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Hate it! “That” Guy

August 1, 2009
by

I love to go out. I love nightclubs. I love dive bars. I love swanky lounges. I love every kind of nightlife in between.

But there is one type of club that I absolutely cannot stand—the club that’s full of “that” guy.

jerks

I have always thought that the quality of a club is more dependent on the clientele than the actual place itself. When you get all dolled up and head out with the girls, you want to find people laughing, dancing, talking passionately, engrossed in the music or, at the very least, looking to make new friends.

When you accidentally stumble into a club that’s bursting with men who all seem to be wearing the same uniform of a collared shirt, designer jeans and loafers, you know you’ve found “that” guy’s favorite place to hang out. Proceed carefully.

They all stand in clumps drinking beer, solely talking to each other and using moderately vulgar words like “piss” and “tits.” If they saunter up to you, however, it’s all about business—to be more specific, they let you know up front that they work in finance.

Now this tactic probably works for the type of girl who hovers around “that” guy in a skanky dress and (literally!) gives lap dances to whomever sits near her, but in my world working in finance sounds about as boring as if someone told me they clean drainpipes for a living. This is when they switch tactics on you and bust out their resumes.

Oh, you went to Princeton? Oh, you drive a Ferrari? Oh, you have to go to Tokyo next week? Yawn. It’s past my bedtime.

jerks2

I don’t know who told “that” guy that being a part of this little boys’ club was attractive to anyone except for gold diggers, ex-sorority girls and prissy princesses who wouldn’t even go to his favorite club in the first place, but he really needs to lay off the rehearsed bullshit.

That being said, sometimes when you are standing there in “that” guy’s club and rolling your eyes, you might meet someone who notices that your brain is slowly leaking out of your ear and comes to rescue you.

He might even buy you a drink without flashing his AmEx, discussing the kind of car he drives or how many companies he’s financed. And, if you are really lucky, he might even get your number and take you on one of the best dates you’ve had in a while.

Not that I’m advising you hang out with “that” guy just to meet this type of aberration—I still hate “that” guy, but there’s something about finding someone surprising in his overly rehearsed, tiresome domain that I absolutely, unabashedly love.

But the question remains—will he turn out to be just another VC guy? I guess you and I will just have to wait to find out.

VC Guy

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