Not Dropping Names

I recently bumped into a person of note—and no, I am not going to drop the name.  It was an odd experience for me on several levels. 

First, he seems to genuinely like me, seek me out, and want to be of help to me.  Because I admire him a great deal, I still find myself surprised when he shouts my name, grins, and rushes over to greet me at events or just popping around town.  I even get the real-deal kiss on the cheek nowadays.  Not that long ago I finally confessed to my friend that I’d been star-struck by him for a long time, and that I’d only recently become comfortable with him as “a real friend.”  Thank gawd he thought it was hysterical.  It’s one of the reasons I not only admire him professionally, but personally.  He’s an incredibly talented, ridiculously successful, REGULAR GUY you’d want to have a beer with even if he was the counter dude at the donut shop.

It gets interesting in the second bit…

I was in public this past week and ran into my friend—we’ll call him Spike.  That’s not his name, but I’ve always wished I had a friend named Spike.  I mean… the street cred alone.  Wander into the House of Blues and head up to the Founders Room only to hear “Olie!!”  Turn around and shout “Spike, you old so-and-so!”  How cool is that?

So Spike yelled “Olie!”  I just so happened to have been cornered by a person I really don’t like.  She’s a snob.  She’s a social climber.  She thinks a great deal of herself, which is most likely necessary, since nobody else seems to.  Here comes Spike, and Matilda (I hate that name, so she’s Matilda… tough shit) turns twelve shades of red.

Now… this was fascinating.  Spike asked me about a book I was working on.  He had been kind enough to open a few doors for me and wanted to know what I’d heard back.  (Nothing, it turned out, but I am into another project and Spike is the kind of person who not only asked, but actually wanted to know.)

Matilda wants very badly to get Spike to STOP looking at me, and START looking at her.  Personally, I don’t fight anyone for attention or regard.  But if I were going to do so, I might… I dunno, try to actually make points.  I’m no Doctor Phil (thank you baby Jesus), but I know enough to figure this one out.  I know you don’t make points by insulting the person your target-social-rung is praising and responding to with warmth and affection.

Hello?

Matilda interrupted four times to take a very obvious shot at me.  Were my feelings hurt that she didn’t go buy my “little book?”  (I had no idea she knew I’d put a novella out… so no.)  Was anyone buying my “little book?”  (A few people… subject change.)  Well, SPIKE could give me a few pointers, couldn’t he?  (He actually gave her a filthy look at that point and said something along the lines of “that’s kinda what we’re trying to do here” but politer… Spike’s like that.)

The last thing Matilda said to me, before leaving with a face like she’d just licked ear wax, was she was “sorry I had a bad week.”  I am still trying to figure out where she got the idea I had a bad week.  I’ve actually had a lovely week, and was in a spectacular mood.  Spike hung with myself and my actual friends long after she had parted our company… alone.

I guess what stayed with me was how un-self-aware Matilda is.  She made not one positive impression and forty-five minutes worth of social blunders, then left with a puss on her face.

But later that evening, when Ahmed said to me “she’s going to be tearing your back up to everyone later this weekend,” I disagreed.  No… I think Matilda is one of those people who lives in a world that only exists in a three foot radius around her own warped head.  She’s going straight to the next café or trendy watering hole to tell everyone how she “spent the evening” becoming VERY intimate friends with THE Spike.

And she will believe it when she says it.