I’ve come across a noticably high number of douchebags in the past couple weeks, and I must give them a place where they can feel welcomed and simply be accepted for their douchebaggery. Just imagine that we can cart them off to such a place where they will never be seen again. I present to you my first installment of a series that I am calling The International House of Douchebags…
Customer #1: Down in Front!
Location: Soho House, Meatpacking District
While it should not be at all a shock that I can find douchebags in their natural habitat (the Meatpacking District, at a members-only club), these particular douchebags really stand out above all the others. And for that, they deserves recognition.
At a rooftop movie screening, about six of us are sitting back in our deck chairs. The movie is being projected onto a massive screen that must be clearly visible from over a block away. The sound is audible from anywhere on the rooftop. The lights are dim. It’s very clear: people are watching a movie here.
But about halfway through the movie, a group of two thirty-something, slightly-balding men in blazers and two younger-looking attractive women in sundresses start to congregate directly in front of me in the middle of the deck. I’m enjoying the movie, and I will have none of this.
“Excuse me, could you guys move,” I ask, pointing to the screen. “We’re watching the movie.”
One of them turns to look at me, and gives me the biggest glare, as though I have just killed his game. Relax, dude. You took these chicks to Soho House. I’m sure they’re impressed already, and you don’t need to show off your smooth moves. He turns back around and restarts his conversation with his friends. The other three casually ignore me. I start to crane my neck around them and lean over, establishing the international signal for “You Are In My Way.” They don’t budge. They just keep on talking about mundane subjects, including Lindsay Lohan and their own nightlife exploits.
They never moved. Eventually, I had to move to watch the rest of the movie.
Thanks for reminding me why I never venture west of 8th Avenue. In this city, I’ve learned that there are plenty of stereotypes that can be broken, but when it comes to the slick-haired, well-dressed, cocktail-drinking, cash-wad-wielding, self-interested, thirty-something douchebag with arm candy, I’ve never been proven wrong.
So, to the douchebags who gave me the cold shoulder… I welcome you to the International House of Douchebags as our very first customers! Have a seat at table number 1. May you bask in the glory of the others that will undoubtedly follow in your footsteps.