Close Encounters of the Obnoxious Kind

So here it is, the long anticipated account of Friday night's misadventure into the land of normalcy, which in this particular instance seemed to mean purely business... at least that was the bent of the majority of the conversation. At one point I even told him that I felt like I was living in Glengarry Glen Ross; I was neither exaggerrating nor trying to be witty, although that was the vein in which it was received.

My date, let's call him Mr. Risky Business, is in the business sector; a fact I knew prior to the date and was slightly apprehensive about, with good reason as it turns out. Over pre-dinner cocktails (the first of many as the drinks flowed like uncontrollable raging flood waters) I mentioned to Mr. Risky Business that I had been worried at first about him being an axe murderer, but this fear had been supersceded by the fear of him being a Republican. I myself happened to find that fact humerous; he did not. The innoccous comment propelled him into a lecture on how in business one must never show any leanings towards one side or another, at the risk of offending a client, and how as an actor I should know better than to make statements such as that because what if he had been a Republican who was well connected with agents and casting directors and I had offended him or not given him a chance because of his political leanings? I would have screwed myself out of a potentially lucrative and beneficial alliance simply because of my attachment to my personal ideologies. He explained that he is affiliated with neither party and never votes strictly along party lines, but more importantly he waits to hear the client's particular views before ever voicing his own. And this was explained to me with such pride, as if having strong personal beliefs that one voices is the mark of Cain and to be a mere sheep of the moment is something to be held in high esteem. Wow, thanks for the great tip; I'll remember from now on to have no discernable speck of inidividual personality in any interaction, lest it ruin my chance of success in life. I'm so glad I was forewarned! Here I was believing that as an artist individuality was an asset, not an impediment.

He gave more fascinating but completely unrequested career advice throughout the course of the evening, despite having no idea whatsoever about my mettier (which clearly was not a problem because he's so successful in his that he can be an authority on everyone else's) or how it works. He advised that in my next cover letter I should approach it from a business standpoint because that's clever marketing and thinking outside the box, which will set me apart from the other actors who are marketing their talent alone. I should evidently write in my next cover letter that I should be hired to play a role because I will make the theatre more money, as I get repeat audience members. He then advised me to write up fake testimonials from people who have seen previous performances and returned 6 times based solely on the strength of my performance. Wow! Fake testimonials and the money angle...its ummm, so so...hmm, I'm just not certain what the word would be...inappropriate and ineffectual spring to mind. So as I sat there trying desperately not to laugh and shoot Mohito out of my nose in his general vicinity, he graciously offerred to lend his extraordinary business expertise to my personal endeavors and informed me that he would write my next cover letter for me and I'd see for myself - the results would be astounding; he'd be wiling to bet on it.

While that was probably a bet I should have taken, I graciously smiled while inwardly fixed on an expression of perpetual incredulity, and made a valiant attempt at changing the subject; I was continually thwarted in this, as it seems like unbeknownst to me every subject is inextricably linked to business. How the hell have I survived my whole life without knowing this fact and existing in my lovely naive little artistic bubble? I must be crazy.

As the evening wore on and exhorbitant amounts of alcohol were consumed (my best estimate lies at 2 Mohitos, a shared bottle of wine which I was chastised for not keeping up with him in consuming, a shared after dinner Frangelico, and two vodka tonics at the place we went to after dinner) the talk did become more palatable, as it rounded the corner into flirty combat of wit (in which my skills far surpassed his if I may say so without seeming to cocky). I did discover that the two things which made me respond to his post in the first place were rather flimsy extentions of truth, if not outright lies. He does not seem to go see theatre at all (he asked what Wicked was) and confessed that his love of the outdoors was more in the vein of loving to drink and eat outdoors when the weather was nice. It also turned out that he had suggested going to see "more rockin" music, and not Moroccan music. Silly me for perceiving a modicum of culture where there was none.

We spent the whole evening on the Upper West Side, and when I confessed that I spent little time in that neighborhood he said "Of course not; you're too busy hanging out on 11th street between A and B". I quickly defended myself, correcting his error; I'm usually further south between A and B like 5th through 9th, thank you very much. I asked if it was my turn and told him that he always drives into and out of the city, rarely taking pulic transportation depsite his professed concern over the environment, and stuck primarily to the Upper West Side though could be occasionally found on the Upper East or Midtown East and on very rare occasions he would even venture somewhere around the Grammercy area. He liked being in the places that he knows and rarely ventured out of his comfort zone. He said that was a fairly accurate reading, but how often did I venture outside of my own comfort zone?

Lest it sound as if the evening were spent in awkward and strained polite argument, these exchanges were done in an almost flirty teasing manner and he seemed to enjoy my strident nature, despite the threat it posed to his sense of masculinity which he constantly attempted to assert by assuming some sort of perceived control and "telling it like it is". One would think me a helpless child, by the manner in which he seemed to believe I was in such desperate need for some sort of guidance that he alone could provide. Poor lost and helpless little Synge, so confused and mistakenly entrenched in her own idealistic little world.

I knew about ten minutes into the date that I probably wouldn't be seeing him again and really had no desire whatsoever to date this man at all. So I went home with him. Yes, dear reader, I went home with a guy I did not even like or respect; I let my hormones get the better of me. I figured at least I could get something out of the evening and perhaps the sexual fulfillment would be some sort of redemption for the horrible waste of several very drunken hours. Oh how very wrong I was. It was so not worth the 20 minute trip into Westchester. I am very aware of my own body and how it works and can usually pretty much ensure that I have a good time no matter what; I am an independent womyn in all regards I suppose. But usually is the operative word here, folks. Usually, but not always. There are evidently rare instances in which a trip to Westchester is nowhere near the effort; instances where one should cut their losses early and go home to their battery operated lovers. I didn't even bother to fake it. Mr. Risky Business, however, seemed to enjoy himself greatly; as evidenced by the extensive verbal monogue greatly influenced by the porn industry (and thus highly amusing) that I was treated to during his throes of what I can assume were passion.

He drove me home in the morning, on his way in to continue his great string of sucesses in his field, complaining with great pride that he hasn't has a day off in months. I quietly hid behind a guise of hung over, happy to participate in the conversation as little as I could. When he dropped me off in front of my building, I gave him a quick kiss and wished him a good day. He said he would call soon, and I wished him a good day again, ardently praying that he won't.

Well, at least I can now say that I have seen Westchester. Its very green and suburban.