don't knock it till you try it: nonconsensual friendship

One day during my freshman year of college, some random dude approached me in the cafeteria.

"Hey, you're Shannon, right?"

I confirmed that I was.

"Yeah, Jason's told me all about you." He folded his arms across his chest and stared at me, letting me imagine, I suppose, just what that might mean.

I gazed longingly at my preferred solo spot in Kagin (behind the pillar next to the dessert table) but I knew, with a sinking feeling in my heart, that today I would not have the luxury of dining alone.

My initial impressions of "Gordon" were mixed. When he first approached I assumed he was harmless--so closely did he resemble a 12-year-old boy. But then he launched into it, and he immediately established himself as one of my most despised collegiate types--the big talker. He wasted little time letting me know all about his love of Foucault and "Brit pop" (surprise, surprise, what with his soon-to-be-revealed habit of ending every conversation with a studiously offhanded "cheers").

As is often the case with these types, I noticed that he didn't bother to ask me anything about myself. Another thing I noticed was the notable discrepancy between how cool he thought he was and how cool he actually was. I mean, seriously. Those glasses! That sweatshirt! But the aura of condescension was undeniable. "Oh right," I realized. "Another dude who feels smugly superior to me."

So it can only be explained as one of life's mysteries how I ended up being friends with this guy. Unlike a traditional friendship, with a slow-ish courtship phase where you get to know each other and figure out if you're really "meant to be", Gordon was just suddenly there, like a mango fly. One minute I was minding my own business, smoking cigarettes alone on the quad, and the next, Gordon was inviting himself over to my parents' house for dinner.

"So, do you ever go visit your parents on the weekend?" (I was a townie, he was from some other state.)

"Well, yeah, um, sometimes..." I mumbled, trying to sound noncommittal.

"How about this weekend? Ask your parents if I can come over for dinner this weekend."

I did not ask my parents if Gordon could come over for dinner that weekend, but when they invited me over a few weeks later, I halfheartedly mentioned that a "friend" of mine was really eager to invite himself over. My parents were always interested in meeting my friends, so they thought this was a fine idea. A sense of creeping dread set in.

I remember nothing of the dinner, but I do remember how, shortly after we arrived at my parents' house, Gordon asked them if they had any records. (Of course he was a DJ.) They indicated that yes, they did have some records. Gordon asked where they were; my parents replied that they were in the basement. Gordon then descended straightaway into the lower level, where he remained for about 45 minutes.

He eventually re-emerged with a stack of LPs. "I'm going to borrow these," he announced.

"Um," I said, my way of protesting righteously.

"Okay, sure, you can borrow those..." said my mom, trying to be nice.

I was mortified; he took the records.

Sometime in the weeks that followed I had a falling out with Gordon that involved junior-high-girl social scheming and double crossing. I was livid. I hadn't even consented to the frienship, and now he was sabotaging it? I went over to his apartment to retrieve my parents' possessions.

After accounting for the records, I made an attempt to confront him about his actions. The exchange went something like this:

Me: "I can't believe the way you lied."

Gordon: "What are you talking about? I didn't lie about anything. I don't know what you're talking about."

Me: "You know, there's just no denying that you lied. Can't you just say you're sorry?"

Gordon: "I didn't lie about anything, you're delusional, your anger is just a 're-action' to you're white American middle-class positionality, etc. etc."

Me: "God, you're pretentious! I will never speak to you again."

And in the year that followed, I was true to my word, despite sharing at least two classes with Gordon and numerous mutual acquaintances. At the time, I was aware that my resolve was juvenile, and maybe (extremely) petty.

You would think that, with the passage of time, my take on the matter might have changed--that perhaps I would look back wistfully, wishing that my younger, less generous self had embraced the spirit of forgiveness and consented to at least make eye contact.

But plenty of time has passed, and looking back, I'm even more sure that I did the right thing. With people like that, zero tolerance is the only policy. Here's to choosing your own friends!