It is often uncomfortable when an acquaintance of the opposite sex begins riding me about any issues that may even barely gravitate near the vicinity of relationship topics. It’s not that I am not open about my opinions on that very specific - or for that matter, any other, random, general, out-of-a-blue-sky - subject. No sirree. As anybody who has even a passing acquaintance with me will point out, maybe as an attempt to warn you, my poor impulse control affects me specially when I’m attempting to refrain myself from allowing my personal opinions to hit somebody with the force of a typhoon, a tempest that knows not the difference between friend and unknown, passing acquaintance and that girl I’d really like to know better.
Why then this apparent reluctance to get into a very specific, very narrow area of conversation?
In a first, very superficial level, it has to do with trying to not come off as a any more of a jerk than either absolutely necessary or than, well, what I usually just do from my own basic, almost automatic actions. I am aware that it often yields better results to just behave like a complete bastard, but that’s a game I’m not interested in playing.
On a deeper level, it’s a simple cost-benefit analysis. Entering a discussion about relationships with a woman that’s not close enough to me to be anything more than an acquaintance is almost certain not to bring me any profit, and more likely than not, will cause me to end up with a headache, some bad temper and a couple of Lynchburg Lemonades ahead of the game solely in order to calm down. This is directly related with the fact that somebody who has at best a superficial familiarity with me would dare attempt to convince me - as they inevitably do - of just completely screwed up my perspective of the world is, how I have intimacy issues, or how I’m just a bloody sociopath.
Like I needed them telling me.
A few days ago I’m having drinks with this girl that I sometimes hang out with. We’re not close, we just have a good time together so we hang out a couple of times a month. For some reason she begins quizzing me on why I haven’t begun steadily dating anyone after my divorce. Rebuking my not interested yet attempts at - for her own mental safety - changing the topic, she insists that all I need is a regular female presence in my life, somebody to soften me and convince me that not all women are rabid bastard whores. Abiding by the rules of engagement, I just tell her that I don’t have that view of women by a far stretch, which should be proven by the fact that I’m there having a drink with her and not sitting in my underwear at home, watching The Brood and mumbling under my breath about carving up my ex-wife and burying her in the fridge, and again I attempt to steer the conversation.
She will have none of it.
“We have different opinions. Let’s just leave it at that, and agree to disagree, OK?”
“Sure, we could,” she replies, and I can hear the but floating over her head. “I’m not trying to convince you, I just want to understand you.”
Which is false, but she may not realize it. It is possible that she is just so used to getting things her way, that she doesn’t even notice anymore when she’s attempting to shape a person’s view of the world to her own. But after all, thrice I gave her the chance to end the conversation early and just get out of it graciously, and thrice she insisted. Not even Peter got more tries than that.
“You know how I don’t have a car?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“You know why?”
“Sure,” she retorted, happy that things were apparently going her way. “You don’t like driving.”
“Right, there’s something of that too, but it’s also a matter of cost.”
“How come? You are doing well, I’m sure you can afford one.”
“Indeed, I can afford to buy a car. I chose not to.”
“Why?”
“Because the car has hidden costs beyond the purchase. You have to maintain it, for instance. Which is no biggie, it’s just more cash. But then you become dependent on the car, having shaped your life around its being there to get you places, and the single time the blasted thing dies on you, it completely fucks up your day. You can’t just leave the dead car in the middle of the city and go to that meeting you have in 20 minutes, can you?”
“Well, you could,” not too sure of either her response or where this was going.
“Ok, right, you could. But what happens if you have to be someplace and there’s an accident. Somebody hits your car, and you have to stay there until the police and the insurance people arrive?”
“You had an accident, people will understand.”
“Yes, they probably will, but it already screwed up our plans. Not only that, but if the accident was bad, then you have to send the car to the shop, and re-arrange your week around the fact that you don’t have a car anymore.”
“You just get a taxi, then.”
“True,” I replied, glad she was on board with the train of thought. “Which is yet another extra cost, on top of the cost of purchase, maintenance, insurance and now the bloody mechanic.”
“So what? You just don’t go anywhere, then?”
“No, I do. I just always get a cab.”
“But it’s more expensive!” she pouted.
“Only if always, or at the very least most of the time, things go hunky-dory with your own car. Which never happens. Plus, a cab has other advantages. If your usual cabbie isn’t available, you simply call another one. If their car breaks down in the middle of the city, or gets into an accident, you just get out of the bloody cab and find alternate means of transportation. You don’t have to worry about parking, or gas, or mileage, or insurance, or maintenance. In general, it’s just much more convenient to pay for cabs when in the city.”
She put her hands on her hips, defiantly, with a look on her face that told me she was certain she had found the hole in my logic.
“But a car gives you freedom! What if you want to go to the beach, or the mountain, or someplace far?”
“How often do you do that?”
She thought about it. “Well, once or twice a month.”
“I’m not going to buy a car for using once or twice a month. I’d rather rent one, or take a bus. That way I don’t even have to drive.”
“Where are you going with this, anyway?”
“You wanted to know what I think. I’m just pointing out that not having a car is not only cheaper and more convenient, but that just getting the services on a case-by-case basis gives me a lot more freedom and flexibility. Agreed?”
She didn’t reply and just stared at me, worrying her pretty head with how agreeing to that would backfire later in the conversation. I pressed the point, and finally she acquiesced.
“OK, agreed. It makes sense. Now, what the hell does that have to do with you not going steady?”
“Well, sweetie, it’s pretty much the same thing.”
I seriously doubt I’ll be hearing from her again.
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