From day one, this Indian female coworker, who's much older than me (mid-30s, married, with a kid), made it indirectly clear she hates me just for existing. I’m Curry too, but not Indian. Still, just looking somewhat Indian was enough to trigger her.
The signs were immediate and obvious:
Then there’s her name: something like “Poojeeta Poojeeta-Cumskin.” The cracker surname tacked on at the end is probably a sign she married out (betrayal) or rebranded herself out of obsession with cumskins. Either way, the disdain for Curry men is hardcoded.
Assuming she married a pig skin: she still seethes at her own kind. Poojeetas like her take it out on Curry men because we remind them of what they rejected or settled for.
Now, if she were a 9/10 stunner, I’d get it. Hypergamy gonna hypergamize. But she’s barely average looking. Nose drooping like a disappointed parent. What she does have is a surgically polished British accent like she was trained by the BBC radio. Even actual Brits sound like peasants next to her.
But her looks don’t match her ego. That’s the curse of the ethno-upgraded woman: she thinks her cumskin-adjacent marriage elevates her, but the mirror doesn’t lie. And that’s why she hates Curry men like me. We remind her she’s not special.
One day, she offered me chocolate.
After offering everyone else, she finally walks up to me. To be honest, I don't know why she did that after acting so cold to me the whole time. I think I'll just attribute it to typical female schizoid split.
I just said, “No thanks,” with zero emotion. Barely even looked up from my screen. Bitches feed on attention, so indifference is kryptonite. I wanted to starve her.
The micro-pause that followed was golden. She hadn’t expected indifference. She was ready for validation, maybe rejection, but not complete emotional flatline.
But that wasn’t the first sign.
A few days ago, I was about to walk past her in a corridor. From 20 feet away, she spotted me approaching and in that split second she:
This proves the “chocolate bait” was 100% social maneuvering to look good infront of others, she can’t even fake baseline civility when unobserved.
And here’s the strange part: I think she knows I see it.
She’s figured out that I’m playing the same social chessboard she is, and that I’m not buying the illusions. And in some warped, backwards way, that earns a kind of respect.
Women like her spend their whole lives gaslighting men into believing their illusions. But when they meet someone who sees through it, something perverse happens: they acknowledge it. Not openly. But subconsciously, they clock you as a worthy adversary.
Her disdain isn’t pure hatred anymore, it’s tinted with respect.
And that’s where we are now: mutual hatred with silent recognition.
But I'm ready for the nukes and asteroid, mang.
Fuck this clown world.
The signs were immediate and obvious:
- Instant coldness when I'm near, but bubbly and animated with non-Curry male coworkers.
- Tone shifts: her voice would go from sweet to robotic when speaking to me.
- Avoidance games: she made long eye contact with others but looked through me like I was air.
Then there’s her name: something like “Poojeeta Poojeeta-Cumskin.” The cracker surname tacked on at the end is probably a sign she married out (betrayal) or rebranded herself out of obsession with cumskins. Either way, the disdain for Curry men is hardcoded.
Assuming she married a pig skin: she still seethes at her own kind. Poojeetas like her take it out on Curry men because we remind them of what they rejected or settled for.
Now, if she were a 9/10 stunner, I’d get it. Hypergamy gonna hypergamize. But she’s barely average looking. Nose drooping like a disappointed parent. What she does have is a surgically polished British accent like she was trained by the BBC radio. Even actual Brits sound like peasants next to her.
But her looks don’t match her ego. That’s the curse of the ethno-upgraded woman: she thinks her cumskin-adjacent marriage elevates her, but the mirror doesn’t lie. And that’s why she hates Curry men like me. We remind her she’s not special.
One day, she offered me chocolate.
After offering everyone else, she finally walks up to me. To be honest, I don't know why she did that after acting so cold to me the whole time. I think I'll just attribute it to typical female schizoid split.
I just said, “No thanks,” with zero emotion. Barely even looked up from my screen. Bitches feed on attention, so indifference is kryptonite. I wanted to starve her.
The micro-pause that followed was golden. She hadn’t expected indifference. She was ready for validation, maybe rejection, but not complete emotional flatline.
But that wasn’t the first sign.
A few days ago, I was about to walk past her in a corridor. From 20 feet away, she spotted me approaching and in that split second she:
- Did the robotic door hold (performing the bare minimum of social obligation)
- I thanked her
- She avoided eye contact and looked uncomfortable
- Accelerated walk-past with shoulders angled away (subconscious recoil)
This proves the “chocolate bait” was 100% social maneuvering to look good infront of others, she can’t even fake baseline civility when unobserved.
And here’s the strange part: I think she knows I see it.
She’s figured out that I’m playing the same social chessboard she is, and that I’m not buying the illusions. And in some warped, backwards way, that earns a kind of respect.
Women like her spend their whole lives gaslighting men into believing their illusions. But when they meet someone who sees through it, something perverse happens: they acknowledge it. Not openly. But subconsciously, they clock you as a worthy adversary.
Her disdain isn’t pure hatred anymore, it’s tinted with respect.
And that’s where we are now: mutual hatred with silent recognition.
But I'm ready for the nukes and asteroid, mang.
Fuck this clown world.
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