Imagine seeing a girl working and you find her attractive. She's working a dead-end job at a fast-food counter, working in a supermarket, or some other crappy job. Probably gtting yelled at by customers, smelling like grease all day, wiping down tables, emptying bins, taking orders from people who don’t even see her as human, and coming home sore for barely any money.
And you think to yourself, if you had the chance, you'd take her out of that. This only applies if you have a job, have your own place, you're self-reliant, etc. Sorry turbo-neets.
You could provide a life where she wouldn't have to do that anymore. She could relax, be comfortable, and not have to deal with that daily hell. You wouldn’t even ask for much. Just her presence, just the chance to provide. She could read, garden, paint, sleep in; do whatever she wanted. No more angry managers. Just peace.
But the cold truth is that she would rather put up with that eight-hour daily humiliation, that soul-crushing work, than ever consider being with you. The humiliation of a minimum-wage service job is preferable to the idea of your companionship, your protection, your provision. The unchangeable parts of you that signal undesirability repulse her so deeply that scrubbing toilets feels like a better future than a life with you.
This isn't about money or stability. It's about you. Your face, height, race, 'vibe' (code for autism). You are so repulsive to her on a fundamental level that a life of tedious, underpaid struggle is a better option. Frying a vat of cancer oil and poisoning people is less of a hell than the thought of your touch.
So next time you see a pretty girl working a crap job, don't feel sorry for her, feel sorry for yourself. She's made her choice, and you lost to a deep fryer.
And you think to yourself, if you had the chance, you'd take her out of that. This only applies if you have a job, have your own place, you're self-reliant, etc. Sorry turbo-neets.
You could provide a life where she wouldn't have to do that anymore. She could relax, be comfortable, and not have to deal with that daily hell. You wouldn’t even ask for much. Just her presence, just the chance to provide. She could read, garden, paint, sleep in; do whatever she wanted. No more angry managers. Just peace.
But the cold truth is that she would rather put up with that eight-hour daily humiliation, that soul-crushing work, than ever consider being with you. The humiliation of a minimum-wage service job is preferable to the idea of your companionship, your protection, your provision. The unchangeable parts of you that signal undesirability repulse her so deeply that scrubbing toilets feels like a better future than a life with you.
This isn't about money or stability. It's about you. Your face, height, race, 'vibe' (code for autism). You are so repulsive to her on a fundamental level that a life of tedious, underpaid struggle is a better option. Frying a vat of cancer oil and poisoning people is less of a hell than the thought of your touch.
So next time you see a pretty girl working a crap job, don't feel sorry for her, feel sorry for yourself. She's made her choice, and you lost to a deep fryer.
