Ghosting 101


It’s been a few months amidst writer’s block and just not knowing what I wanted my voice to be. But then all of a sudden, with the one year anniversary of my induction into the he-man women haters club, something unfortunate happened for another time more than I’m willing to admit. I was ghosted. In person. With no explanation other than “she had to go to the bathroom”.

Honestly, this won’t be some misogynistic, immature rant about how all women can have things stuck in certain places and other parts harmed to a point that they are no longer recognizable. Really, that should be obvious in and of itself. No, this is merely an outcry for decent people to act like they have a fucking clue.

Never mind the fact that I’m terrible at saying no. Or the fact that I WASN’T that attracted to the girl (but was hoping her personality via text was legit). And let’s forget that I came downtown on my own for a bar crawl. Or that I’m in my early 30’s and that shit is for the birds. And that it cost me cab money to drive downtown, an ATM fee to pull out cash, and then cash to actually enter the very establishment that I’d stand in for less than 45 minutes.

In no way should anyone ever ghost. Moreover, if anyone takes the time to meet you out (girl or guy) and spend their time, money, and energy; you owe them at least the common decency of telling them you aren’t interested. I’ve been in situations where the vibes weren’t there, where we just didn’t have much in common, or where the physical connection just wasn’t as strong in person. But I’ve given that person a chance (at least in theory) and stuck around for a drink or two so they didn’t feel like shit.

I have been on some of the absolute worst dates in the past 340-some odd days and never once did I ever think of walking out without provocation or pretending to use the bathroom and then avoiding texts and not answering a simple phone call so you can hear how shitty of a person you are. Maybe if I had told you my story, you’d realize how little I trust women. Or you’d know this isn’t the first time I’ve been walked out on. You’d probably still be immature and that’s fine. But this shit just isn’t acceptable. And it doesn’t matter that you weren’t that good looking or that I wasn’t feeling you either. It’s the fucking principle. In the words of the great Kanye West: you can pay for school, but you can’t buy class.

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