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Thứ Sáu, 6 tháng 5, 2016
Is My Love of Fashion Turning Me into a Sociopath?
The other day, I'm on the metro when a man gets on and starts yelling at everyone to give him money. When it was my turn, I told him I didn't have any (which was actually true).
"You're lying!" He snaps at me.
"I'm not. I don't have any money on me." I respond. He eyes me up and down suspiciously to evaluate the level of truth.
"You have money," he decides. "I know your type. You're rich with your nails and your hair and your clothes," he says in disgust. I actually feel a little flattered.
His disgust at my stinginess somehow translates in my brain to a compliment about my savviness and style. I know this is not what he means at all. He's not complimenting my ability to look good on a small budget. He actually thinks I'm a rich bitch who won't give money to the homeless. I know this. But it somehow still feels like a compliment. I'm trying to get him away, but he won't leave.
"LOOK, I WILL ACTUALLY SHOW YOU I DON'T HAVE ANY MONEY ON ME." I shout, thinking this will deter him. He gives me a skeptical look as I pull out my wallet and twenty cents fall out.
"This is all I have," I tell him as I hand him the money. He looks at me with contempt and throws the money at my chest, the coins dropping to the floor. Is he serious? Angry and embarrassed, I throw them back. We're causing a scene and people are now staring.
Eventually, he gives up on me and walks over to the next person. Right before he leaves the train he makes a point to walk over to me again. He picks up a loose coin that rolled over near the door and hurls it towards me again before making a swift exit. I lower my shades.
Later that week, I pass by an outdoor flea market and decide against my better judgment to take a look. "How much is this?" I ask the vendor as I pick up a caramel colored fur coat from a bundle of wrinkled clothes laying on the ground.