I booked myself to work all Halloween weekend at the college dining establishment I've been picking up shifts at. Same shift block I always pick up, the managers understand. But tonight? Tonight? My manager plays dumb. She's like "Oh, I thought you were closing tonight?" Which means "I need you to close tonight. Fuck whatever plans you had." You might think "Just refuse, you're essentially a freelancer." But here's the thing. I'm bound to the shift I commit to. Frankly I'm supposed to close. But up until now she was cool about letting me leave early because I'm a driverslicecensecel and have to leave before the busses stop running. Otherwise I'm stuck as far as a way home. Up until now. So she's basically fucked up my night's sleep. I'll leave after the busses have stopped running and I'll be so late getting home that I'll barely have enough time to sleep until I have to wake up and do ANOTHER shift.
I'm a little crestfallen. And I feel the need to talk to someone. Not necessarily to bitch about closing. But being annoyed at having to close, for some reason it makes me talkative. I guess it's therapeutic. And tonight we have a new server coming in. A big, softspoken blackcel named Melvin. Imagine Hurley from Lost, but black. A gentle giant. I'm expected to sorta show this guy the ropes. While we're working I says to the guy I says "How are you gettin' home? Drivin'?" He says no, he's getting a ride because he doesn't know how to drive yet. His parents are teaching him. Our situations aren't exactly the same, but I feel a little better having someone sorta shoulder the burden of MacGuyvering some sort of solution to getting home late at night. But as the night rolls on, I learn a bit more about this blackcel. And about how a lot of men nowadays are slower to develop than men of a few decades ago. A table of women in Halloween costumes were sat before our station. I had my plate full with work, but he somehow managed to find time to be fixated on those women. Longing. The kind of gaze that said "How do I figure out my life to be with girls like that?" Looking at this guy, I wouldn't call him "incel." But instead of being jealous of him, I wanted better for him. I wanted this guy to slim down, kick his Adderall addiction, and find his voice. And his driver's license. I wanted to save him from becoming me. He was what you might call an "incel without hate."
Later in the night, a customer walks in. Neither me nor Melvin think much of him at first. But then he walks up to us. "Do you guys have an ATM?" We don't have an ATM in the building. Might be one somewhere miles away on campus, but we'd close by the time he got back. And so he holds up his debit card and says "Can you guys give me change if I give you my debit card? I just wanna play some games.
" We have video games in the dining establishment, it's like one of those arcade bars. But I can't give him change with his card. So I tell him "I'm gonna give you some of my money so you can play games." I break some money and give him quarters. He's very grateful. We go over to the arcade games and I can tell he's a little sauced but I think he'd feel the same even if he was sober. He's kickin' up a bit of an attitude. "The lady over there wouldn't give me any change I just wanted some change everybody's giving me a hard time argle bargle..." And I'm glad to help. And he means to return the favor. He opens his backpack. He apparently sells guns. He gives me his card. He's a sales agent for something called Advisor Tactical and says that if I'm into guns he can hook me up with prices apparently, ALLEGEDLY, lower than what shop owners pay for guns. This guy, like Melvin, was also left wanting by women. But he, unlike Melvin, was angry for being left wanting. And armed.
It's presumptuous of me to assume either of these guys are incel. But I mean hey, they're alone in the city on a night teeming with half-naked women. Maybe Advisor Tactical has a wife. But I know for a fact Melvin is alone. I dunno, I just felt a kinship. Because all three of us were hit in the face with cold reality tonight by women. And we were the only people we had in our time of need.
Men helping men. As opposed to women helping women. Normies will applaud the idea, but not for the right reasons. "Women helping women" comes from a place of "Men are holding us back so we have to support each other." If I wanna say "How about men helping men?" The response will be "Yes! You men should stop holding each other back, men are their own worst enemies!" But that's not what I mean. This is why there's r/MensLib, and r/MensRights. The former is about that victim blaming bullshit I just mentioned. The latter is the moral of this story: Women are holding men back. I'm not saying all of them. But the ones that are, the bad women, they're getting away with it because we don't hold bad women accountable like we hold bad men accountable. So until that day comes? Be there for your brotha man. Give him a few quarters when no one else will. Be an ear and a shoulder for him when he's stuck working late.
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One night down, two more to go. Because my night was fucked anyway, I did two things I don't often do: I drank, and then I took "creepshots" of costumed party people in the streets as I walked my way home. I wasn't discreet for shit, though I tried. I looked exactly like a guy taking creepshots. People would look at me, and I would lower my head like an obvious fuck. At the time I thought "I'll show them for making me stay late. I'll take pictures of all these beautiful people and post them on Incels.com" and it made sense in the moment, but hours later I realize that not only would it be worship, but the landmarks in the pictures would likely doxx me. Also, it doesn't take any revenge on that dining establishment. It's just lashing out.
But for making it this far, I'll share this with you: I walked into a bar tonight, one of the few that didn't have a line a mile long, and asked the bartender to ask someone in the bar to drive me home.
View: https://voca.ro/14XbZkINlxwH
Edit: Oh! I remembered also I talked to a guy in costume who gave me a tip about what club to visit tonight if I wanted to get "grinded on." I meant for it to fit into the moral of this story, which was to lower your inhibitions and just be a friend to people.
I'm a little crestfallen. And I feel the need to talk to someone. Not necessarily to bitch about closing. But being annoyed at having to close, for some reason it makes me talkative. I guess it's therapeutic. And tonight we have a new server coming in. A big, softspoken blackcel named Melvin. Imagine Hurley from Lost, but black. A gentle giant. I'm expected to sorta show this guy the ropes. While we're working I says to the guy I says "How are you gettin' home? Drivin'?" He says no, he's getting a ride because he doesn't know how to drive yet. His parents are teaching him. Our situations aren't exactly the same, but I feel a little better having someone sorta shoulder the burden of MacGuyvering some sort of solution to getting home late at night. But as the night rolls on, I learn a bit more about this blackcel. And about how a lot of men nowadays are slower to develop than men of a few decades ago. A table of women in Halloween costumes were sat before our station. I had my plate full with work, but he somehow managed to find time to be fixated on those women. Longing. The kind of gaze that said "How do I figure out my life to be with girls like that?" Looking at this guy, I wouldn't call him "incel." But instead of being jealous of him, I wanted better for him. I wanted this guy to slim down, kick his Adderall addiction, and find his voice. And his driver's license. I wanted to save him from becoming me. He was what you might call an "incel without hate."
Later in the night, a customer walks in. Neither me nor Melvin think much of him at first. But then he walks up to us. "Do you guys have an ATM?" We don't have an ATM in the building. Might be one somewhere miles away on campus, but we'd close by the time he got back. And so he holds up his debit card and says "Can you guys give me change if I give you my debit card? I just wanna play some games.
" We have video games in the dining establishment, it's like one of those arcade bars. But I can't give him change with his card. So I tell him "I'm gonna give you some of my money so you can play games." I break some money and give him quarters. He's very grateful. We go over to the arcade games and I can tell he's a little sauced but I think he'd feel the same even if he was sober. He's kickin' up a bit of an attitude. "The lady over there wouldn't give me any change I just wanted some change everybody's giving me a hard time argle bargle..." And I'm glad to help. And he means to return the favor. He opens his backpack. He apparently sells guns. He gives me his card. He's a sales agent for something called Advisor Tactical and says that if I'm into guns he can hook me up with prices apparently, ALLEGEDLY, lower than what shop owners pay for guns. This guy, like Melvin, was also left wanting by women. But he, unlike Melvin, was angry for being left wanting. And armed.It's presumptuous of me to assume either of these guys are incel. But I mean hey, they're alone in the city on a night teeming with half-naked women. Maybe Advisor Tactical has a wife. But I know for a fact Melvin is alone. I dunno, I just felt a kinship. Because all three of us were hit in the face with cold reality tonight by women. And we were the only people we had in our time of need.
Men helping men. As opposed to women helping women. Normies will applaud the idea, but not for the right reasons. "Women helping women" comes from a place of "Men are holding us back so we have to support each other." If I wanna say "How about men helping men?" The response will be "Yes! You men should stop holding each other back, men are their own worst enemies!" But that's not what I mean. This is why there's r/MensLib, and r/MensRights. The former is about that victim blaming bullshit I just mentioned. The latter is the moral of this story: Women are holding men back. I'm not saying all of them. But the ones that are, the bad women, they're getting away with it because we don't hold bad women accountable like we hold bad men accountable. So until that day comes? Be there for your brotha man. Give him a few quarters when no one else will. Be an ear and a shoulder for him when he's stuck working late.
*
**
***
****
***
**
*
One night down, two more to go. Because my night was fucked anyway, I did two things I don't often do: I drank, and then I took "creepshots" of costumed party people in the streets as I walked my way home. I wasn't discreet for shit, though I tried. I looked exactly like a guy taking creepshots. People would look at me, and I would lower my head like an obvious fuck. At the time I thought "I'll show them for making me stay late. I'll take pictures of all these beautiful people and post them on Incels.com" and it made sense in the moment, but hours later I realize that not only would it be worship, but the landmarks in the pictures would likely doxx me. Also, it doesn't take any revenge on that dining establishment. It's just lashing out.
But for making it this far, I'll share this with you: I walked into a bar tonight, one of the few that didn't have a line a mile long, and asked the bartender to ask someone in the bar to drive me home.
View: https://voca.ro/14XbZkINlxwH
Edit: Oh! I remembered also I talked to a guy in costume who gave me a tip about what club to visit tonight if I wanted to get "grinded on." I meant for it to fit into the moral of this story, which was to lower your inhibitions and just be a friend to people.
