As pretty, young, privileged Americans, we all have one thing in common: a sense of entitlement. We think that by merely existing, we deserve the special treatment we get, and sometimes, we take it for granted. Sometimes, we overestimate ourselves. Sometimes, we think, that regardless of how horrid we act, people will still do what we want them to do. After all, that’s how it goes for the hot girl in movies. She gets her way, because she’s fabulous. It doesn’t matter how wretched she acts. Newsflash, people: that’s not real. Or if it is, it’s not real for us. It’s real for supermodels, and celebrities, not your everyday pretty girl. None know that better than the TSM staff and writers. We decided to share our humiliating tales about when sass has failed us. Maybe you will learn from them, but at the very least, you’ll get a good laugh at our expense.
To read last week’s installment of Backfired Friday (which actually came out on a Thursday), CLICK HERE.
During a dry spell (LOL), I found myself with a not-boyfriend. We’ll call him Tosh. He visited on weekends, conveniently forgot alcohol, but still felt it was permissible to stay for an extended shack. I was blind to his trickery. One weekend, we were bored and decided that “daring” each other to do things at a bar would heighten the excitement of the evening. It started small. I dared him to do three shots in a row. He dared me to get a guy to buy me (and him) a drink. Then, I had to take things to the next level, because of course.
Let me rewind and say that my blood contains 100 proof sass at all times. There is always a bitchy, power-anthem playing in my mind. What can I say, it’s a blessing and a curse. I digress.
I was so confident that I had this boy under wraps. The alcohol convinced me that I was the only girl that was “fun” enough for him. So, without a moment’s hesitation I said. “I don’t even care. You could hit on anyone and I wouldn’t even blink. Go up to any girl and make out with her. I could find another guy instantly.” BOY, was I wrong.
The next thing I knew, he turned around and walked over to another girl. She was a total uggo. Just kidding, she was a regulation hottie. Like a scene out of a movie, he started a passionate MO and my jaw dropped to the floor. It was awful and I was mortified because all of my besties had watched this entire scenario unfold. I brought this upon myself. I LITERALLY told him to make out with someone else. The night was ruined, AND it gets better.
Turns out, this sneaky harlequin kept texting him for WEEKS. And I couldn’t be upset because I had already said my piece about how I felt. Eventually it got uncomfortable and
I decided to he ended things. One utterance out of my mouth cost me my dignity for a few days. It was sass gone wrong and taught me the golden rule: Sass others only how you would be sassed in return.
I could not seem to escape the creepiest of creepers. In the words of Meg from Hercules, he seemed to think that no meant yes and get lost meant “Take me! I’m yours!” I tried to go “say hello to a friend who’d just walked in.” I tried to excuse myself to “use the restroom.” I pulled every escape trick in the book, but I couldn’t shake him. He followed me around like a puppy…if that puppy looked like a mangey possum.
The desperate attention this guy was giving me overinflated my already rather large ego, giving me the confidence, no, the entitlement, to walk up to the most attractive guy in the room and ask him to “PLEASE help me escape this psychopath who wouldn’t leave me alone.” The beautiful man looked at me, and looked at my pet.
“You mean my little brother?”
A normal person would have apologized profusely. I said, “I guess so! What would make him think this is okay?”
“Certainly not your personality!”
Ouch. He was right. Luckily, my roommates had found me, took my hand, and led my stunned and thoroughly deflated self away. If the memory weren’t so hazy, I’m sure it would sting.
I’ve been to Senior Week every year since freshmen year, so by the time my own came along, I considered myself something of an expert on it. I began day three of senior week at about noon. All the seniors had had a crab feast, at which the alcohol was plentiful. To top it off, one of my best friends had just been dumped by her long-term boyfriend (total man bitch), so needless to say, it was my absolute duty to get white girl wasted.
Throughout the day, Man Bitch continued to stare at our table, making rude comments whenever we were within earshot. I got sick of it and rose to the occasion.
“Excuse me, dipshit,” I screamed as I power-walked up to him. “I suggest you take whatever dick it is you have shoved up your ass right now, and put it in your mouth, because I don’t want to hear another fucking word out of you.” I was already feeling pretty proud of myself for that analogy. “You’re not even being an asshole right now, you’re being a bitch. So why don’t you do this entire fucking bar a favor, and go fuck yourself, so nobody has to listen to you whine like a little girl.”
Just as I was about to storm off, a victor, it happened. He poured his beer on me. I expected him to sulk out of there after my epic speech, but I was the one soaked in Natty Light, humiliated. Someone might have even cheered. I bowed out, less than gracefully, but made it a point to console my crying friend, beer-soaked or not. The worst part? They got back together. Weekly dinners are awkward.
If you’ve got a backfired sass story to share, send it to us through the submission form, or email it to firstname.lastname@example.org. All stories will be made anonymous (or by username per request). Try to keep it under 500 words. Thou shalt not judge lest ye be judged.