Ramblings of a stranger

Growing up a “nerd” has put me in contact with a whole slew of different personalities, and character types. While some are good and some are bad for the most part I can tolerate almost anyone, except for the snobs. These plain Jane, self-deifying, losers walk through life noses high and opinions higher, passing out their judgment like Jesus’s disciple’s passed out fish. There are the “Fonzerelli” snobs who dismiss anything that might possibly hurt their precious reputations. The “name brand” snobs that shudder at the thought of being a Wal-Mart shopper, or God forbid looking through a clearance rack. And lastly the “foodies” who snub their noses at food that isn’t from a Michelin star restaurant, served in bite sized portions, and on crisp white plates.

The “Fonzerellis” frequently plaque my existence. Any mention of my Warhammer 40k novels, Magic the gathering collection, late night gaming sessions, or even the lowly “D-20” automatically labels me as either a “nerd” or “lame” for doing what I love the most. I don’t bust into Hollister and call customers tools. And even if I tried the toxic smell of cheap cologne and terrible lighting would prevent me from getting more than two steps into the doorway before I either pass out from the fumes, or run into a ridiculously chiseled mannequin, but I digress. Just because what I do isn’t necessarily cool by the standards of others doesn’t automatically make it a waste of time they just refused to try. I would bet money that if I set up a game of 40k and taught these “fonzerellis” how fun it really can be, then they might like it, but it’s no use because it has already been cemented in their brain to not be enjoyable. Unfortunately, that is how it will remain.

The second type is far more common to everyone else, and I have dubbed them the “name brands”. This particular set of ingrates especially gets under my skin. To quote the film, The Jerk, “I was born a poor black man.”, and I could never afford “Jays” or the Abercrombie and Fitch jackets that everyone else had. We were proud Wal-Mart shoppers. Without this monastery of bargains, I would not have had clothes, and the fact that there are people out there who dismiss the most holy of places really grinds my gears. For the price they pay for just one Polo sweater, I could fill an entire closet. Paying thirty times the amount it takes to physically make the sweater solely for its crappy horse emblem is asinine and does not interest me in the least. My grandmother would purchase the generic equivalent and sew and Izod label on for my mother and uncle for just a fraction of the cost. Those shirts looked just as nice as the overly priced ones. The money she saved was used to pay bills and take care of other things necessary to squeak by.

The third and final group is the “Foodies”. Do not get me wrong. I love any type of food. I love all food actually. The food could vary from French to Southern, and I wouldn’t care, but some people (who in my opinion are bad people) completely disregard anything that isn’t classically prepared or “high class’. They are missing out. Some of the best food that I have ever had comes from back alley dives, or holes in the wall. My favorite chicken place, Lil’ Chick, is a literal hole in the wall in an area that is not for the faint of heart. From the outside, it is one of the sketchiest eating establishments that I have ever been to, but within those dirty walls reveals a nuggety center filled with friendly staff and greasy chicken. Judging by the outside of the restaurant, most people wouldn’t know about what lies inside. All three of these groups judge before they try something. All that I am trying to say is don’t limit yourself to one particular way of thinking. Just try things because you might find that you like them. If so, you should join me on game night. You can bring the chicken, and I will bring the nerd.