The 'Pretend to be An Ameriskank' Short-Story Contest

Recently on the forum, we ran a fiction contest. Entrants were asked to write a short piece in which they pretend to be an oh-so witty and clever American female describing her last date. Some of the entries were truly hilarious and I'd like to share them for your enjoyment...

To get the ball rolling, I started-off with the following:

His name was Ryan, Age 28, Freelance Writer, Single. When Ryan answered my ad, he was very polite but shy, as if he thought my answering machine would find him lackluster and hang up on him. "Hi, this is ... Uh, I'm Ryan, and it's very nice to meet you. Well OK, I haven't met you yet. And I guess I'm not even talking to you now, really. But maybe we can go out sometime, if you don't, uh, mind." And so on, for almost two whole minutes! He seemed surprised and even shyer when I called him back. And I soon found out why!

After spending much of the afternoon being a feisty, impetuous woman who struggles relentlessly against gender-stereotypes, I left home to meet Ryan in an upscale-esque coffee-chain, where he said he spent a lot of his time. He was blond and young-looking and dressed in a gas-station attendant's jacket with the name "Tony" stitched on the breast. He was already seated when I arrived, and did NOT stand up to greet me. (So much for manners!) Ryan was already nursing a cup of half-cold coffee, but hastened to say that I should order anything I wanted. But then, he stood up to accompany me to the counter. I noticed he was, well, BIG. As in, 6-foot-5, and not exactly slender. Now, I like tall men, but 6-5 and not slender is truly inconsiderate! But the nastiest shock was still to come.

As my coffee was being poured, and with absolutely no prompting from me, Ryan grabbed my buttocks and shouted, "Hey, chick! I like to poo my pants and bounce on a hoppity-hop -- that's my bag, baby! Screw the chitchat, skirt- lemme give ya some sugar! Party with the Ryanator like it's 1999! Woo-hoo! Give it up, sweet-cheeks! I wanna do ya so badly!"

"I needn't 'do' so badly as you!" I retorted tartly, adjusted my spectacles and poured my mug down the front of his pants, leaving all my readers with a nagging suspicion that I had utterly misrepresented Ryan's behavior in order to make him look stupid and loutish. And without a hint that I was only after a free drink and never had any intention to date him at all, I hoppity-hopped my cute ass straight out the door. Another total loser!

(Sigh!) Are there no decent men out there at all??

alonso's entry:

Girls, I just had the best idea. Someone should write a book about being a single gal dating in the city!!! I don't think anyone's ever done that!!! My horror stories alone would make a full length novel!!!

Here, I'll start with one example.

"Carl" was this sort-of cute guy I worked with. Now, I knew he had wanted me for a long time (it's sooooo obvious when these boys are infatuated with you), but this was during the time I was dating Alonso, so I'd never really given Carl any encouragement -- well, beyond just flirting with him and going out for drinks a few times, and sure, I kissed him once or twice after a few cosmos, but that obviously doesn't count. Plus, Carl was not really my type. I'm looking for love in all the right places, and I'm flexible. To take one example, although I usually only date Swedish-American men between 6' 1" and 6' 1 3/4", with sandy-blonde hair, prefeably lightly freckled, I've sometimes even lowered my standards to date Norwegian-American men of the same size. But Carl -- Carl was just Danish-American and 6' 1/2", and to call his hair medium-blonde would be generous. Look, how much do I have to compromise?

But right around this time, the thing with Alonso was basically over. I mean, I hadn't told him yet, or anything, but I'd pretty much decided he was too boring for me, and that I'd probably break up with him within a few months, so basically, I was single again. It was right about then that I decided I might give Carl a chance. Not that I told Carl about Alonso; that might discourage his interest.

Well, so he asked me out, for the umpteenth time, and this time I said "Okay -- but only if you take me to the fanciest restaurant in town. I'm worth it!" Of course, he agreed.

Well, I had to postpone the date four times (I told him my girlfriend was undergoing a suicidal episode and my mom had to have surgery, but the real problem was that Philippe had been coming on to me and I was hoping he'd ask me out, plus the third time I postponed, I got these cool backstage passes to see R. Kelly, so obviously hanging out with Carl was not on the agenda). But eventually, I had no better offers (except Alonso, of course, but he so readily accepted my excuse that I had a hair appointment that he clearly didn't care enough about me to deserve my company), so I finally followed through and met up with Carl.

Well, that date was a disaster, let me tell you. Like a good little puppy dog, Carl showed up right on time to pick me up. How borrrrring and predictable. Doesn't he know a girl likes a little uncertainty and mystery in a date? Of course, I kept him waiting for an hour and a half. Really, isn't it rude of a man to show up right on time? Then, he was fretting and fidgeting about being late for our reservation at the restaurant. I can't imagine why, although by that time I was famished and I'll admit I was ready to pitch a fit if we weren't seated immediately -- hey, a girl's got to eat! Well, wouldn't you know it, we got to the restaurant and had to wait fifteeen minutes because we'd missed our reservation. Of course, I was furious, and Carl did nothing to improve the situation -- hello, ever hear of slipping the maitre'd a fifty, Carl? Talk about lack of problem-solving skills -- he was like a twelve year old in his ineptitude.

It went downhill from there. After I'd ordered the lobster thermidor with a side of beluga caviar, Carl just had nothing to say for himself. I was telling him this fascinating anecdote about my argument with my mother over the psychotherapy I've been undergoing to deal with the trauma from my acute and terminal endometriosis, and in the course of 55 minutes, I don't think he said more than six or seven supportive things while I was pausing for breath. Memo to Carl: It takes two to have a conversation! At some point, I think even the clueless Carl figured out that he needed to say something, because he started blathering something about his new niece and asking me some retarded geek-boy question about what I thought of the "Ukrainian political crisis," whatever the hell that is. Well, that doesn't pass the test for date conversation, Rain Man -- and I let him know that by giving him my coldest stare possible until he finished stammering out whatever he had been trying to say.

The whole experience was growing more and more embarrassing by the minute. I mean, I'm known at Le Criterion. I have to see these people every week when I have my dates take me there (who'll be the lucky fellow next week?). I could see Enrique, the headwaiter, just rolling his eyes at the absolute hopelessness of Carl. Look, I'm not shallow, but a BBW like me has some pride, and sitting across the table from this bland, boring, oh-so-polite six foot tall, generic bodybuilder type with ridiculously boyish news-anchor features was causing me the most acute shame I've ever experienced. In fact, I'm not sure I've ever experienced shame other than in such a situation.

Well, the meal FINALLY and mercifully came to a conclusion, after I'd eaten the black truffle souffle I ordered for dessert (it was only $55, and I DESERVED it after the hell I'd been through over the past hour and a half).

Carl lamely started muttering something about going to the hotel bar for drinks, but I saw right through that old ploy -- it's the oldest excuse in the book for trying to get a girl hammered so you can get in her pants, and that's all that any of them want. I like a nice drinky-poo as well as the next girl, but not with Carl breathing down my neck, thank you very much! If nothing else, that would really cramp my style by discouraging the other fellows in the bar from approaching me! So I suggested a "compromise" in the hopes of salvaging some value from the evening. "Let's go to Club Swank -- they've got great champagne and the dancing is terrific!" Well, Carl looked a bit put out; I gather he doesn't like dancing that much (he must be a repressed homo afraid of my stellar dance moves, because there can hardly be any other reason a normal man wouldn't want to flail around on a blaringly-loud and crowded dance floor), but right about then I got distracted because I got a call from Marco on my cell. I couldn't have talked to him for more than 20, 25 minutes at the most, and it was obviously necessary because we needed to plan our trip to the beach house next week, but Carl, who apparently has some sort of jealous stalker thing going on, was looking even more dissatisfied when I hung up. Well, what can I say, I'm too nice for my own good, as all you girls know, so rather than breaking off the date right then and going over to Mauricio's place (which he's been begging me to do -- keep begging, Mauricio, one day your ship MIGHT just come in!), I foolishly decided to play out the date with Carl to the bitter end.

Well, Club Swank was fun, sort of -- I, of course, didn't pay a cover, though Alex the doorman almost didn't let Carl in at all -- how funny! I could have vouched for him but, again, I've got a reputation to protect, so I just pretended I didn't know him as he begged Alex to let him in -- I think he ended up paying twice the actual cover! It got more and more miserable from there on.

Once we got inside, I had Carl order a bottle of Dom -- hey, if I'm going to waste my time on some loser, he'd better bring SOMETHING to the table. Guys started hitting on me immediately, of course, but that's nothing new. What was new was Carl cramping my style by insisting on trying to TALK to me one-on-one the whole time. Well, I solved that pretty quickly by telling him I didn't feel well and was going to the ladies' room. Fifty minutes later I saw him out of the corner of my eye as I was grinding on the dance floor with Rufus, this gorgeous dude who had picked me up as I was pretending to head back to the ladies' room (I cannot tell a lie -- I did him in the ladies' room! Look, a girl has needs!). Carl was just looking lost and confused -- can't he take a hint? Fortunately, there was no danger of his making some sort of scene -- Rufus is 300 lbs. and has prison tattoos from head to foot, so Carl knew better than to try anything.

That's the last I saw of Carl -- he didn't even say goodbye or thank me for my company! Just as well -- a guy as clueless as he was might have had some ridiculous horndog notions about trying to kiss me or something, and after the night I'd had, I don't know if I could have maintained my poise in that situation.

So that's my story, girls. It sucks to be single in the city. Of course, we know, all the good men are either taken or gay.

MaryMark wrote in a very similar vein:

Well, I like met this sorta-cute guy at Starbucks. He was wearing an Armani suit with a Rolex, so I like knew he had some style, not to mention money. We talked, and he made me laugh. I just had to give him my number. His name is Robert-how prosaic!

So, he like called me on Wed. night for a date on Saturday! Can you believe it? Doesn't he like know that if he wants a Saturday date that he HAS to call by 9 Tuesday night?! Hasn't he read The Rules? I don't care if he has to help his family care for his Grandmother; I don't care if he can't, like, make plans far in advance. Robert's, like, totally clueless!

But, he was wearing the Armani suit with a Rolex, so I said yes. Can't turn down a sorta-cute guy with money, can we ladies?

So, what does he do but show up on time Saturday night? OMG!! Doesn't he know a girl likes some unpredictability and mystery on a first date? I mean, come on! But he made plans to go to this hot restaurant, Le Petit Paris, which is like the best in the city. They like have $1,000 bottles of wine there. I know everyone there, and I like to see them every week with my new dates.

Even though he showed up on time, I guess I can forgive him that sin. I mean, after all, he showed up in this like brand new, Mercedes CL-600! Talk about hot! I mean, this thing costs well into the six figures, so I know he has to have some money. Hey, I'm worth every cent he spends on me.

Anyway, we like go for a drive along the river. He put the top down. The moon was out, and it was SO romantic-just not with him. He tried talking about the history of the waterfront, pointing out landmarks, and stupid stuff like that. He didn't know what Wild On E was! I, like, asked him who he liked better, Brooke Burke of Cindy Taylor as the host. He said who? How out of touch can a guy be?! Oh well, what can a girl do? Might as well make the best of a bad evening, and get the most expensive things on the menu. At least I got a ride in a hot car, and I got seen in one too. Pierre, the headwaiter, and his friends at the restaurant will be blown away when they see me step out of that hot, CL-600!

So, we finally get to Le Petit Paris, and we like get seated. We order, and of course I get the most expensive thing on the menu. I mean, I can't even pronounce what I got! I did order us a nice, expensive bottle of DP. So, while we're waiting for the food to come, Robert, this clueless loser, talks about French Revolution; he like asks me what I thought of it compared to the American Revolution-OMG! What do I care about that?!

We get out dinners. The food is really good, so we don't talk much. I drank most of the DP, because Robert is such a dork. He's like worried about getting a DUI! He's like, worried about smashing up his car, OMG! Why can't this loser/dork lighten up?!

Then, he tries the oldest trick in the book: he suggests we go to a nice, hotel bar! Like I'm going to get drunk, so he has a handy room to bang me in-OMG! What kind of a girl does Robert think I am? So, I suggested we go to 21, the swankiest club in the city.

We like pull up to the curb in front of 21, and Robert is allowed to park there, like he's a VIP or something. Wow, I like feel so important! Like everyone is checking me out! Much to my surprise, we got in. I like know Rich, the bouncer there (we're friends), and he wouldn't think Robert is cool. So, I like flirt with Rich, and I see this angry jealous look in Robert's eys-OMG! What right does he have to be jealous of me? It's not like we're going out or anything...

So, we get out on the dance floor, and Robert is gyrating so clumsily. He looked so dorky out there-ugghh!! So, I see this hot guy, Juan (another friend), and I like start dancing with him. We're like grinding our hips into each other, and he's sliding his hands over my boobs. I wanted to take Juan back to the ladies room so I could give him a quickie, but I can't piss off Robert too much, can I?

Well, I get off the dance floor, and Robert is nowhere to be found. I walk out to the front door, and his Mercedes is gone. He left me there! How dare he! What did I do to him? It's not like I boinked Juan, Rich, or anyone else. Just because I simulated sexual intercourse on the dance floor with my friend doesn't mean anything, you know?

Anyway, so I run into Robert at Starbucks the next week, and I gave him a piece of my mind; I let him have it!

"You're such a jerk! How dare you leave me there at 21!"

"Well, you blew me off. You spent your time with that guy; I figured he could take you home. Either that, or you could get a cab home. After all, you're a big girl."

"That's not the point, you asshole!"

"Then what is? That you ignored me? That you were getting it on with that guy on the dance floor?"

"OMG, we're just friends! It's not like there's anything going on, " I said with a sigh, rolling my eyes. Jeez, guys can be so clueless!

"Yeah, right."

Starbucks got real quiet, and all eyes are on us. I think most people are siding with me. After all, I was the poor damsel in distress, left to languish at 21 on Saturday night...

"Oh, you want to know something, Marina, " he says to me.

"No, but you're gonna tell me anyway, aren't you?"

"Yep. First of all, the car wasn't mine. I own a Mazda Miata. My buddy, George, owns the CL-600-hot car. He took a trip upstate to the mountains, and he wanted to borrow my car, since it's better on the twisting roads up there. I asked him what I was gonna do for wheels; he tossed me the keys to his CL. I said cool, I have a date, and that'll impress her.

"Second of all, I didn't pay full price for the suit. My brother is a Sales VP with Armani, and I get the suits at, shall we say, a handsome discount. I just LOVE getting a good deal on nice stuff. Don't you?

"Finally, the Rolex is used. My parents own a jewelry shop, and they took it in on trade. My dad had a watchmaker check it out, and I got it for a nice discount too, just like the suit. I paid a few hundred for it. A new one would cost more than I can pay. Even if I were rich, it's against my religion to pay full price for anything anyhow." he said smugly, folding his arms across his chest. Meanwhile, all the customers are watching us.

"Oooo!!! Liar!!! You lied to me, Robert!! How dare you! You act all rich and shit, and you paid Wal-Mart prices for Bergdorf merchandise! How dare you! I feel so violated. How can I ever trust you? How could I go out with again, knowing what I know now?"

"Who said I wanted to, Darlin'?"

Well, ladies, that's the end of another crappy date. I guess you have to kiss a lot of toads to find Prince Charming.

But my personal favorite was written by Solaris:

Article by Rachael Gold-Dyger

Beware the Tissot Watch
----------------------------
(My 200th post)

Every girl has had a date that "didn't go so well". In fact, many of us have had plenty of them. Now I don't consider myself to be a sweet and naive young thing, but the levels to which some men have stooped in order to try to score truly brought me up short on a recent date. It seems that men are prepared to ignore any semblance of honesty in order to "get some". Nothing new there, but what do you do when you discover that his friends are in on it too?

Having been single for about nine months (disregarding the occasional fling) I decided to put myself back on the market for a serious boyfriend. Getting back into the swing of the dating game after a break is always difficult. As usual, when a woman's hunting instinct has been dulled through lack of use, a few duds tend to creep through at first. The first few tries with various guys were laughably boring, one even trying the "Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?" line to get me to swoon into his arms! I thought that one went out about the same time women stopped men from beating them over the head with a club!

Alright, avoiding a serious digression about pickup lines... After a few of these failed attempts, I noticed a cute-ish guy with the right style at the place I eat lunch on workdays. I hadn't noticed him before so I assumed he must have started a new job somewhere nearby. Little did I know! At this point, I need to make a small note about that "cute-ish" part I mentioned. I know my regular readers are going to be asking, "But Rachael! You said not to go after the guy unless he was definitely in the 'cute' bracket! Otherwise he won't be able to appreciate you! Why are you breaking your own rules?" Well ladies that's because this guy had something many others do not... a sense of STYLE.

You see he was wearing the most impeccable Gucci shirt with great matching Boss trousers (you know those really soft ones that flow!) and a fantastic Tissot watch. No I didn't happen to notice all this in a glance, but how I found out will come out later... Just be patient girls! But the point is, this guy had something smooth happening and I wanted a taste of that!

So this guy was definitely boyfriend material at first glance. And second. I think he noticed at that point because he smiled shyly and went back to drinking his coffee. I wasn't going to have any of that so I just up and sat next to him. He looked at me with what I can only say was shock, but we soon got chatting and I found that this guy had uncommonly good sense! That is, he agreed with everything I said, but I think we can skip over that point! There was obviously chemistry between us, so we organized a date for Friday and I was sure I'd have him eating out of my hand by the end of it.

Doesn't it all just sound rosy at this point girls? Cute (ok, -ish) guy with good sense of style, good common sense and a good job (well if he works anywhere near me he does!). Sounds great. Well unfortunately for me this was all just another of those boyish pranks men like to play so much. I swear its as if they never grew up and that the stuff that works when you're twelve should still work when you're in your twenties, or WORSE, thirties!

David, (that was his name) agreed to pick me up from my place at 7 so we could get started early. Plus he promised I'd like the ride. My curiosity was piqued, so I waited patiently and would you believe he showed up in a CLASSIC JAGUAR! WOW! Big points for David, and exactly on seven as well! This man was fast rising above all the other guys I'd ever dated put together and we hadn't even been out on one date yet! We went out to a great place for the evening with plenty of good wine and good food and even went for a nice long drive past the river. The jag was purring all the way, and if it hadn't been so loud, you could have heard me purring too...

During our conversations, and towards the end of the night I asked David where he had found such a great watch, to which he casually replied, "oh that's not mine, its a friend's". They say a woman's intuition allows her to perceive things outside the normal range of communication. Well mine had just become full blown telepathy! "What do you mean, a friend's?", I asked cautiously. David looked slightly embarrassed and tried to brush the question off. Now I was really curious! I pushed him and pushed him for a straight answer, trying all of the various information gathering techniques a woman has at her disposal. Indirect questions, sympathy, I even threatened to take the watch off him so I could get a better look at it!

Eventually he stopped the car and became really threatening. The date had been going downhill for the last hour or so ever since the watch came up and David obviously felt now was the time to exercise his masculine arrogance. "Look, I don't know why you can't just let it drop instead of spoiling a perfectly good evening", he said in a voice that implied he was to be obeyed without question. So I laid into him, telling him that if he couldn't even be honest on a first date, about something as simple as a watch then there was no way he should even think about going on a second. I also told him that if he didn't tell me where he got it I would have to consider it stolen property and would report him to the police.

Well that did it. He shut right up and the patriarchal figure suddenly became the sheepish little boy caught doing the wrong thing. He sheepishly explained that the watch was borrowed from a friend to help complete the image he was going for. In fact, not only the watch was borrowed, but the car AS WELL! It turns out that him and his group of buddies each had one piece of the vast masquerade he had put together for me and would take turns having "the complete package" in order to get dates! So now I was a woman not only trying to defend myself from one lying male, but a GROUP of them standing in the shadows propping him up!

Naturally I demanded that he take me home at once, which he got all huffy about and started muttering something to himself about "Wait till Zenpriest hears about this...". I had no idea what he was on about but simply took it as a sign that he was, indeed, crazy. I still shake my head when I think about the duplicitousness of this man. Not able to even lie for himself, he has to get his buddies to help him out. And they are taking turns!

Surely this can't be the only group of guys out there trying to pull this stunt. I told all the girls at work of course and they were equally aghast that the dating game had reached this new and dangerous level. I even heard that David tried his luck at the cafe across the street but was shot down straight away before he could pull the moves on any of the girls there. One of the ladies had recognized his Tissot watch from my story and shooed him away! So I guess the moral of the story for all you girls getting back into dating after a break is BEWARE THE TISSOT WATCH!

These entries were so realistic, they were scary. And yet, hilarious.

Now, I know what many women out there will say in reaction to this: "I exercise the option to pay on dates! I'm a liberated woman!"

And do you know why the above statement is so dishonest and phony and annoying?

Because a woman calling herself 'liberated' because she exercises the option to pay on dates is a bit like a man calling himself a 'chef' because he exercises the option to cook for his wife without ever acknowledging that he'll expect her to cook if he were to change his mind some day.

As long as a woman refuses to recognize the underlying sexist expectation that it's possible for her NOT to pay for her part of a date, then she's not truly liberated. If a woman were to say instead: "I recognize my DUTY to pay on dates!" that'd be more appropriate. But lay that aside.

Now here's a good question which deserves some thought: WHY are the above types of vignettes funny?

They're funny because, like all satire, they contain a big grain of truth.

And 'ladies' (I know you're there) why don't you think for a second about what the grain of truth might suggest?

If a woman can roll-over a bunch of men like a T-34 tank with total impunity, if a woman can humiliate a man in the ways above, if a woman can use a man in that kind of way without fear of retaliation or physical harm and then claim to be the victim at the end, then what does that suggest?

It would suggest that she commands some kind of power. And lots of it.

And it also suggests she wouldn't be afraid to use it because she wouldn't be penalized for doing so. Indeed: if a man were to behave in such a fashion, he'd probably get his ass whupped before long.

So, for those of you 'ladies' who come to this web-site wondering what on earth would motivate a self-described 'nice guy' to write such angry things about women (it BAFFLES YOU, or so you claim!) here is the answer as clear as it can be made...

The reason why is: despite what is obvious, SO MANY WOMEN LIKE TO PLAY 'VICTIM' AND DISACKNOWLEDGE THAT THEY HAVE ANY POWER AT ALL!

Is the source of this anger becoming any clearer to you now?

These kinds of vignettes are funny precisely because they satirize-- and thus make less-threatening -- the type of power that we all know women can command. But, at the same time, so many women (in an EXTREMELY cowardly, dishonest, conniving and infantile fashion!) pretend that they don't have any power so that they won't be held accountable for how they use-- or abuse-- it.

With me so far? Good.

So ladies: If you want to be accepted-- and respected-- as an equal then there are two simple things that you can do... are you ready? Got your notebooks out?

Here they are: If you want to be accepted and respected as an equal, then STOP PRETENDING TO BE A POWERLESS VICTIM! And on top of that, be prepared to GIVE THE SAME KIND OF RESPECT THAT YOU DEMAND!

Got it?

I highly doubt it.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Don't argue. You cannot win. You cannot beat a woman in an argument. It's impossible. You will not win. Because men, we're handicapped in an argument because we have a need to make sense. A woman ain't gonna let a thing like that fuck up her argument because she's not in for sense. She's in it for distance and irritation. 'How long can I talk before this motherfucker snaps?'" -- Chris Rock, Never Scared (2004)

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