The Plague of the Lames

I declare that it is ineffectual for men to ignore a woman's message of: "STAY AWAY, I'M NOT INTERESTED." Particularly when it is clearly relayed through body language, facial expression and short, trite responses. Yet, all too often, in spite of all this, some socially inept men insistently and continually pursue women who rest beyond their reach.

I acknowledge that this declaration is neither original nor clever. However, it seems that no matter how many times we women announce this, our gripes fall upon deaf ears. Or, perhaps, since the women who regard this pursuance as unacceptable and bothersome rarely, if ever, find ourselves among such men in social situations. Thus, our cries for help and warnings that our disinclination is not a game of "hard-to-get," but a real message that we'd rather not have your company -- never reach it to the population that needs to hear it. In fact, it is likely that we are merely singing to the choir. We're simply venting to a crowd of men and women who are already in the know.

So, what's left to do? I've tried being polite and engaging in small talk with men who wouldn't have a chance in hell at walking me to the bus stop, let alone taking me out for a date. However, in my experience, such a warm disposition is almost always misconstrued as a welcome mat. Men take my engagement as a sign that they have a chance. Somehow my response that "it is a nice day today," or that "I too, am proud to have Obama as my president," seems to convince some already delusional man that I am attainable.

Now, some have asked how I know right away that a man hasn't a chance in the world. Take a run-in I had with a run-of-the-mill Hustle Man on the subway last week:

Well, for starters we're at the subway station and I'm quietly waiting for the next train, listening to my iPod and leafing through a book. There is a man pacing back and forth peddling CD's and asking anyone if they have an extra transit pass. At this point than I've already surmised that our meeting certainly isn't kismet. On the train, he encroached on my personal space by sitting much too close to me (while ignoring every unspoken social rule because there were other free seats). By this point, you can bet I've gone from being amused by his antics to being annoyed by his ignorance.

And still, he does the unthinkable. He taps me on my thigh. Now I'm pissed. It wasn't necessary to touch me. It isn't acceptable to touch me. I rip my iPod from my ears, and turn and ask the man not to touch me. He starts rambling about how he didn't mean anything and how he just wanted to know how he could make me smile. He went on with the age-old line about how I was too pretty not to smile.

I excused myself and moved to one of the many free seats on the train, turned my music to top volume and ignored the fool until I reached my stop.