“Well, really, I think that girls are better than men, because they are so much less violent, and if a girl ran our country we would be so much better off…” Bill keeps talking. Bill is a “Nice Guy.” A pathetic douche bag who is telling me this because he thinks it will impress me. Calling us all “girls” and putting us on pedestals is giving him away as a closet misogynist.

Bill does not know I am a true feminist.

My eyes must be glazing over, because he is praising me faster and more desperately. He’s finally taken the pipe out of his mouth, but the slurring was preferable to being able to understand him. His hat is completely inappropriate for this weather. I’m wondering if he knows that “smarmy” is not something a woman looks for in a man. I wonder if he knows he comes off like a confused, angry little boy.

I’ve finished my coffee, and the conversation. I stand to get myself another.

“I’ll wait!” He’s too eager for approval. I grab my drink, point to him for payment, and walk out the door. Doofus.