You Don't Have To Be Nice To Win

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You Don't Have To Be Nice To Win

I have known a woman I will call Angela for years, but not well. I’ve always been curious about her and wondered if we might get along.

“You’re so brave,” T says to me, impressed with my willingness to always be on the lookout for connections.

“Stop trying to meet people,” says C, a BFF. “Your need to make new friends is your worst quality.”

They’re both right.

And so when it came to pass that I had a chance to put my best foot forward with Angela at a party a few weeks ago, to make her curious about me, I turned to a trusty old habit: talking shit.

It started innocently enough. Angela asked me if I knew the girlfriend of a mutual friend. Yes, I said, I like her a lot. Angela and I spoke in glowing terms about the girlfriend. When I felt we’d spent enough time in this arena, that I had established my bona fides as “someone who enthusiastically likes people who deserve it” I turned my attention to how much I disliked this mutual friend’s ex-girlfriend.

Well, it turned out that Angela liked her.