Creepy Library Guy

There are worse things than being beautiful.

People greet me when I walk down the street. Men and women stare. People take the liberty of starting a conversation with a God awful pick up line, or an “Excuse me miss, you’re so pretty.” Construction workers shout cat-calls as I strut down Michigan Avenue with my head held high. There are millions of advantages available to those well groomed and well dressed.

Like I said, there are worse things that being beautiful — but there are better things than being beautiful as well.

I’d prefer to be intelligent. I’d prefer to be well spoken. I’d prefer to be well organized. I’d prefer to dance with incredible passion. I’d rather be the girl who makes everyone laugh. I’d rather be the woman who completes tasks well and in a timely matter. I’d much rather to be the woman with an impenetrable aura of confidence.

But no.

First impressions before conversation are always based on what the other person sees. (Unless they’re blind I guess; which is an entirely different rodeo.)

With this perspective in mind, you could guess my incredible dissatisfaction when a young man said to me that the greatest thing a woman can be is beautiful. He described this idea that women aspire to be beautiful almost as plainly, yet poetically as Aristotle describes the journey to happiness. This young man’s contact in my phone read “Creepy Library Guy”, and at that very moment I wanted to verbally slaughter him with every feminist thing I could ever say. I stopped myself, and listened to the rest of his self righteous speech. I said nothing when he finished.

We first met downtown near my favorite library. I was going to meet a friend for lunch, and walked up to the same crosswalk where he and another friend were waiting. He swatted at my arm and asked me if I was from here, what I was doing blah blah blah. I answered his prodding questions with an intentional lack of sparkling personality and waited for the walk signal impatiently. I’m not even sure why I entertained his company. Maybe because he mentioned nothing at all about my looks and seemed to want to know more about me. Then he began to tell me this drawn out story which ended with the Lion King Musical audition he was about to attend. When we finally got the signal we crossed the street and went our separate ways.

As I walk into the Harold Washington Library, I immediately see this kid just standing around. I quickly thought back to our conversation where I idiotically told him my destination; which he apparently beat me to. If that wasn’t creepy enough, he approached me and asked if I wanted to listen to the two of them practice. I said yes; but only because I’d made a promise to myself to do more spontaneous things since I moved to the big city. Upon our entering the elevator, he asks the young Asian woman if he played any instruments so she could help them practice. She says no, and he says, “Sorry I just assumed since, well you know.” He then proceeded to pull back the skin near his temples so he resembles an Asian person. I personally thought he looked more like a straight up asshole, but what do I know? The poor girl gets off of the elevator while the creep and his friend belly laugh. As soon as I begin the “reasons why you’re a jerk” speech, we arrive at our floor. The three of us exit the elevator and my phone vibrates. It was my friend Nina letting me know she’d arrived at the library to save me. I quickly announced I would be late and — for some reason I’m unaware of — I gave him my digits when he asked. I facepalmed my way back down the stairs to meet my friend and received an immediate text from him.

That’s how he became Creepy Library Guy. Why can’t I make good decisions?

Throughout the process of our many interactions — many of which weren’t sober — he maintained the misogynistic asshole persona. Creepy Library Guy’s father was very high ranked within the police Department. (Insert scoff here.) Now that I think about it, he never talked about his mother. I was under the impression that his family was very prestigious, as was his track record. He was a senior at the same art school I attend; and a Film and Acting major. CLG always bragged about the connections he’d made over the years, and filled his Snapchat story with every city in the country.

In addition to this, he told me I was a princess because I stayed faithful to my boyfriend instead of hooking up with a random stranger. I expressed my annoyance and inquired about why a man couldn’t spend time with me void of the glimmer of holding my Victoria’s Secrets in his hand by the end of the night. He began another speech — this time describing his own personal theory of attraction. He’s one of those guys who believes that “two attractive people of the opposite sex can’t be just friends.” When I protested and explained the many male best friends I’ve had, he protested back and said he questioned the dynamic of these so-called friendships and the motives of those men. This moment was when I realized I’d always want to punch him in the face.

Forever and always.