I'm Not Special.

Today while I was waiting for the bus I was approached by a guy. This is, of course, not all that unusual for any girl and is a somewhat regular occurrence in my daily life. There is typically a pretty set group of guys that will approach a lonesome girl in the middle of the day. I'd say there are around 3 "usual suspects" to be on the lookout for. There is the fairly innocent awkward guy who tries to make small talk (usually involving something easy to broach such as a book you might be holding, what music you're listening to, etc) who might just not get the hint that you're alone and not looking for company. Then there is of course the semi-creepy older guy who makes comments about your appearance and tries to hit on you in cliched ways (i.e. 'where are we? "Baby I thought we were in Hollywood. 'Cause I just saw a star") which can be really bothersome but pretty easily deflected. Then you get the cracked out creepy guys who alternate between hitting on you and seeming to want to hit you. These interactions usually start with a request for a cig, money, a bus ticket or borrowing of a cell phone. These people are the most difficult to get rid of. These are the 3 major categories for girl-botherers if you exclude any sexual deviants or real problem characters. Now, there is a hidden 4th category. There is the dude who is both a nice guy and creepy at once. He might be mentally a bit off or sub average or he might be on something but he just does not get the hint and what is worse is that you end up feeling guilty about wanting an escape. Okay, so today I met the 4th guy. Here's how it went down;

I was waiting for the bus and approached by the guy. Right away I could tell he was a little bit retarded or sub average. He also had some physical problems such as a facial twitch and a bad lisp. I could tell the only reason the poor fellow felt okay approaching me was because of my hands. He started trying to talk to me about the book I was reading ( I think I was reading a collection of short stories by Haruki Murakami) and even recommended a series of his own (he chose to suggest Twlight). The conversation took a few turns towards personal when he asked me whether I had a boyfriend, where I lived and if I wanted to work where he worked. This conversation lasted around twenty minutes. Ordinarily, I would have shut down and annoying overly invasive convo within the first five minutes but.... I felt sorry for him. There I said it. Pretty much my worst fear is people looking at me and feeling sorry for me based on my appearance (for god sakes at least choose the fact that I am crazy to feel sorry for me). I know, it isn't a very exciting fear which is why I usually tell people that my biggest fear is of being eaten by a pack of deranged wildebeest. Let me put it all into perspective. Often times challenged people will speak to me differently or look at me differently. They see a kindred spirit. Whether it is the retarded bag boy who says something to me when he would ordinarily be silent or the girl in the wheel chair who gives me a knowing look, thousands of little gestures and interactions that all mean the same thing, "We're alike. You get it." Now, I would love to think that my life has given me the kind of perspective that most don't have. Given me empathy and caring for other people's struggles. But what I really think during these interactions is almost always "you poor bastard" and I want to get away from them as quickly as humanly possible. In fact, usually, I resent being associated with them. I feel like a fraud. I'm supposed to be better. I am supposed to get what it feels like to be on a different level than "normal" people. I'm certainly not supposed to feel vaguely queasy. In a way I feel like I am running from myself. I feel no different than so called normal people. I feel no better or worse. I carry myself with confidence, primp myself with a normal if not slightly above average sense of vanity and unconsciously look down on people who are not so different from me at all. I guess I am pretty normal after all. It might not seem like much of an internal conflict but it does make me sad. I seem to ungraciously embody my own worst fears.

And so the title of my post has two meanings. One; I am not "special" and two; I am most certainly not special.

Oh well. What can you do?