I’m in the old Blackfoot River Brewery taproom back in the days when it was more likely you might be talking to someone you didn’t know before you got there. Some guy is telling me his opinion about something. I listened, and then said something more on the subject. He said, no, and then repeated what he had already said. I said, yes, I heard you, this is something more on the subject. He repeated no again, and repeated what he had already said. On it went for a few more rounds. His perception seemed to be that me saying something other than exactly what he said meant I was misunderstanding him, or disagreeing with him and needed to be corrected. I don’t remember how I bailed on that.
The (old) Windbag. Some local face, a guy, pretty good looking I had noticed over the years. But in the brief snatchings of conversation we’d had, it was nothing I was interested in pursuing. I’m not so much about guys who have learned to skate on their looks. Though I recognize it's possible they've just learned what they had to to get by and it just didn't happen to be very much. *
Anyway, Mr. GoodLooking tells me that I’m his type. I tell him I’m not interested. He tells me, no. I didn’t understand. I was exactly his type. It doesn’t matter, I told him. But, he insisted, I was EXACTLY his type. It was like he was trying to tell me my experience of my own life and preferences were incorrect and I would realize it if I would just listen to him.