A co-worker of mine shot me a “you don’t have a shot in hell” ray the other day at the gym. I did not deserve this. I waved at her. That’s all. I pulled my earbuds out as she approached the elliptical machine I was on. I was prepared to have a polite, engaging conversation with her. I didn’t expect the “you don’t have a shot in hell” glare I received when she made it half of the way to me. I was a good friend.
We used to talk to me about the issues that bothered her, and I listened, and I was an active listener. Some of her conversation topics may have bored me, but I made sure she never knew it. We used to talk about some of the guys she was hoping to date. I was jealous. I wanted her to speak about me in this manner, but I never pushed it. I was a good friend. We worked in the same department for three years. We even sat by each other for about three months. We talked all the time. I say hello to her one day at a gym, and boom she shoots me a “you don’t have a shot in hell” ray that crippled me in a psychological manner. I was a good friend!
She did return the wave. She fulfilled her portion of polite protocol, but it was guarded. It was an annoyed wave, and I’m not being sensitive when I write this. The most casual observer could have read her body language and determined that she didn’t even want to give me that, but she was polite, and then she followed that up by shooting that ray at me. Why? I was such a good friend that it seemed unfair.
I saw her at work the next day, and she gave me an over enthusiastic hello. She did everything but hug me. She knew what she did. She felt guilty. She knew I was a good friend.
Setting her internal phaser on “you don’t have a shot in hell” may have been reflexive, but I’m me. I’m the buddy. I’m the one who listened to her honest confessions without looking at her breasts. I looked at her breasts. We all did. They were two, compact missiles set to stun any onlooker, but I wasn’t looking at them when she went into her deep, meaningful moments. I was a good gawdamned friend!
I’m the one who joked with her, listened to her complaints about the job and our co-workers without an eye to a future dating world, and she treats me like a hungry dawg whimpering for table scraps? I hate to sound like a seventh grade girl, but I’m done with her. I won’t go beyond the polite protocol with her from this point forward. How dare this girl, with incredible breasts, give me anything less than a polite ‘how do you do?’ I was one incredible friend.
The thing is she is a nice girl, and she may have just been having a bad day. She may have been hit on a couple times before she saw me, but I’ve just reached a point in my life where I’ve decided to make an example of her. It’s my hope that my decision to defriend her will teach her, and the rest of her fantastic looking girlfriends, with fantastic breasts and apple-shaped bottoms, a little lesson in decorum when she posts this moment on her exclusive “great looking girls” website. I want her to tell them all that you don’t give good friends the “you don’t have a shot in hell” ray no matter what your circumstances are at that time.
I realize that she may have seen the enthusiasm with which I waved to her, and mistook it for my desire to do unspeakable things to her, and her adjective-defying breasts, her apple-shaped bottom, and curves that would have the Pope giving her second look, but this was not the case with her former friend and confidant. I’m sure that she’s been hit on so often that her defense mechanisms are honed, but I was such a good friend. Perhaps, she has had even had good friends hit on her, and she’s had those friendships dissolve as a result, so it’s best to have the “you don’t have a shot in hell” ray set whenever you leave your home. Well, I don’t play by those rules, and I won’t abide by them in the aftermath. So, be good anonymous girl and have a good life. You won’t have this friend to kick around anymore. You just lost one fantastic friend missy!