately…
I’m thinking manual laborer, which is totally fine and expected in this part of town, but I can feel the snobbery rising in my blood. He works with people…he has to be up early…he’s been there about 2 years…it’s just down the road…it’s retail…you’ve probably heard of it…it’s effing Subway. As in “Eat Fresh,” I am a sandwich artist. While I am glad that he has a job in this rough economy, it’s not as if he’s doing this to make his way through school. No, it’s what he does. Snob level has hit an all time high now as I look deep into myself to gain the strength not to look him dead in the eye and ask if he seriously thinks he has a chance with me. After all. I am highly educated, speak, speak multiple languages, am well-traveled, blah, blah, blah. Instead, I take a deep breath, look at him and say, “Um...yeah…I gotta go!” before grabbing the tab and hitting the door. Yes, I am a snobby bi*ch, so what?
After way too many close calls (pun intended), I have decided to make a few changes in my life. You see, I suffer from a disorder called drunk texting and calling. Don't laugh my friends, this can be very serious. Ahem, um, so for some reason I find I have little self-control when it comes to realizing that after a few drinks too many it may not be wise to send a little hate-note of sorts to an ex whatever he is. I just also came to realize it could be taken as highly inappropriate to call someone at 3am just to say "hey" and see "what's up." I don't know why it took me so long to realize that when I get those calls at that hour, it tends to look a lot like a desperate booty-call. So why it wouldn't appear the same when I do it is beyond me.
