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Open Letter To The Creepy Guy In The Airport Bar

I'm sure you're a fine human being, no better, no worse than me. But your repeated attempts at talking to me while I furiously stab at my keyboard don't make you likable.

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Dear Creepy Guy in the Airport Bar,

I'm sure you're a fine human being, no better, no worse than me. But your repeated attempts at talking to me while I furiously stab at my keyboard don't make you likable. Quite the opposite, in fact. The harder you try to engage a disinterested woman, the more you become less of a fine human being and more of a gremlin. Your face has quickly warped from generically good looking to toad like. The way your beady, glossed over eyes try to penetrate my concentration don't do you any favors. The face you made as you leaned over and slurred, "What? Ahhre you writing youhhr book??" is disgusting.

You are a married man by the look of the ring on your left hand and I am a twenty-something disengaged in the talk of your golf outing in Columbus, Ohio. I don't care you spent $2,000 today on a work outing, I especially don't care about the sandwich you ordered burning your mouth. You really nailed it when you described your mouth as 'muy fuego'. Normally I wouldn't dissect the actions of a stranger but you refuse to be a stranger so here's some advice: women aren't interested in the drunk guy at the airport bar. Well, let's back up. I can't speak for all women, so I'll dial back to most women. Most women are immediately disinterested when the bartender extends you a 'nice trip' and you say, "Fat chance, I'm going home." Most women would be offended for the wife you promised to be faithful to, most women would find your disinterest in your own children, repugnant. Some women may appease you because you're drunk and irritable, I am not one of them. The way you clench your fists when your dumb ass one-liners go unannounced, thrills me. The outward aggression you display when you don't get attention shows me who you are. You are a pathetic, little man.

It's not my job to entertain you. You sat down next to a stranger on a laptop, social cues would indicate I'm busy. The way I didn't look up when you sat down isn't personal, it's professional. I meet men like you all the time. Men who sit next to the single woman, thinking he's going to inspire some brief, chemical sexual explosion. The only explosion is my mind at your complete lack of self-awareness. I'm not dense enough to think it's about me, it's not. I'm okay, nothing to write home about but you decided I'm the hot girl. Now you have an angst fueled flash back to being a girlfriend-less loser and I'm the hot girl who ignored you in high school and college. You're so blinded by your own insecurities you take my disinterest as a personal attack, the real attack is you, a married man, trying to chat up a woman young enough to be your daughter. You're attacking the security you promised your wife and children. You're the emotional Unabomber attempting to blow up your life by having a tryst with a 'beautiful stranger.'

I feel sorry for your wife and children. Your ruddy red cheeks aside, you're not my type. I wouldn't dare consider dating the kind of guy who drunkenly accosts a stranger in an airport bar. The way you feel entitled to my attention makes you the most unappealing thing in this airport, which is an impressive feat. Bravo.

Best Wishes,

Generically Good Looking Girl

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