Tuesday, November 29, 2011

The Squeaky Shoe Gets to Kick Your Face

There's a guy in my program that I don't really like. Let's call him Phil. I could catalog all the reasons, but I'm sort of busy today. (Or, rather, I'm supposed to be busy today. I mean, how busy can I really be when I'm blogging, right?) Suffice it to say, I don't like the guy.

Phil requested me as a Facebook friend and I accepted because I don't actively wish him any harm, which is my standard for becoming someone's Facebook friend. (Note: if we're not Facebook friends right now, it doesn't necessarily mean that I am actively wishing you harm; I might just not know who you are.) A few weeks later, however, he came up as a suggested friend, meaning he had defriended me.

I wasn't too broken up about it, since we weren't REAL friends to begin with (defined as someone who will help you bury a body with no questions asked), but it definitely has cooled what was an already-chilly relationship.

A few weeks ago, I walked into class a few steps behind another student. Phil said to the other student, "Oh, I heard your squeaky shoes and thought it was [A Random Stranger]." I said, "Do my shoes squeak?" Phil said, "Usually."

What? Firstly, my shoes don't squeak unless it has rained, in which case EVERYone's shoes squeak (except those of James Fenimore Cooper characters).

Secondly, why would a guy decide I wasn't worth taking one of his 5,000 friend slots, yet dedicate brain bandwidth to tracking the noises of my shoes? (Unless the reason he unfriended me was the shoe squeaking, but I refer you to my first point.)

Thirdly, Phil has a way of saying everything that is the opposite of friendly. Someone else could joke with me about my supposedly squeaky shoes, but when Phil says it, it's accusatory, as if my shoes are responsible for his terrible haircut and his boring-as-hell interest in robots and feudal Japan. (Hey, it turned out I wasn't too busy to catalog his faults after all!)

1 comment:

Steve said...

This reminds me of the time I went to interview for a PhD candidacy (SPOILER ALERT: I DID NOT GET ADMITTED) (NO I AM NOT STILL BITTER) (UNRELATED: MIAMI UNIVERSITY OF OHIO IS A JERKFACE) and all was fine until the morning of the interview, in which my shoes inexplicably started to squeak. I mean SQUEAK. I tried to rub the soles down in the bathroom, just to have a professor walk in on some fat dude in a suit in his socks scrubbing his shoes under the hand drier. Thankfully, it was not a prof in the department I was interviewing in, so I have convinced myself this had no bearing on the process.