Thursday, November 15, 2007

Tell Me...

Why, why, WHY do they do it?

I’m talking about bull shitters. (And let’s be clear—there’s no such thing as a bull shit artist, because if he were an artist you wouldn’t know he was bull shitting. Um…did you follow that??)

Anyway, last night, the lovely Anna Margarita de la Cruz and I are sitting in a fine dining establishment, enjoying the first cocktails of the evening, when a man recognizes me from across the room and drops by to say hello.

Now, I’ve known this guy for years—okay, as well as anyone can know a bar acquaintance--I see him a couple times a month, I’ve met his wife, I know his friends—hell, I even dated one of them way back when.

So, why, why, WHY does he proceed to spend the next twenty minutes boring us with what he does, what he owns, where he travels, and what a hot shot he is? Permit me to pick a few words and phrases at random to paint the picture: my driver…my limo…I’m the guy they call…Vegas for four days…and (my personal favorite, said no less than five times) I’ll be out of the country.

I mean, what’s wrong with saying I’ll be traveling? I’ll be going out of town? And, trust me…this guy has NO limo, NO driver.

Oh, wait. The best part? Supposedly, he’s dropped by the restaurant because he’s “bringing some bands in” (although he’s, um, basically an insurance agent)…and he’s “consulting” with the owners, “helping them figure a way to rearrange the layout so that music in the bar area doesn't bother guests in the dining area.”

And, get this: when a policeman or firefighter goes down, this guy’s the first person they call.


Wow…talk about a jack-of-all-trades.

Except that I know the truth. Speaking of jack, a friend of his once told me this guy has jack to his name (big surprise).

Grrr. It seemed he’d never leave. Our wine glasses sat empty, the waitress too polite to interrupt. Then he left, and she appeared instantly. Anna Margarita, never having met the subject of this rant before, questioned her about the guy’s relationship to the restaurant.

“None,” she confirmed. “No offense if he’s a friend of yours, but I don’t like him.”

Later, we got the same response from the bartender.

So, again…sigh…I ask, what for?? Why the need to impress—especially, when he must KNOW I KNOW the truth?


It’s creepy, that’s what it is.

Pathological and creepy.

And, yes. A bit sad.

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