My Villain Origin Story (pt 1)
A college hook up buddy receives a lesson in humility
Hello! So happy you’re here. Really. In fact, to show that appreciation and an in an effort to take more calculated risks, I thought it’d be fun to start a short story series recounting times I didn’t take any sh*t. I’ve been very inspired lately by my friends posting their raw, not-perfect writing, which has resonated and reminded me of the beauty in art. And don’t we all need a little bit more of that right now? Getting in touch with our humanity? I certainly think so.
But first, a bit of housekeeping and some news. I decided to take a break from the fund I started, which is very bittersweet. Both applications and donations had been dwindling, and I said I was only going to continue through the new year. I’m also very happy to report that we were able to give everyone funds who had been waitlisted. So, it felt like it was time. I received lots of well wishes, made a gratitude list (that I may or may not share at some point), and changed my venmo picture and username. Changing my venmo profile was probably the thing that made it feel the most real. It was also the thing that made me realize how much of my identity and self has been wrapped up in this for the last 6 months. Morgan Harper Nichols thankfully posted a beautiful graphic, which pretty much captures how I feel about it.
Other fun things from this week: I saw my amazing writers’ group / former co-captains, I saw two friends whose presence feels like medicine, I turned in my feature to my new manager (who is also killing it in other ways I can’t really say, but I feel supported in my career in a way that I’ve also been missing for awhile), I set some intentions with the new moon, my son is reading 10 words now, and I finally signed him up for karate. How was your week… What were your highlights?
Okay… here’s the story:
A College Hook-Up Buddy Receives a Lesson in Humility
My freshman year of college, a friend of mine in my Intro to Film class asked if I wanted to help him write, produce, and co-star in a short he was writing. I was in fucking film school… my answer was a resounding hell-fucking-yes. The script was exactly what you’d expect from a freshman in a California state-school— a jazz cafe owner falls in love with the local mobster’s “gal” (played by yours-truly) and a war breaks out. We shot it in our college’s orange grove at night, and I got to wear a short skirt, knee-highs, a beret, and smoky eye-makeup. I also got to make-out with multiple cast-mates. What a dream.
One of those cast-mates, I started hooking up with off-camera. He was charismatic, confident, a theater major, and at the time, had long Jason-Momoa-like hair. We didn’t have any classes together that semester, but I already knew his reputation. All my friends had a crush on him. After spending a few days working on the short film with him, and then spending a few nights in his tiny dorm-room twin-bed, I could see why.
As the years went by, we would continue to hook up when we weren’t seeing other people (and sometimes when he was, unbeknownst to me). It was casual, it was fun, and for the first time since I had started having sex, I understood why some people raved about it. But, we also became good friends. We took classes together. We’d offer each other advice on projects, friends, and yes… sometimes dating (advice that was always felt a little awkward given our history.) He was cocky and confident… he was everything I wasn’t. Being around him felt special. And I think he knew that…
Somewhere around the end of our Sophomore year, it was a school requirement to take a speech course. The class was pretty simple: we’d write a speech, recite it for the class, and receive criticism from our professor about what we did wrong. For most people who abhor public speaking, it was a nightmare. For me, it was my favorite mandatory class. Anyone who has ever witnessed me give a Maid-of-Honor speech, or behind a megaphone, can attest to my natural talent in front of a crowd. I used to say it was because my father was a toast-master and so I grew up around it, but I also think certain people just have that charisma. I am one of those people… when I want to be and don’t let anxiety strip it away.
I excelled in this class— so much so, that my professor would continuously ask me to join the Speech and Debate team, something I continued to decline (I was nerd-adjacent, not full-nerd!) She finally convinced me to enter the speech and debate competition with my “Persuasive Speech” on “Free Speech and Nipple-Gate” and how Janet Jackson was unfairly persecuted for her role in it (sidenote: this was a VERY good speech). I agreed partly because I was so desperate for my toast-master’s dad’s approval at that point, and partly because I had just heard my hookup-buddy was going enter the competition.
We weren’t in the same class, but we were taking it during the same semester with different teachers. We had another class together, so we’d often read each other’s speeches and give notes. The way he recounted his professor asking him to participate in the competition, it was as if G-d himself had asked Jesus to sacrifice himself. He was so damn cocky about it, it honestly made my blood boil. That class in particular became a competition between us, at least in my mind, and the competition seemed like the place we were finally going to have a showdown.
We weren’t in the same category— but even going into the competition, he was convinced he was going to win. He had received a 96/100 on the speech, as he kept reminding me. I had received 94/100, which he also kept reminding me, and adding “You shouldn’t get your hopes up if you don’t place. You should feel honored just being here.” Dick.
I gave my speech and it was good. So good, in fact, that my wonderful cousin who attended the competition to support me, still mentions it almost 18 years later. I was proud, and in that moment I did feel honored to attend (and get to defend Ms. Jackson.)
After all the speeches were given, the participants were gathered in a classroom to await results. The hookup buddy sat in a desk in front of me, holding forth with anyone who would listen, while I tried to calm myself from both the come-down of public speaking, and the anxiety of waiting to be critiqued about it. He finally turned around to address me, and asked how it went.
“I think it actually went pretty good,” I replied.
He leaned over, and pat my hand in a very condescending way. We were only physical in his dorm room, never on campus.
“Well, it’s okay if you don’t place.” I knew it was, but him saying it felt extra shitty. Especially with that placating hand-pat. I smiled, and asked how he thought he did. The cocky bastard leaned back on the desk that was already too small for him, and put his hands behind his head.
“I definitely placed. Probably won the whole thing.”
He turned back around, and my face probably fell. This dude needs to be humbled, I thought. It wasn’t just about the competition; he had been leading my friends and I on for years. His ego was unchecked. I needed to be the one to check it.
His category was called. When they announced third place and his name wasn’t called, I thought he might be right and actually win the whole damn thing. Fuck.
Second place, and then first place were called, and unlike his prediction, he did not place. I resisted the urge to lean over and tell him, “it’s okay” but they were about to call my category.
They called “third place,” which was not me, and he had the audacity to turn around in that moment and apologize to me for not placing. They hadn’t even finished announcing my category! Second place was called and went to the person who gave the speech right before me, which I knew had been good… but not great. “Omg, I may actually win this thing.” And then they unthinkable happened…
“And in first place… Joelle Garfinkel!” Applause, including cheers from my cousin in the back. My hookup buddy was literally too stunned to move. I shakily stood to get my certificate from the front of the classroom. As I passed his desk, I let my hand linger on the surface. I wanted him to always remember that moment; how he doubted me, and I proved him wrong. And I wanted him to know I knew.
As I accepted my certificate, and turned back to look at rest of the room, he still sat in shocked silence. The look on his face— that humility, which I had craved and was swiftly served, was exhilarating. To be honest, I’ve been chasing that high ever since.