There are people in this world who are blessed with an uncanny ability to impress upon others that they are trustworthy or friendly so as to invite a conversation or a smile. They are able to sow seeds of friendship with incredible ease; as easy as I can direct pee onto a urinal (though, given the state of some toilets, this may be a more difficult task than I give it credit for).
I, on the other hand, have the unfortunate ability to impress upon others that I am a sociopath, ridden with disease or some other contagious ailment. That is not to say that I am or have any of these things - it's just the 'vibe' that I give off. I have, what I have coined, the deterrent factor. I have it, Yangus has it, the hobo outside Wynyard station has it, Ivan Milat had it, that disgruntled fat lady who was irritated because I didn't get out of her way on the platform when her girth spanned the entire width of the platform, has it. It's an inexplicable phenomenon (at least in my case. I think Yangus et. al. were/are psychopaths or suffer(ed) from severe weight issues). I don't bother musing over the prospect of having advanced social interactions with strangers, like having a conversation. Hell, I have trouble getting people to sit next to me on a train during peak hour.
It is scant consolation that even Mr. Darcy had the deterrent factor. To quote him (from the 2005 film):
"I do not have the talent of conversing easily with people I have never met before."
Unfortunately, unlike Mr. Darcy, I am incapable of transforming the rather creepy notion of walking out of the mist with wild hair and a half unbuttoned shirt into an act of romance. I suspect that a restraining order will be made against me if I approached my love interest in a similar fashion. We can't all live on £10,000 a year and be ruggedly handsome.
On second thought, a spare seat next to me on a peak hour train isn't too bad. I guess the seat is reserved for someone who can see past my deterring countenance; whenever she decides to come around. For the meantime, I will also accept stinky-shit "I need some deo" guys or old asian blokes who pick their noses and wipe it on the seat in the vicinity of my thigh. Urgh.
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