There are two kinds of people...

I’ve come to the sad conclusion that everyone in this world can be categorized into two bins. This is because there are two kinds of people in this world: people who accept that we are all inevitably the same, and people who annoyingly try to make themselves appear unique and/or special in some odd way, making them seem exactly the same as every other person in the latter group.

I’ve learned this through many different (yet strangely similar) lessons. The best examples can be seen in more immature settings, as the lack of mental development in high school and college aged youngsters seems to have impaired their judgment in personality and behavioral interactions.

The first example that comes to mind involves teenage flicks such as Ten Things I Hate About You, Wristcutters, and The Princess Diaries 2. In all these movies, there is that one, annoyingly charming, somewhat pesky, offbeat guy/girl whose quirks eventually win over the object of the affection. In trying to be different from those around them, they all end up being exactly like everyone else who is trying to be different from those around them. It’s a terribly vicious cycle.

I tend to digress an awful lot more than the average person, so let me bring you back to the reason for my ordinary-people-suck-but-not-as-much-as-annoying-wannabes verbal rampage.

The reason was the obnoxious boy sitting two tables down and one to the left from mine.

He had come into MY coffee shop, ordered MY drink (my Sunday ritual has always been a caramel latte with an extra shot of espresso) and beat me to MY table.

That bastard.

What was worse was that he was obviously the chairman of Group #2. He had long brown locks that signaled some sort of mix of metrosexual urban/ emo junkie / Hollister poster boy. His nonchalant stance seemed a tad intimidating, as did the permanent smirk that seem to be frosted on his tan face.

He’d been sitting there for nearly forty minutes, but I still couldn’t help staring at him, making up his life story. His name was Joel. Joel Hunter. He came from a comfortable upper middle-class upbringing and went to a decent private school. He had applied early acceptance to John Hopkins and been accepted, but backed out at the last minute because he realized that he didn’t want to be a plastic surgeon like his parents wanted him to be. He wanted to be an artist, a photographer who could photograph into a person’s soul and truly capture character on film. And when the University of MN offered him a full scholarship, he just couldn’t say no.

He was a death cab cutie if I ever saw one.

As my mind slowed from its restless wandering, I realized that I was still staring at him. He looked up from his laptop and caught my glance before I could look away.

Now, most people would smile shyly and look away. They would display some sort of embarrassment or discomfort and refrain from ever looking at those icy blue eyes again. But as I like to play games with people, make them uncomfortable, and just generally be a creepy person, I held his glance for about a full six and a half seconds before he averted his eyes to someone walking past his table.

I smiled to myself, thinking that I’d scared the poor fellow away. I’ve always made a habit out of seeing if I could make people around me uncomfortable enough to make them move away from me. It’s quite an entertaining hobby, although it does reveal my anti-social tendencies.

I reached for my mug, still typing with one hand. I almost spilled the entire contents of my mug onto my computerized soul as a voice boomed into my left ear.

“What kind of truffles are these?”

You have got to be kidding me. This player just tried the truffle line on me.

I had no patience for lame pick up lines. I decided that it would be best to get this over with as quickly as possible. I smiled and graciously replied, “Sardine and olive flavored. Would you like one?”

“Two of my favorite flavors, although not necessarily together,” he answered, looking a little disappointed.

At this point, I wasn’t sure if the he was playing along with my charade or if he was a little mental. “Are you serious?”

“No, just trying to make polite conversation…” he said, with a smirk.

I grinned. This pointless conversation was actually proving to have some entertainment value. “Did you come here for me or my truffle?” I asked, batting my eyelashes at him.

He paused for a moment, looking thoughtful. “Well, the truffle, but you just looked less intimidating.”

I coughed down a laugh, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing me laugh at his strange responses. “I feel like I should be insulted, but I’m actually feeling my ego rising.”

“I live to please.”

“You’re a little strange,” I mused, almost to myself.

“I’m sorry,” he responded, not looking the least bit sorry.

“No, it’s a compliment,” I said, tilting my head towards him.

This ought to be the beginning of something interesting.