Sunday, January 16, 2011

Some men are just charmers...

When I was seventeen and eighteen, I had really low standards for men. Or "boys", because to be honest unemployed nineteen-year-olds who still live at home are not really adults. A couple of months ago, I received a phone call from a particularly inferior specimen of the male species (I'm allowed to say that because he was a disgusting liar, and a pathological gambler who once made me wait for him outside a casino for an hour while he spent the money I lent him, and then nearly killed me in a car crash). I hadn't heard from him for literally five years.

After mistaking him for a different guy with the same name, I found out that the creepy bastard had Googled my name and discovered I was a music journalist. He then proceeded to ask - as straight forward as a cricket bat - if he could send me a list of bands that he wants free tickets to. Not one, or two. A fucking list.

Insulted, I pretty much told him no. At which stage the cocky dip shit implied that I wasn't a very good music journalist if I couldn't get free tickets, so I set the record straight and went through all the big name concerts I had been to. And mentioned that I give away loads of free tickets to my friends and my boyfriend (he must've been deaf, because he kept on sleazing onto me).

I also mentioned that sometimes I have to write something up about the band to get media passes, so I wasn't going to waste my time, request tickets, keep my night free, go to a gig I might not particularly enjoy and write up a gig review for a "random". He then pointed out that it wasn't any work for him, just me, so I shouldn't feel bad because he could enjoy it... What. The. Fuck.

Hot tip for men: don't go calling up old fuck buddies you haven't spoken to in years and ask them to pull favours for you off the bat. At the very least be a little polite and try to take them out for dinner or something. Oh wait, here's a better tip. Just try not to be a cunt.