don't be a slave

Don’t Be A Slave

Earlier, I was thinking about how I needed a new apartment. I live right downtown in a popular city in a studio apartment. Amenities, living space, the grocery store, transportation, nightlife, and everything else in between is at a level or near an area with which I’m more than comfortable.

However, for some reason, I began thinking about what this place looks like from someone on the outside, with the smashed up, perpetually-in-repair elevator, the walls and cupboards which need to be painted, and the general antiquated look of the room.

Even though I was by myself, I could feel the world judging me, telling me that I need a better place, and why not a car too? On top of it all, I plan on traveling soon, something which everyone in North America under the age of 35 is encouraging all of us to do.

If I’m to travel, get a new place, and buy a car, I’ll be DROWNING in debt.

Needless to say, I don’t actually need any of that shit. This apartment is doing me just fine, and I’m saving money while staying here. In my moment of self-doubt, I was thinking to myself about how women must find this place repellant, but the truth is: they don’t even give a shit.

With the number of girls I’ve had in here, in all their variety, I highly doubt a single one of them actually cared about this place. Even worse, they probably didn’t even notice.

Most women in their early-twenties are in the same position as me, working their way up the ladder, and not spending their time and money on bullshit like expensive apartments. The girls I’ve met are like that, anyway.

As a side-note, I have to shout out to my man, Will Freemen, at Revolutionary Lifestyle Design.com, for coming up with the term “middle-class-mindset,” assuming he created it anyway.

If I’m to accomplish everything I want out of life, there’s no time for spending my hard-earned cash on shit that I don’t even need, for people whom I barely know. Moreover, for people that I haven’t even met yet, whose attitude toward my lifestyle I don’t even know.

For all I’m aware of, people, when they come in here, don’t even notice anything. But I could feel that creepy, judgmental, and watchful eye gazing in on me, leading me to believe it was time for me to change where I live, and more importantly, how I live.

Cue the self-conscious thoughts:

“You shouldn’t live here anymore; you’re going to be thirty-years-old in five years. Isn’t it time for you to get a better place and a girlfriend whom you plan on marrying?”

“This place is a dump. Why not get a better place, sure, you might not have extra money to spend if you spend it all on rent, but what else are you going to do?”

“I think it’s time to grow up, buy a car, get a better apartment, and settle down.”

It’s just one of many things you might hear in your head when, temporarily, you feel insecure, for whatever reason.

When you get older, there’s more pressure to conform to social rules, but hopefully, you and I have developed an idea for what we need to feel happy at all times, that way we don’t cave under the pressure, which brings me to my next point.

Last night, during my final night working at the club, there was a guy outside the bar, a regular, who I don’t mind personally. But he’s become a victim of the mindset that it’s necessary  – for some reason –  to show off to the world how much money you make so people like you.

The one night, three weeks ago, he was a little bit too drunk, calling us fags and what not, and I finally told him, “man, you’re starting to piss me off.”

After he didn’t get the hint and kept on babbling, I grabbed his face with one hand and pushed him; he went flying back, tumbled on the ground and sprained his wrist.

I should feel sorry about it, but I don’t because he deserved it in all honesty. The bouncer said to me, “Yeah, it’s not a big deal, he deserved it, and you checked him. That’s all that happened. He pushed, and you checked him. It’s a done deal. It’s over.”

Anyway, last night, he was at the bar again, and he kept trying to brag about how cool he was by throwing around stories of money and women, but his words were dripping with a need for approval.

The bouncer said to me, “we should tell him that if he pays us each one hundred dollars, we’ll be friends with him again.”

We both looked at each other and laughed at the idea. I looked up at him and said “sure,” as if I really would take his money.

However, I was just joking, unbeknownst to my friend who portrays himself as being less sympathetic towards those who aren’t willing to stand up for themselves.

This drunk guy, perpetually hunched over a little bit and his head protruding forward as if he spends too much time bent over a laptop, was swaying back and forth and spewing nonsense from his mouth about “accomplishments” with girls and his career.

After a certain point, he began asking why we weren’t friends anymore. I told him straight up that we never were friends, he’s just a client at the bar whom we joke around with sometimes. Friends hang out with each other outside of work.

This sounds mean, but it’s true, just because you joke around with people at work, it doesn’t say that you’re automatically “friends.” Friends hang out and do things together.

He became progressively more in need of approval from us, and the bouncer said to him, “I’ll tell you what, if you give him 80$, everything will be cool.”

I was shocked when he reached into his pockets and was going to pull out money to “make everything cool.” On some level, it was showmanship, for the sake of showing how rich he is and how money is a non-issue.

He was going to give me the money, and I told him, “Man, I don’t want to take your money.” I didn’t expect him to do it.

It was incredibly sad. I felt sorry for him because at that moment, he was so vulnerable and I could practically see in his face the need to be liked by people and how desperate and profound that feeling was.

He doesn’t realize that no one cares about his money. No one cares about his job, his car, how many girls he fucks, and so on and so forth.

What people care about it is: you’re fun to talk to, you listen to them when they speak, and you’re capable of showing that you understand social rules. For example: not interrupting a conversation mid-way through to say some ridiculous bullshit which adds nothing to the energy, content, and vibe of the people around you.

He’s a victim of cowardice and needs for everyone to like and respect him. He thinks that he can buy people’s respect and admiration, and I told him that to his face. It was probably the only time in his entire life that someone told him straight what his problem was.

As cruel as this all sounds, for further background, this guy, 41, instead of getting up and brushing himself off after I pushed him down three weeks ago, he took to Facebook to claim that we “beat the shit out of him” outside of the club.

He didn’t even talk to us as men, he went to the hospital, got a band around his wrist, and then was even still wearing it despite the fact that this all happened three weeks ago.

The man’s 41-years-old and he still doesn’t get it, and never will; he is unwilling to listen and learn.

He comes into the bar every weekend, and supposedly, according to my friend, he leaves his credit card behind the bar and lets the staff charge drinks to his credit card.

People use him for his money, and even though that’s immoral, it’s just as corrupt to be a whipping-boy, a pathetic weasel with no backbone.

The guy’s a slave to other people, to cultural conventions like status-whoring through consumerism, and a coward on top of it.

Although I refuse to take advantage of someone like that, I don’t judge those who do.

If he were born in another time, he would be the type of person to sell out his allies because of his bitterness as a result of their ostracism of him, like the Troll-weirdo from the movie, 300.

 

Despite what I’ve said about the man here, I really hope he listened to me when I told him what his problem was, and I don’t wish any bad luck toward him. Truthfully, whenever I see someone struggling I see a bit of myself in them. I want them to pull themselves out of the shit, because, if he can do it, I can too. We all can.

 

11 thoughts on “Don’t Be A Slave

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