Agendas. Ick.
 

Women in particular have a great deal of experience detecting ulterior motives.

It's really no wonder. Guys have been approaching them virtually their whole lives in countless ways, essentially wanting the same thing – sexytime.

There's a word women use for this that really encompasses the meaning well: Creepy

 

Photo: @lazzarello
 

But it's not just women who can smell a sales pitch before a single word is uttered.

Just about urrbody knows that uncomfortable feeling when someone is trying to ‘get something' from them.
 

It's hella annoying.
 
Counterintuitive though it may seem, the best way to actually get ‘it' may be to stop wanting it.

It's a facet of human nature that we instinctively recognizzle but that acculturation renders utterly confusing.
 
Why?
 
Because in the west we're taught that wanting, striving, getting pushing, obtaining are the verbs of a Winner; a Success.

 
But what happens when you're the agendee?
 

If you've lived in a big city before you've probably encountered many a bum. (See Is Your City Bringing You Down?)

Some panhandlers are downright aggressive in trying to get money from you.

 

Photo: @kim_scarborough
 
They stare at you intensely and ask – nay, demand – you give them money.

They might even yell resentfully after you if you don't spare some change.

It can feel like a complete stranger is staking a claim on you.

I'm NOT suggesting you don't help the less fortunate; quite the opposite.

But perhaps a short anecdote can illustrate my point more effectively.

 
One day I'm walking to Starbucks and this dude runs up to me.
 

I could tell he wanted something from me; it was written all over him. In his body language, voice tone and scripted-sounding conversation.
 

Photo: @Invisible Hour
 

“Man, I saw you comin' out of the building, man. I live thurr too! Man, we can be friends!”

” . . . Naaaww, I'm good.”

“Well maybe I'll see you later, then?”

“Maybe . . . “

 

Next day I'm chillaxin' in a next door hotel lobby drinking an Anchor Steam and working on my computer when this same fucking guy comes in and starts accosting people.

I glance over and we make eye contact.

Damnit.

He takes that as a warm invitation to come over to me.

 
Let me pause here and point out that this guy is high as shit.
 

That's no sin in my book book but on top of that, he's sweating unnaturally when the hotel lobby feels like a tundra.

Good thing I have my earbuds in. Hah! Impenetrable, insuperable protection from jerks.

He comes over acting all “who me, what could I want?” and keeps shifting around in an armchair for his chance to engage me.

I ignore him and keep working but he clearly wants something from me. I don't know what it is, but if I have it, he's not getting it.

This goes on 30 minutes.

This guy is starting to piss me off and I consider making a scene.

The concierge is nearby and I want to take my earbuds out and say:
 
“Do you have a fucking problem or something?”
 
You know – Tony Soprano style.

And then extra loud:

“Stop following me around. I'm not going to buy your drugs and I don't believe in friendship.”

But then I recall the sage words of Lao Tzu:

“Don't be a putz.”

This guy is obviously loco and will stab me.

And he knows where I live.

 
So finally he says:

“Hey man! ‘Member me?? Ay, you wanna go to a party up in my apartment?”

” . . . No. I'm busy working. Please leave me alone.”

Then he looks around furtively and, sotto voce says:

“Dis . . . dis gon be a SEX party!”

“No. I'm busy.”
 

Yeah. That's what I want to do tonight. Go to a sex party with some dirty man who looks like he's stayed up all week doing meth.

I told myself that if this guy bothers me again, I don't give a fuck, he's getting head butted ala Zinedine Zidane.

My societally-repressed thirst for violence was partially rekindled by the article by “Why I started punching jerks again,” recommended on Tim Ferriss' 4 Hour Work Week Blog.

I began brainstorming which move in my Jiu-Jitsu arsenal I was gonna take him down with.

 

Photo: @ArtBrom
 

Of course, punching people nowadays = lawsuits and such. Bummer.

I guess I'll just let it go for now.
 

So whether it's a used car salesman, a desperate bachelor/ette who's been single for way too long, or the bastards at nationalcreditreport.com, (fuck you guys with something hard and sandpapery!) please drop the agenda.

It's smelly and will backfire all over you.
 

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