To properly achieve the mindset of the hipster one must stomach dozens of PBR's while listening to hours of shitty indie music. Only then can one don the costume of the Hipster and mingle among their kind without its most experience of members getting suspicious. . . It is best to at least smell like them. Other necessary items include a pack of cigarettes--the more disgusting the better, for in the hipster mind to go against the grain is choice, to be different from the status-quo means a unique acquired tasted, and if it cannot be obtained it can always be faked--a smug sense of entitlement, glasses (if you don't need them), contacts (if you need glasses), and if at all possible, facial hair strung out like spotty wisps about the neck and face.
If you have these things, and the talent, you too can become an UNDERCOVER HIPSTER, and as I soon found out, in the hipster world, idiocy applies to both sexes. . .
Case #005: The Hipster Chick
Before I called her I felt the need to drink some beer. When I felt boozed up enough I called her, I made every effort to seem desperate. Hipster chicks dig that sort of shit--they like to think its because you've endured so much and faced much prejudice from the mass of callus people deemed unhip that you have no other choice than to seek some love. They like being saving graces. I learned her name to be Ethel, a horrible name which she had no other choice than to love because it was so unhip it was hip. She was quite busy she said, as she was in the middle of some macroni sculpture project but would make time for me on Friday. Oh gee, well thanks a lot Ethel, its nice when a girl gives out handouts, especially when she lets you that she's doing you a favor for even being seen with her.
On Friday I felt quite horrible, and the day seemed to agree with me. There were dark grey clouds in the sky rallying for a little rain. They remained that way all day, scarcely letting the sun come out to play. When the time came I readied myself in my hipster gear. The place we were to visit was called The Crab Pot, a restaurant/bar said to be very hip.
When I arrived she was not there, a circumstance I should have foreseen, as its much cooler to arrive late than on time--God forbid you show up early. While I waited I took in the place, as Ethel had suggested it and I had never been before, nor even heard of it. I could see why she picked the place, it was a veritable hipsters nest teeming with tremendously hip activity. The majority of the people there I assumed came for the atmosphere--all the dining tables were different, with mismatching chairs, stools, stumps, rocks, and other strange things manipulated into torturous furniture. Overhead, planets hung from the rafters and mingled with rockets and stuffed birds. There were also dangling wooden crabs in the mix, that pinched at whales spouting water and schools of fish. I know not what this sort of decor could be called, though it seemed as if someone was going for a theme, but didn't quite know the true meaning of the word; instead mixing a bunch of shit in a conglomeration of douchery that boggled the mind and offended the eyes. Other people actually liked it though, as I sat waiting like a jack ass I heard man people remarking how pleasing they found it all was.
I talked a lot of shit in my head, looked at the menu (Little Mermaid Crab Cakes, and Enchantment Under The Sea Shrimp Platter were just a few of the retarded names dolled out to dishes in an effort to seem cool) and stared at one particular server who had a massive gnarly beard hanging from his face like he was going for the wizard look (he succeeded in this endeavor, in my opinion). I figured he would be our server, my luck being what it was, and imagined all the facial hair I'd have in my food on account of it. Finally she arrived, looking not much unlike she did when I first met her. She wore her hair up, had some shade of lipstick on that she probably bought only because the name of it sounded funny to her, and brown eyes set under a heavy brow. I wouldn't go so far as to say she was ugly, as I'm no gem myself, but she wasn't what one could consider a classic beauty. The ugliest things about her were her vanity and nasally voice; which one I loathe the least I have yet to decide.
We sat at a green oak table, surrounded by metal chairs and tree stumps. She made herself quite comfortable, and looked all along the ceiling counting crabs and planets; looked at her damn iPhone; looked at all the other hipsters; looked at her fingers nails; looked at her self in a compact mirror; looked everywhere and at everyone but me. She ordered some hip sounding drink I had never heard of before, while I ordered a simple beer. When they arrived she sipped hers and finally looked at me.
"So what did you do to Nathaniel?" She asked.
"Nothing." I said, feeling a little like I was being interrogated.
"No. You did something. I know Nathaniel cannot handle his drink. Can you handle your drink? You did something. He hasn't threatened to rape someone in a long while. He only does that when someone really gets him. So you got him alright. What did you do?"
"Did he get raped?"
"Who?"
"The last guy he threatened to rape. I mean does he really rape people? He looks like the type."
"Oh. No. Well, if you consider having a bike stolen getting raped, then yes. But--"
"A bike?"
"Yeah a bicycle. A real nice one too. I don't know what it was called, but it was nice. My brother has a bike. A nice one. I've ridden bikes before too. All kinds of bikes. Tricycles are funny, unicycles even funnier. But I know all about that, what I don't know is--"
The waiter came up, with his massive beard, and she ordered a seafood platter thing, and I a steak. By now she was quite flustered by her own curiosity, and couldn't quite sit still.
"So?" She asked. "And why did you order a steak at a seafood restaurant, that's sooo stupid."
"So what?" I asked cruelly. "I always get steak and lobster at Sizzler. You know Sizzler?" She cringed, as most people do when I mention Sizzler, but the truth is Sizzler is a place you go when you don't want to be bothered. You can even show up high and no one says anything. Believe me it makes for a good time, and the food isn't as horrible as people assume; I've had shittier steaks at Outback Steakhouse.
"Yeah I know it. But that's not what I want to know. What did you do?" She nearly burst out of her seat saying it, and had it not been so loud in the restaurant, I'm certain it would have made a scene.
"He tried to get me on Great Expectations. I wouldn't let him. People who base their superiority on their knowledge being far more vast than anyone else's crumble when you prove they aren't omnipotent." I drank some beer. "I didn't curse him out or anything, or insult his mother, or any of that. Though I easily could have."
"How disappointing. I thought--" she looked quite depressed, her funny colored lips curled into a frown that so impressed upon me their sadness I felt ashamed I hadn't decked the guy.
"Yes?"
"Nothing."
She was rather cold after that, until dinner came which seemed to liven her up. I myself was on my fourth beer and had a nice high going that allowed me to enjoy my meal and ignore her. She started talking about herself in great detail that I won't bore the reader with by repeating, though I will provide a rubric: she was born in Illinois, liked a lot of bands I had never heard of, had a cousin who once threw up all over her, was in theater club in high school, had tattoos of various happy faced animals, enjoyed David Lynch in a fanatical manner, and had a love for studded belts that she could never shed. I was well into my steak (which was great by the way) when she got the idea that after dinner we should go back to The Fox and Fiddle. I felt it a bad idea.
"What?" She was quite upset suddenly, but only for an instant. Her lips then turned into a sly smile. "I was hoping for a round two."
"There will be no round two. That wouldn't be a fight. Four on one? More like a brawl. And I wouldn't win."
"Oh I don't care who wins."
I scoffed.
"Well I do."
"How bout if you go, I'll let you sleep with me."
I couldn't help but laugh. She didn't expect this response, and flashed that wretched frown of hers once again.
"Did you ever think that after such a fight I wouldn't be able to do anything? Did you think that perhaps--just maybe you aren't worth fighting for?"
"Well if you're going to be rude. . ."
"Well if you're going to be stupid. . ."
She gave me an evil glare. She sat across the table with evil intentions, the knife in her hand looking less like an eating utensil and more like a deadly weapon.
"You just think you're smart because you know of all those books from like four-hundred years ago."
"Four-hundred years ago? Care to make another guess my dear?" I asked.
"You're a real asshole you know that?! I'm not your dear! I'm not your anything! And never will be! You sit here, as I suppose you sit everywhere--looking down on everyone and talking shit. Acting like you're better than everyone else yet you still hang around them, loathing them and everything about them. Why don't you just leave? Why don't you find people you actually like, and who are as smart as you? As smart as you think you are? My guess is you can't find any of your own friends. So you just hang out with people and are mean and jealous because they can make real friends and all of that. Can live social lives. Can be other things other than a self-righteous asshole that doesn't like anyone or anything."
This made me think a little, but she had to ruin it, as she then said:
"You know what you are?" She asked rather matter of fact, like there was no use in asking in the first place. "A fucking hater. . . and I can't stand fucking haters."
"A real epidemic as of late."
"Yeah you're probably some cyber bully too. You pick on little kids?"
"I pick on everyone. . ."
"Oh, so you are one?"
"A what?" I asked. "A cyber bully? Maybe. Maybe not. May I remind you though--" she pulled out her iPhone at this point, and checked up on the Almighty Facebook. "May I remind you we are not in cyber space. Though it appears these days cyber space and reality are becoming one in the same. A horrible thought." So horrible in fact I finished my beer upon its surfacing.
She slammed her phone on the table (think not this to be hyperbole, she really slammed the damn thing) and looked at me with ugly eyes to match her ugly face. In my imagination I saw steam coming from her nostrils.
"You really are an ass aren't you? I know we aren't in cyberspace. A bully is a bully. You're full of shit."
I thought to inform her of being quite full of shit herself, but instead replied:
"An ass, a bully, or full of shit. Which one is it?"
"All three!" She said with passion. She grabbed her phone and left. Suddenly the room seemed more peaceful. The waiter came up then and asked if I would like the check. I told him yes, though I had very little money to speak of and thought of all the things I would much rather spend it on: namely, beer. So as the waiter went off to print up the check, I pulled out my pack and lit up a cigarette right in the middle of the restaurant/bar. I did this all very casually, and got a few puffs and wild stares in before another waiter came up to me.
"Sir, you can't smoke inside."
"I know," I replied, again rather casually.
"Sir, you have to smoke outside."
"I know."
"Sir...?"
"I know, I know." I said quite annoyed and swatted him away with my hand as if he were a fly.
The next thing I remember was a pair of large gorilla hands grabbing me by the shoulders and pulling me out of my seat, all in one motion. My wrist was then seized with great strength, clenching tighter and tighter until I let go of the cigarette. It fell on the table and was put out with a glass of water, as if it were a bomb lit by a fuse. I was then chucked out the door and encouraged never to come back. I never saw the beast with gorllia hands that tossed me out, and still to this day I believe The Crab Pot has a gorilla for a bouncer. . .
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