I was supposed to meet this guy to show him around the city. Big Mistake.
I forgot to give any indicators as to what my appearance would be, and he did as well. So, here I am, asking people if they are Daniel – the guy I’m supposed to meet.
I’ve past this guy thrice on my awkward trips to the water fountain attempting to make him initiate eye contact with me – this guy with the skinny jeans who looks 20 something and vaguely Swedish – this guy who fits the undescriptive description that I have of the person I’m supposed to meet.
Finally I ask.
“No, why do you ask?”
What the fuck kind of question is that? Who cares why I asked? What other option is there besides that I’m supposed to meet someone named Daniel here. “I just thought you looked like a Daniel.” “I’m doing a name survey.” “I’m going to murder the first person I meet with that name.” Asshole.
This woman is very self-conscious about her teeth. Laughing is such a chore. Too bad she’s talking to someone she finds so funny.
I realize why I want fame. I want people to have the same instant reverence and disgust for me that I have for them. I am constantly frightened, nay sure, that people hate me, and yet I hate them back. I strive for equality. I want people to look at me and assume they are not worthy, yet look at me and think: he isn’t worthy.
It is also how I see myself. I am not worthy of the barrage of compliments I silently give myself.