Your friendly neighborhood boys club
The office's walls ooze with testosterone. Ego is the cologne that penetrates the air. When they are in the elevator I have to wait for the next one because I can't fit in there with my fat ass and their big heads. Everyone wants a membership to the boys club. It looks like so much fun when your head peaks over the fence. Getting in the club doors seems the hard part. Once you are in they love you in an instance. That is how it appears from the outside looking in. Men seem to instantly bond. There is no method or reason for who are their friends; really it is solely dependent on them being in the same place at the same time.
I use to resent them because I couldn't be inside the circle, but it was my resentment that kept me outside. I too could smack the butts of the boys. I could tell loudly obnoxious stories to impress inconsequential people. I could even smile like I know something that you don't know. I'm in with the in crowd.
At work we have several boys clubs. The real boys club and the faux boys club. It's really the faux boys club that gives the real one a bad name. Once I thought they were one and the same but now I see one as the cheap imitation that it is. A postcard of Picasso to seeing the painting with your own eyes. The picture is the same but all the character, definition, and power of color aren't there. You would never judge a painting by a postcard, and that is what I did. In fact, the real boys club is a masterpiece.
Every angle you view it from you find something unique about it.
I hate the faux boys club because everyone thinks that it's real because the real boys club is rare and the faux is over-populated. It's so effortless for the genuine articles while the faux try so hard. You can't try to be laid back and cool. You can't do drugs trying to become the cool druggie that never talks other than to occasionally say utterly profound things. You are either natural at smoking crack or you're not. Don't pretend to be a druggie, just because you have the money to buy them doesn't mean you know how to smoke them. I'm not a natural born druggie, so I don't even try. But the fauxs of this world do.
In our office we have several fauxs. In fact, there are multiple gangs of them. Not even gangs, more like tribes. They speak their own language, wear their own tribal garb, and scarfice new receptionists to their god. They are a tribe in actual need of extinction. I say we kill them and give their land to the native Americans. After all, they are: loud, obnoxious, bolsterous, anxious, and unaware. They need to be told that a conversation is not a play they are putting on for people's amusement. Don't they know people want to be voyuers not invited audience members, however it is more like involuntary audience member to a performance of a really crappy conversation with bad acting.
We get so use to the show of the fauxs that we believe that the real are urban legend. But just when you are about to write off the boys club, you find the real one. The diamond in the rough no more; now a shiny, glimmering gem. I admit it, I'm a fan now. I love the real boys club. I love watching them interact and seeing things I shouldn't be privy to seeing. The little gestures, the sincere laughs, the undeniable coolness of it all. I peak my head around the corner just to feel apart of their conversation, even if at a distance. You can't dissect it, you can't comprehend it, you can only stare in awe of it. It's Starry Night, The Gates of Hell, Norte Dame.
And every once in a while they turn their attention your way. Usually it is at the moment in time that you just royally fucked something up. But unlike faux, they never make you feel stupid; they just say something cute, smile, and walk way leaving you not remembering that you had messed up at all. They are angels on earth that overwhelm us with their presence. It seems as though they life live the way it ought to be. They take it as it comes and laugh in it's face when it arrives. For them life isn't a struggle, life just is. It doesn't matter how much money you have you can't buy a membership to the boys club, there is no waiting list. Either you are a member or you're not. The best that money can do is buy you a seat with a nice view of the club pool.
I use to resent them because I couldn't be inside the circle, but it was my resentment that kept me outside. I too could smack the butts of the boys. I could tell loudly obnoxious stories to impress inconsequential people. I could even smile like I know something that you don't know. I'm in with the in crowd.
At work we have several boys clubs. The real boys club and the faux boys club. It's really the faux boys club that gives the real one a bad name. Once I thought they were one and the same but now I see one as the cheap imitation that it is. A postcard of Picasso to seeing the painting with your own eyes. The picture is the same but all the character, definition, and power of color aren't there. You would never judge a painting by a postcard, and that is what I did. In fact, the real boys club is a masterpiece.
Every angle you view it from you find something unique about it.
I hate the faux boys club because everyone thinks that it's real because the real boys club is rare and the faux is over-populated. It's so effortless for the genuine articles while the faux try so hard. You can't try to be laid back and cool. You can't do drugs trying to become the cool druggie that never talks other than to occasionally say utterly profound things. You are either natural at smoking crack or you're not. Don't pretend to be a druggie, just because you have the money to buy them doesn't mean you know how to smoke them. I'm not a natural born druggie, so I don't even try. But the fauxs of this world do.
In our office we have several fauxs. In fact, there are multiple gangs of them. Not even gangs, more like tribes. They speak their own language, wear their own tribal garb, and scarfice new receptionists to their god. They are a tribe in actual need of extinction. I say we kill them and give their land to the native Americans. After all, they are: loud, obnoxious, bolsterous, anxious, and unaware. They need to be told that a conversation is not a play they are putting on for people's amusement. Don't they know people want to be voyuers not invited audience members, however it is more like involuntary audience member to a performance of a really crappy conversation with bad acting.
We get so use to the show of the fauxs that we believe that the real are urban legend. But just when you are about to write off the boys club, you find the real one. The diamond in the rough no more; now a shiny, glimmering gem. I admit it, I'm a fan now. I love the real boys club. I love watching them interact and seeing things I shouldn't be privy to seeing. The little gestures, the sincere laughs, the undeniable coolness of it all. I peak my head around the corner just to feel apart of their conversation, even if at a distance. You can't dissect it, you can't comprehend it, you can only stare in awe of it. It's Starry Night, The Gates of Hell, Norte Dame.
And every once in a while they turn their attention your way. Usually it is at the moment in time that you just royally fucked something up. But unlike faux, they never make you feel stupid; they just say something cute, smile, and walk way leaving you not remembering that you had messed up at all. They are angels on earth that overwhelm us with their presence. It seems as though they life live the way it ought to be. They take it as it comes and laugh in it's face when it arrives. For them life isn't a struggle, life just is. It doesn't matter how much money you have you can't buy a membership to the boys club, there is no waiting list. Either you are a member or you're not. The best that money can do is buy you a seat with a nice view of the club pool.
posted by Whit at 2:05 PM
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