Guys I Hate, Edition One: Australian Firefighting Keanu Band Dudes!

So I’m sitting in the bookstore under the guise of “working hard,” which probably means I was on Facebook while watching people come and go. These two girls, and by girls I mean behemoths, so please don’t build them up in your mind – approach the counter.

Surely fresh off their workout, they are interested in a protein shake or a bottled water. In either case, they say to the young guy behind the counter, “Can I see your tattoo?” When I roll my eyes, he rolls up his sleeve to show off his tattoo (which he drew himself) that features the words “pride, responsibility and honor” or three other words that have no value when injected into the skin.

He then shows his other tat, another self-drawn work of art. The girls giggle something about where are the others and they all flirt and get a little red. Thankfully I’m watching my cholesterol so I had no interest in these girls, but this exchange, naturally, made me think about guys I hate.

Okay, I don’t hate the guys themselves. I hate the “gimmicks” with which they easily meet women. It’s hard enough to a ruggedly handsome, humorous, thoughtful, intelligent man such as me to meet someone, so it bothers me when guys have an automatic advantage. Let’s examine the categories here:

1. Firefighters. You wear a ratty old T-shirt to a bar that says “Podunk FD; Engine 7” and you wax poetic with your buddy: “Remember that time we raced in that building after the explosion and saved those 3-day-old kittens?” Your next decision is what you want the girl you met last night to put in your omelette. Easy.

2. Australian guys. Women, please don’t roll your eyes. You know this one is true. He doesn’t even have to be hot. Some guy in the park, the bookstore, the bar says ANYTHING with an Australian accent (and usually a British accent) and you’re DONE. “Hey, love, can you tell me where the STD cream is” he might say in the Walgreens. Your answer “I have some extra at my apartment. I have some shrimp in the freezer if you want to….” “Put one on tha barbie…” (Knees weaken)

3. Military guys. Yes, they are heroes. Yes, we owe them our freedom, even our lives and our way of life. But come on, fellas, can you possibly not leave the house in full dress. You’re free to discuss your service, or the shrapnel you took in your shin, or how you can hit a target from 25,000 feet. But please, the uniform is kryptonite for females. Can we level the playing field, or the battle field, just a little?

4. The dark, brooding, band guy. You’re not sure he has showered yet in 2010. He keeps mostly to himself. The only words he ‘speaks’ are lyrics from the jukebox that he mouths. Yet, you smile at him and suddenly all his pain, his art, and his thoughtful expressionism bubbles to the surface. He’s so feeling that you look past the fact that he’s wearing a Members Only jacket from the 80s which hasn't been washed since the 90s, and he owns one pair of jeans, which he may or may not have worn this entire week.

5. Keanu Reeves. I just don’t get this one. To say he’s a human fire hydrant is an insult to hydrants and the dogs that pee on them.

I’m sure there are other types of guys that immediately repulse me, but I’ll keep it light today. Plus I need to decide what kind of tattoo on get my arm. I was gonna go with “Hemingway” or “ESPN The Magazine” or some such literary influence. Maybe I’ll just go buy an FDNY t-shirt in the thrift shop or learn a foreign accent.