Can’t get no respect.
I was standing outside the Monte Carlo hotel in Las Vegas a few days ago. It was early in the morning. I was smoking a cigarette and browsing Facebook on my iPhone. I was exhausted, and I’m sure I looked it.
A man approached me.
“How long will you be here in Vegas?” he asked me.
I was not interested in casual conversation with a stranger, so I kept my eyes glued to my phone.
“A few days,” I replied.
“Are you here for the big convention?” he asked. Apparently my refusal to look up, smile, or participate in this conversation was not enough of a hint for this guy.
“Yep,” I replied. I moved from Facebook to Twitter. The man stepped a little bit closer to me.
“Are you doing anything tonight?” he asked.
Definitely not fucking you, I thought.
“Yep,” I replied. I didn’t want to walk away. This man was invading my personal space, and walking away would be admitting defeat.
“Do you want to hang out later?” he asked, lowering his voice.
I think we all know what he meant by ‘hang out later.’
“No thanks,” I said. I dropped my half-smoked cigarette and walked back inside the hotel. I admitted defeat. I ran away, tail tucked between my legs.
He caught up to me a few moments later in the lobby.
“So what, you got a boyfriend or something?” he asked.
“Yep,” I said. My heart was racing. It was the nicotine, I think, or maybe it was something else.
“Oh, sorry to bother you,” he responded. And then he finally left me alone.
I wish I could describe him to you, so if you’re ever in the Vegas area you could keep an eye out for him, but I refused to look at him throughout this entire interaction. It didn’t seem to matter. What mattered, apparently, was that I had a boyfriend. As soon as I brought a man into the equation, he was suddenly respectful of my disinterest.