I've developed a guilty pleasure. Something that makes this whole incel existence slightly more bearable.
Sometimes in evening, after I finish work, I walk to the local supermarkets. Usually for snacks, but there's another reason:
I go to watch the normies work.
The same normies we envy and hate. The ones with girlfriends, social lives, and that effortless ability to exist in the world. They're there, in the fluorescent-lit aisles, doing the grunt work.
Stacking shelves. Pushing trolleys. Lifting boxes. Working evenings, nights, and worst of all, weekends.
Every single worker I see looks, at minimum, normie. Many are attractive young females, the kind I would love to be with romantically. Plenty of tall males too. Interestingly, I don't think I've ever seen a sub-five male working there.
And I just stand there, pretending to shop slowly while I watch them.
Watching the attractive foids in their 20s bend over to stock canned goods at 8pm, watching the normie males load heavy boxes onto a pallet while the weekend runs away from him.
A part of me feels... something. Not quite satisfaction, maybe relief. A confirmation that their lives aren't the unblemished paradise my brain constructs at 3am when I can't sleep.
If someone offered me a choice right now:
· Option A: I get a girlfriend and experience intimacy, companionship, but in exchange, I have to work their low-level wage job with unsociable hours, including evenings and weekends.
· Option B: Remain an incel. Keep my comfortable job. No girlfriend, no touch, no intimacy, but also no weekends stacking shelves, no evening shifts, no uniform, no aching body at 10pm.
I genuinely don't know which one I'd pick.
Probably A.
Here's the part that truly crushes me:
No matter how many evenings I get pleasure from watching them, I have the accept the cold reality that, despite how I could easily take one of these supermarket foid workers out of this, she wouldn't want to be with me.
I could provide for her, let stay at my own place. She wouldn't have to stack shelves at 8pm on a Friday. She wouldn't have to waste her weekends pushing trolleys. She could relax, be comfortable, maybe even pursue something she actually wanted to do with her life.
But she finds me so repulsive that she would rather spend her evenings lifting boxes and her weekends serving rude customers than be with me. She would rather wear a uniform and smell like cleaning products and deal with rude shoppers than sit next to me on a sofa and do nothing at all.
Then I realise that's happening right now, in every supermarket, every evening, every weekend. Women choosing wage slavery over the being with a man like me.
If I complain about this, I get called "entitled". If I don't complain and just quietly accept my situation, they still view me as a defective weirdo for always being alone and single.
You can't win.
Sometimes in evening, after I finish work, I walk to the local supermarkets. Usually for snacks, but there's another reason:
I go to watch the normies work.
The same normies we envy and hate. The ones with girlfriends, social lives, and that effortless ability to exist in the world. They're there, in the fluorescent-lit aisles, doing the grunt work.
Stacking shelves. Pushing trolleys. Lifting boxes. Working evenings, nights, and worst of all, weekends.
Every single worker I see looks, at minimum, normie. Many are attractive young females, the kind I would love to be with romantically. Plenty of tall males too. Interestingly, I don't think I've ever seen a sub-five male working there.
And I just stand there, pretending to shop slowly while I watch them.
Watching the attractive foids in their 20s bend over to stock canned goods at 8pm, watching the normie males load heavy boxes onto a pallet while the weekend runs away from him.
A part of me feels... something. Not quite satisfaction, maybe relief. A confirmation that their lives aren't the unblemished paradise my brain constructs at 3am when I can't sleep.
If someone offered me a choice right now:
· Option A: I get a girlfriend and experience intimacy, companionship, but in exchange, I have to work their low-level wage job with unsociable hours, including evenings and weekends.
· Option B: Remain an incel. Keep my comfortable job. No girlfriend, no touch, no intimacy, but also no weekends stacking shelves, no evening shifts, no uniform, no aching body at 10pm.
I genuinely don't know which one I'd pick.
Probably A.
Here's the part that truly crushes me:
No matter how many evenings I get pleasure from watching them, I have the accept the cold reality that, despite how I could easily take one of these supermarket foid workers out of this, she wouldn't want to be with me.
I could provide for her, let stay at my own place. She wouldn't have to stack shelves at 8pm on a Friday. She wouldn't have to waste her weekends pushing trolleys. She could relax, be comfortable, maybe even pursue something she actually wanted to do with her life.
But she finds me so repulsive that she would rather spend her evenings lifting boxes and her weekends serving rude customers than be with me. She would rather wear a uniform and smell like cleaning products and deal with rude shoppers than sit next to me on a sofa and do nothing at all.
Then I realise that's happening right now, in every supermarket, every evening, every weekend. Women choosing wage slavery over the being with a man like me.
If I complain about this, I get called "entitled". If I don't complain and just quietly accept my situation, they still view me as a defective weirdo for always being alone and single.
You can't win.
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