Sunday, February 10, 2013

Don Draper Mode: The way I act in certain scenarios, and an example of why I hate people

If you don't know what I look like, here's a recent photo 
Last week, I had a job interview with a radio station based out of London, Ontario. Internships and summer jobs are up for the taking right now, and it would be nice to gain some experience in the media/journalism field for the future. For the meeting, I wore my suit and one of my nicer ties, gelled my hair to get the perfect comb, and wore shoes that I have only worn for church and funerals. I walked in the interviewer's office, shook his hand, looked him directly in the eye, and answered every one of his questions with clarity, honesty, and crisp responses. 45 minutes later, we shook hands once again, and I walked out of the office confidently. 


When I'm in situations like that, I go into Don Draper Mode. What is DDM, you ask? It's the attitude that you have to carry when you need to make an impression. With the people who have had great influence on my life -- real of fictitious -- I have accumulated enough information and advice that I can be able to go into any scenario and feel comfortable in it. I find myself wearing suits and ties more often, strutting around with a grin on my face as wide as my Windsor knot. The reason I became so gravitated to Mad Men and Don Draper (hey guys read this old column on Mad Men from last year so you can understand how obsessed with it I am) is because of the class that the show exhibits, not to mention how beautiful the series is to look at. The characters hold such moxy and confidence, that it is impossible to watch without wanting to be them. Because of that, DDM becomes the new norm when I'm in a job interview, or shaking someone's hand, or talking to an attractive woman, or drinking expensive scotch and smoking a cigar. And it will continue from there in the foreseeable future.  

I got a call a few days ago, telling me that I didn't get the job. Disappointed, I know that things like that are going to happen. It's a given. But I felt like I had an excellent interview, and I know that going into the future, I'll get my shot. 

Now, as to why I am writing this column. Today, I woke up and went to the Tim Horton's by my apartment. I waited in line, debating between a regular or a double double, when I glanced at my left and saw what I can only describe as a man close to my age, who looked like J-Roc from Trailer Park Boys. He had baggy jeans, a snap-back labeled with a word that was in a font I couldn't read, a chin-strap, a neck tattoo, and shoes that I don't think anyone of any style would find stylish. The thing was, it wasn't just his appearance that irked me; if it was just him wearing those clothes and ordering a coffee and leaving, I wouldn't have thought anything of it. It would have just been another person who came-and-went in my lifetime. It was the fact that he was slouched over with a stupid grin on his face, texting on his iPhone, with music blaring through his headphones that sounded like some dude in his basement trying to be Lil' Jon. 

I stood there in anger, unable to handle how cool this kid thought he was. I wanted to challenge him to a fight right there, and embarrass him in front of the whole store. I wanted to be Edward Norton to his Jared Leto in Fight Club. I walked to the counter on the right and made my order, then waited to the side, staring across the restaurant and still hating the guy. While I waited for what felt like an eternity for a goddamn breakfast sandwich, a woman came out of the bathroom and walked by me to get in line; I forgot everything that had just happened moments ago, and just kept staring at the woman. My fingers and this keyboard can't do you, the reader, enough justice as to how gorgeous she was. She wasn't even hot, she was beautiful. Stunning. Breathtaking. Etcetera, etcetera. 

She ordered a tea (even the way she politely asked for her order, then paid for it, followed by how she said "keep the change"...I think I'm in love) and waited on the other side near the douche-nozzle. Oh man, the contrast between the two was indescribable; it was grade school t-ball versus the New York Yankees. Damn did she look goo- wait. Wait, why is he putting his arm around her? Wh-, but, wait, no, don't kiss him, don't do it don't do it don't HOLY FUCK THEY'RE A COUPLE. 

OH DER'S K-FED GOIN' FOR A DART
I refused to believe it. I mean, how could she do that? What in the world was going on? How could K-Fed 2.0 (see: right) acquire such a modern-day Goddess? 

I was floored. I got my food and left, going straight home and still attempting to process what had just happened. The fact that I knew a man -- no, boy -- could be with someone so unbelievable made me want to put my fist through a wall. I wasn't even mad at the fact that I couldn't have her; it was the fact that he could have her. 

It's been 12 hours since the incident, and the image of K-Fed 2.0 holding hands with our generations version of Rita Hayworth is still burned into my mind. Yet, despite hating this man to the very core of my soul, something has built up inside of me that I would never have guessed in a million years. 

Respect.

K-Fed, even though I want to slam his head against a wall, could be the nicest guy the world has ever seen. Now, the odds of that actually being true are slim-to-none. More likely, the girl is having one of those phases where she likes "bad boys" and this is one of those moments. But I don't know that. I'll never know that. Him dressing up like that could be his way of acting out to all those around him throughout his life, and he may end up being exactly what I described in the second paragraph of this very article. I don't know that. 

After realizing this, it hit me that I may stir up the same reaction from others when they see me in the midst of DDM. An older gentleman may see this 19-year-old boy trying to look like something out of Wall Street, and be left with nothing to do but shake his head. "Who is he trying to impress?", an onlooker might be asking themselves. When I try to talk to a woman while in DDM, they may scoff at the arrogance and cockiness that yours truly gives off. Who knows?

While I still hate snap-backs and chin-straps, today was the day that I hated them just a little bit less. You'll never catch me wearing an "OBEY" hat, but you'll never catch me picking a fight with someone who is. Not anymore, at least. 

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