Micro-UN in Lakewood: Ibrahim’s Approach to Women

Posted on December 15, 2011 by

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Foot is off the accelerator.  Finally back from the other world called g-school. And back home.  Home being the Micro-United Nations here in Lakewood.  Another story in my series.  For setting go here.

With the newfound freedom, I get on a bike ride with my landlord, Gilbert.  He’s been riding his mountain bike, trying to get into shape.  Guess just in coincidence with him going on these dates with some woman from El Salvador.

I see my roommate Ibrahim for the first time in a week.

He asks me if I gotta use the restroom, cause he’s gotta go.

I ask him, cognizant that he’s usually off to the gym at about 6:30 at night “Oh you gonna work out?”

He says, “Oh no I gotta date”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, Latina girl tonight…”

I get all happy for him.

“She’s a principal”

He tells me that she’s about 40 years old plus, but keeps her body in shape.

He makes it a point that it was she who approached him.  Apparently, he was just sitting in the bar talking with any and everyone.  Rolling alone.  My landlord called him a bit of a “lone wolf.”

She on the other hand with her “thicker” slightly better-looking friend was trying to make eye contact with him.  Six times she tried.

And finally, she caught his attention, and now they were now going on this date.

What did he like about her the most?

According to Ibrahim, “she was doing her own thing.”

Most importantly, she didn’t ask him to buy her a drink, not that he would’ve, mind you.

Earlier on the bike ride with my landlord Gilbert had been talking about how cheap Ibrahim was.  As far as I could tell, he was and still is, mostly because he shares the same spending habits as me: buy almost nothing.

The latest offense in cheapness was noted by Gilbert.  Ibrahim had shown him a text from a lady that he’d just broken up with.  This lady was incredulous at the fact that he never spent a dime on her.

Ibrahim told me about how a girl asked him “Wanna buy me a drink?”

Unphased, he replied back, “wanna give me some ass?”

Ibrahim, Gilbert, and I shared a laugh at how big of an asshole he was to women.  I was amazed at how he could tell a girl that without even flinching.

He approached selling cars the same way.  If they asked him to test drive, he’d ask them if they were going to buy the car.  If the customers would make demands of him, he’d make demands of them.

“What gives you the right to think you’re entitled to a drink?”  He posed to Gilbert and I rhetorically.  “I don’t know you, I don’t owe you a thing”

“I’ll tell you, Brian, the guy who buys the girl everything…He ain’t gettin’ no ass.”

What he said made me paused for a moment as I processed the outright societally-unexpected boldness of the comment juxtaposed with the ordinary social norm.  In the back of my head were lessons from my 4’8 Oodles the mommy (yeah, I call my mom Oodles, based on the Rugrats TV show talking dog):  always be chivalrous, hold doors, be respectful, buy the lunch/dinner.

But Ibrahim had a point:  if you’re buying everything for her, it’s a bought relationship.  The affection isn’t genuine, it’s all bought.

Made me reflect on my own relationships.

Then he went on to talk about his experience this past weekend with another girl, visiting from Boston.  Apparently this girl was “big money.”  She was spending drinks on him all weekend.  He let her buy him drinks;  he was happy to consume all of them.

Kind of ironic to what he was just talking about, but it didn’t cross my mind cause I was just happy for him getting out of the house and doing whatever it is made him happy.

He got some.  However, for the first time he talked about someone in a way where he shared the full experience.  From the drinks at the bars, to the drunken making out, to the hotel “slaughterfest” as he described it.

Maybe objectifying the moment and the happening, but it wouldn’t be fair to say that he looks at women as objects. He looked at her as another connection in his network.   “You never know what people might mean in your life”, he said.

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