Looking for the best in the worst places
I am running a marathon.
And no, not a marathon that requires any sort of physical activity; that would be the last thing I would be doing. Instead, a marathon complete with hurdles, potholes and water breaks, which never seem to hydrate any part of my body.
The hardest, most rigorous part of the entire race is all of us are sprinting; sprinting towards the finish line with the shiny banner reading “And they lived happily ever after...” In this endless pursuit towards the trophy of the greatest man, why is it that nice guys always finish last?
My roommates and I seem to be the epitome of the damsels in distress none of us would ever admit to being. I wait every day for this week’s love interest to message me or Facebook chat me first, only to be disappointed when I finally take the initiative to start the conversation, just to find he has already logged offline.
All the while, the boy who asks me to volunteer with him at the soup kitchen Sunday or go get a risk-free coffee remains the furthest from my mind.
We spend our nights out staring uncontrollably at the boy with the biggest ego who is flirting with every girl in the room and persuading each of them to be his beer-pong partner, while the nice boy who genuinely walks up to ask your name, hobbies or major is completely disregarded.
Though the nice guy comes in handy when getting the lowdown on the jerk, I will never understand why our thoughts seem to remain this way, no matter how many times we get hurt.
Why do we even continue to waste our time when we know that one will be in a bedroom with the girl who was doing a kegstand by 10:30 p.m. as the nice guy waits to make sure she gets home okay? This conclusion is becoming more apparent every day as my roommates and I sulk over and scrutinize the latest jerk we are hanging out with.
The truth is we will sprint our hardest to pick up our gold medal, only to realize that the nice guys were the ones setting up the starting blocks at check-in.
I would like to think we are smarter than this — that we will sooner or later figure out while racing towards the finish line, perhaps taking a water break to talk to the good guy, kindly refilling your cup, could make all the difference.
