NORMAL LIFE: The Stoic

What started as a series of harmless flirts using the firm's online chatting system seems to have escalated into a bitchy, cyber catfight resulting in a total dislike of a guy who portrayed himself in one light on day then, weeks later, in a totally different light.

We met, but didn’t (read here) sometime ago. He was eyeing me up in the bar then, the next day, I saw him walking around in the office. A few weeks later, after curiosity had got the better of me, I emailed him in the US to ask if it was really him who was in a certain bar a few weeks back. He confirmed that it was, told me he was coming to Finland again during the winter and that it would be great to meet up.

Then, he looked kind of normal, a bit large, but otherwise normal; he sported a goatee beard, looked masculine and seemed, like I say, normal. This week, he has worked in the same building as I and, apparently, has seen me several times in the canteen at lunch time, but hasn't said hello. In a twisted logic, he has pinged me several times online, accusing me of ignoring him when, in fact, I haven’t even seen him.

After assuring him that I wasn't ignoring him, we had an online chat (ridiculous, I know, since he was somewhere in the building, but he wouldn't tell me where). We started talking about personal stuff: my experiences in Finland, and his wish to return to Finland. He claimed that he would give one of his testicles to get an EU passport and I shared my favourite quote, by John Cleese: “The difference between England and America is this: when we have a World Series, we actually invite other countries.” This provoked him - which was my intention - and his reply was classic: “Last year, we invited Canada!” to which I retorted: “Well, that’s progress I supposed, but they are North Americans too!”

We chatted quite unprofessionally. I admit that now, in hindsight. What a virtue hindsight is. Why weren’t humans equipped with far more superior foresight? He tells me he is a published poet, and I am intrigued; I can 'process' poetry and asked him to send some, which he did immediately by email. I was shocked by the content: there were references to how we, ‘the creations of the Absolute have failed Him’ followed by a reference that ‘love must end in failure, otherwise there is nothing’. In another poem, he is writing a letter to a dead friend and he asks: ‘Why does great happiness and great sadness always walk hand in hand?’ In another verse of the same poem, he writes: ‘Love is a dangerous beauty [which] imprisons us [and] tries to drown us.’ Apparently, in the end, ‘Death captures us’. I’m thinking to myself two things: is this the kind of stuff a colleague should send another colleage? And I’ve concluded that this guy isn’t stoic, he is like a piece of dead wood, unfeeling. In short, his poems emphasized the dangers of love and the nearness of death.

Forever the polite Englishman, I don’t tell him what I am really thinking. Instead, I comment on how remarkably ‘deep’ he is, what profound depth there is in his prose. Unbeknownst to him, I’m humoring him. He is so self-absorbed that he gratefully absorbs my feedback, no doubt receiving the cyber pat on the back gladly. I tell him that I have a blog, where I document a lot of my experiences in Finland. I offer him the link, but he claims he wouldn’t have time to read it. So much for ‘sharing’! Alread, I sense that this friendship will be a one-sided one. I just didn’t think that such one-sidedness would become apparent so early in a prospective friendship. We continued.

Taking the conversation further, I ask if he is religious. The stoic, so he proudly styles himself, tells me that he’s a something-monk and a newly ordained jew and I realize that I have bitten off more than I can really chew. I can’t handle religion as a subject and, without really thinking (which is very me, from time to time), I tell him I am an Atheist, but point out that I strongly believe in Kylie Minogue, that she is my godess! Well, he started it and why should I feel bad about not harbouring any religious sentiment? Since we were both gay, we started discussing the old-as-time conflict between homosexuality and religion, debating whether or not being gay is genetic or somehow pre-ordained, or is it a choice? We both agree it’s not a choice, but I am quickly losing interest in this guy. He is too serious for me, and is using the wrong platform - a company chat application - for this kind of conversation.

Trying to lighten the mood, I asked him what he was going to do tonight. We had kind of agreed that I would keep him company that evening, but I was seriously starting to doubt our compatibility on a social level. We spoke about the gay bars in Helsinki and, he quite rightly got the impression that I was a wild boy, someone who has played the field during his first thirty years. In the meantime, he has portrayed himself as virginal, a monk, a Jew and I’m sensing that we don’t actually have anything in common. I remind him of my business meeting with a US contact, likely to last until 9pm, hoping that he will make other arrangements; if we meet, I know I will start an argument, fearful of being held hostage by another religious fanatic like a couple of years ago in Tampere (see Flashback 39 here, scroll to the bottom of the new page).

In short, he has high moral fibre whereas I don’t. He is religious, I am not. He is an ignorant American, I am a cosmopolitan internationalist – albeit a proud Brit - in comparison. He is deep, favouring poetry whereas I have Kylie Minogue's Greatest Hits playing in the background in my apartment most nights. He is grossly overweight whereas I am not. He now sports a beard – I saw him in the canteen today - which reminds me to Topol from Fiddler On The Roof. I have a smoothly shaved head and face. He is chalk, I am cheese. I am night, he is day.

At home last night, I ate my dinner alone; Bree was working late and I was wondering, starting to blame myself, which is something I always do. My mobile phone beeped, signalling that a text message had arrived. The stoic has written to me: ‘Thanks for remembering my birthday, by the way. Whatever.’ I respond, telling him that I won't join him tonight. I realised, the minute he sent that message, that the guy was nuts. I mean, I have never actually met him face-to-face so why would I really give a fuck when his birthday is?

It was a friendship that never stood a chance on leaving the ground. But I learnt two things: don’t flirt with a colleague, and don’t let being gay be a uniting factor, an attribute that you hope will drive a friendship.