I’m afraid I’ve got some rather troubling news for single men in search of single women. It’s not going to be news you want to hear, necessarily, but I’ve stumbled upon this and I feel that you need to know if you don’t already.
I hope you’re sitting down.
Everything we do in our interactions with women – trying to meet them, trying to get to know them, trying to (frightened gasp) date them – is creepy.
“Can I buy you a drink?” even after some conversation and what one of the pair might think has turned into a mild rapport, enters her ear as something more like, “I’ve had my eye on you for a while now.”
Of course, there are things we already know are creepy, like ridiculous pick-up lines: “Did it hurt?” with the knock-out punch: “.When you fell from heaven? Eh? Eh? Tough crowd. But seriously.”
Or the less popular, “I find the irregularities in the cartilage of your ear strangely attractive – oh, and I’m not a doctor, but you might get this mole checked out by someone.”
We know things like that are creepy – I hope. What you might not have known, and what I didn’t know until a trusted source enlightened me, is that even seemingly innocuous and benign statements are, indeed, filled with hyper-creep-itude. Interesting facts, for instance:
“You know, on Everest – or Sagarmatha, as the Nepalese call it – should you summit it successfully, you will be standing at the cruising altitude of most commercial jets.”
“You know, the [the author may or may not use “air quotes” here] ‘cantaloupes’ we get from the grocery stores here aren’t ‘cantaloupes’ at all? No. They’re not. They’re ‘musk melons.’ Crazy, right?”
Even simple introductory chit-chat is unacceptably creepy under the wrong circumstances. “Hi.” is a pit of quicksand many unwittingly step into on a staggering basis. “What’s your name?” is the hapless struggle leading to further immersion. “I’m [insert name]” is the last gurgle/gasp. This sometimes leads to statements with and by friends like “That was currreepy.”
Attempts at preventing harm can be a lit-tle we-heerd: “I do believe that you are literally burning; might I fetch an extinguisher to put that out so that you don’t die?” You simply think you’re being helpful, but this is quite off-putting. This type of selflessness actually leaves the help-ee with a hard-pressing concern: “He seemed a bit too eager to help me live, right? Little weird? Right?”
“OK, Geoff,” you’re thinking, “you’re beating this what’s-creepy horse to death over here. Tell me what’s not creepy.” Do you think I’d be bitter enough to write this thing if I knew the answer to that? I’m probably one of the top five creep-out artists in the tri-state area – maybe the Rockies, if not the West. In most of my interactions with women – regardless of what actually comes out of my mouth – what they hear and process is along the same lines as, “You sleep very peacefully.”
Geoffrey Johnson is a senior English major. His column appears occasionally in the Collegian. Replies and feedback can be sent to firstname.lastname@example.org.