Never had I met someone who I hated so immediately. On the one hand, I thought I was over hating new people. I thought I subscribed to the life is too short philosophy, and if there was a person that I would even just potentially hate, I would take myself out of the situation by walking away abruptly.
But you know what? It’s because I subscribe to the life is too short philosophy that I hated this person so instantly. I was in a situation where I couldn’t walk away, and so my options were to either pretend I like her or publicly display that I do not. Life is too short to fuck around, so I chose the latter.
The thing is, she’s a combination of at least six different categories of people that I despise, all rolled into one short, squat, fat little girl.
I met my friends, visitors from out of town, at Xu, a swanky lounge here in Ho Chi Minh city. Their local friend was this putrid, horrid little human being, whose hand I shook because I didn’t know any better at the time. I had no idea she was disgusting.
The thing is, she wanted to hold all the knowledge and information. The out-of-towners would ask for advice, “Where’s the best pho?” “Where’s can we go to drink beer on the street?” and when I tried to answer, I’d be immediately shut down by this horrible monster, who would validate all of her responses with, “I’ve lived here for 12 years, I should know.”
We were deciding where to eat for dinner, and I asked what sort of local food they wanted. Terrible Fat Girl replied, “Uh, we’re not eating Vietnamese food. I’m taking them for sushi.”
“You’re taking them for sushi on their first night in Vietnam?” I asked.
“Yeah. Vietnamese food sucks here,” she said. “It’s way better in Canada.” We were both from Canada, as were our out-of-towner guests, the Honeymooners.
“Yeah, the Viet food’s good in Canada,” I agreed, smiling, trying to maintain civility. “But it doesn’t beat Vietnam. How can it? They should try Pho Le! Huynh Hoa! At least Nha Hang Ngon?”
“No. Look, I’ve lived here for 12 years, I don’t think you want to argue with me.”
“Okay, but I’ve lived in Canada for the 35 years.”
“So if you’re saying you know more about Vietnamese food in Vietnam because you’ve lived here for 12 years, then I’m saying I know more about Vietnamese food in Canada because I’ve lived there for 35 years.” I gave logic a shot.
“No. I know more about food here and food there than you do.”
So this is the type of person she was. Not only did she have strong opinions about things – which is absolutely fine – but she wouldn’t even hear anyone else’s opinions on the same subjects. She wasn’t interested in conversation, she was interested in saying something and everyone agreeing.
God, it got to the point where we all agreed to eat and drink at the touristy market (which I’d never do, but suggest for first-time visitors because it’s a thing and a much better thing than fucking sushi). The Honeymooners were down because it was a walk away from their hotel, and they were jetlagged and had a 6am wake-up call the next morning.
So with that settled, we all shuffled into a taxi. While the rest of us chatted in the back, the Fat Little Fucker told the cab driver a different destination: a fancy-ish fusion restaurant along the promenade that was popular for their steak frites. “Hey Fatty – stop fucking around,” I said, along the lines. “Tell him Bin Thanh Market, you chunky turd fucker.” She told him.
What she was doing was showing off. She wanted to show off her life to her old school friend (the girl half of the Honeymooners). Her conversation was littered with her accomplishments and who she knew and which places they owned.
Jesus fucking Christ.
Sometime in the last third of the night, I mentioned where they should go in Bangkok. Which restaurants and neighborhoods they should check out as first-time visitors. She went into a tirade about how Bangkok now has Michelin-star restaurants and top-notch lounges and they should go to those. I agreed. “Bangkok is more modern than Tokyo, you should check out everything.” But she wasn’t looking for me to agree with her – she was looking for a fight. She argued with, not with me but at me, until I had to say something in a situation where I usually say nothing and leave.
“What the fuck is wrong with you? Why are you so angry? What’s your fucking problem?” I was ready to scrap. This bitchy little fuck – I was ready to fucking go.
“Oh, it’s just the way I talk, I have resting bitch face.”
“This isn’t about resting bitch face. You just fucking suck. Holy shit, I meet a thousand people a month and get along with them, especially for just one night. I’ve known you for an hour and I can’t stand you.”
“No, really, it’s just the way I come off,” she said.
Ugh. Fuck you. All of that bitchiness, all of that pouring poison onto our conversation all night, for nothing: she turned tail the second that I became combative. The second I “stood up for myself.” Ugh. I despise her even more now for being such a pussy. Worst human being, ever. After me.