So it’s come to light exactly what has transpired between the hostel owners, the new help and former staff member; Nervous Chameleon Boy. Apparently it’s ‘because I like girls’. This Machiavellian scrotum has bad mouthed me behind my back, cloak and dagger, and influenced the appointment of a new worker, purely because he’s felt threatened by my confidence. A heated discussion ensues with current staff member and street lamp romance from the other night. I’m told I’m too arrogant.
I was once told I have ‘buckets of charisma’. I’ve recently been informed ‘you’re too cocky to be killed’ (in the middle East). Another comment was that I play the game ‘the best I’ve ever seen it played’. Now regardless of whether or not these statements are true, there is a very fine line between confidence and arrogance. A line so fine it is very easy to either cross it, or appear to be crossing it. Anyone who has confidence recognises that, anyone without automatically assumes it’s arrogance and is scared of it. It’s a defence mechanism. ‘This guy can talk to a girl; what a wanker.’
I remember being terrified of going to school. I remember being followed home and beaten up. I remember having younger kids mentally and physically torture me everyday. I remember teachers joining in. I remember having horrible acne. I remember hiding in the dark when I was invited to my first party around sixteen. I remember not having my first kiss until I was eighteen.
Fast forward into drama school training and working as a professional actor for six years. Sure I never got where I wanted, but it served me well for the rocky road ahead, and built my confidence sky-high. I’ve worked hard so I don’t have to hide in the dark. It’s taken me years to build the nerve to even look at a girl.
And so it goes that he’s been pouring some nonsense into the owners ear just because I like the opposite sex. Sue me. He’s spotted me doing very well in conversation and hasn’t liked it. He’s thrown his toys out the pram because he can’t do what I can and it’s made him feel uncomfortable. This was a guy who I never showed a dislike to, bought him beers, chatted about films, gave him plenty of my tobacco, and was always friendly and upfront with. He’s talked the owners out of giving me a job after he’s left, a job which would have saved me a lot of money as I wait for the Macmillan Cancer charity gear, and my own supplies to help with this difficult quest. He’s persuaded a fellow American to come back and take my place. The owners didn’t have anyone else and they hadn’t already been speaking to other people. I was in a prime position to step in and help, and they had their judgement clouded by this little turd who simply didn’t like me. The whole thing stinks and is bang out-of-order. I would have thought a professional would have had a lot more sense than that.
In other news a drunk guy was bothering people in the bar. He was spilling drinks, attempting to kiss girls’ hands and sit down where he wasn’t wanted. None of his friends would help. The barman couldn’t have cared less, in spite of being repeatedly asked. Somebody needed to step up and do something. Have a guess who it was.
Confidence
So it’s come to light exactly what has transpired between the hostel owners, the new help and former staff member; Nervous Chameleon Boy. Apparently it’s ‘because I like girls’. This Machiavellian scrotum has bad mouthed me behind my back, cloak and dagger, and influenced the appointment of a new worker, purely because he’s felt threatened by my confidence. A heated discussion ensues with current staff member and street lamp romance from the other night. I’m told I’m too arrogant.
I was once told I have ‘buckets of charisma’. I’ve recently been informed ‘you’re too cocky to be killed’ (in the middle East). Another comment was that I play the game ‘the best I’ve ever seen it played’. Now regardless of whether or not these statements are true, there is a very fine line between confidence and arrogance. A line so fine it is very easy to either cross it, or appear to be crossing it. Anyone who has confidence recognises that, anyone without automatically assumes it’s arrogance and is scared of it. It’s a defence mechanism. ‘This guy can talk to a girl; what a wanker.’
I remember being terrified of going to school. I remember being followed home and beaten up. I remember having younger kids mentally and physically torture me everyday. I remember teachers joining in. I remember having horrible acne. I remember hiding in the dark when I was invited to my first party around sixteen. I remember not having my first kiss until I was eighteen.
Fast forward into drama school training and working as a professional actor for six years. Sure I never got where I wanted, but it served me well for the rocky road ahead, and built my confidence sky-high. I’ve worked hard so I don’t have to hide in the dark. It’s taken me years to build the nerve to even look at a girl.
And so it goes that he’s been pouring some nonsense into the owners ear just because I like the opposite sex. Sue me. He’s spotted me doing very well in conversation and hasn’t liked it. He’s thrown his toys out the pram because he can’t do what I can and it’s made him feel uncomfortable. This was a guy who I never showed a dislike to, bought him beers, chatted about films, gave him plenty of my tobacco, and was always friendly and upfront with. He’s talked the owners out of giving me a job after he’s left, a job which would have saved me a lot of money as I wait for the Macmillan Cancer charity gear, and my own supplies to help with this difficult quest. He’s persuaded a fellow American to come back and take my place. The owners didn’t have anyone else and they hadn’t already been speaking to other people. I was in a prime position to step in and help, and they had their judgement clouded by this little turd who simply didn’t like me. The whole thing stinks and is bang out-of-order. I would have thought a professional would have had a lot more sense than that.
In other news a drunk guy was bothering people in the bar. He was spilling drinks, attempting to kiss girls’ hands and sit down where he wasn’t wanted. None of his friends would help. The barman couldn’t have cared less, in spite of being repeatedly asked. Somebody needed to step up and do something. Have a guess who it was.