The Difference Between Men and Women
A subject which has had a lot written about it by so-called experts, but they, in all honesty don’t know a damn thing. It is experience of a very specific nature which gives you the insight to understand the difference between the two.
[Early caveat, for reasons that will become obvious I am writing this drunk. Typos, therefore inevitable]
Wednesday.
Middle of the week. A good day by and large, and this Wednesday, today, started out particularly well. From waking up, grabbing a shower to getting a lift into work I was in a Good Mood™. A mood which stuck with me in the morning, where I decided finally to tackle the current negative vibe on one of the games I look after head on. It takes a positive mood to do such things, as more often than not such an endeavor leads you simply to want to smash your face against the wall.
Lunchtime comes around and the sun is shining, birds are singing (I assume) and I figure that rather than walk down the hill to the other campus at work to get lunch I’ll use my scooter.
I even glibly announce to subservient minion #1 that I’m doing so for precisely that reason, and he basks in the radiance of my good mood also for that brief moment.
I set off on my scooter and, even though it’s been a few months since my last outing on said mode of transport, feel good enough to go Top Speed going down the hill.
I offer a friendly wave to the lady who says “it’s a lot easier going downhill” as I whizz past her, then notice a car coming the opposite way up the hill.
At this point I take a small note to clarify the terrain. There is a pedestrian path on this road, but it is made of gravel and is therefore unsuitable for scooter activity, as such a man on a scooter must use the road or scooting is off the agenda. To make matters a little more exciting due to the way the assholes who work at Samsung park their cars I am also obliged to scoot on the wrong side of the road.
Yes indeed, dear reader, a recipe for Excitement™. As such when there is a car heading up the hill while you are coasting down it you should take evasive action. Which is precisely what I did today.
Immediately after waving to said friendly woman I spotted an approaching car heading up the hill. Usually at this point said car will move out a little to give me some space – this one did not do so, so I was faced with the choice of becoming a hood ornament or conducting a “controlled bail”. I chose the latter, badly.
Little scooter ground along concrete before digging its front wheel into dirt, sending me sailing (yes sailing – the team and I conducted a swift CSI a little later to examine what happened) 12 feet through the air into the road face first at a speed of somewhere between 15 and 20 MPH.
This incredible feat of manly stuntwork yielded the impressive results of a fairly scraped and pranged up head (breaking my specs in the process), one mangled hand (not sure if it’s broken, but I’m a man so you won’t get me in a hospital while I can still run), a goodly scraped wrist and a slight ding in the knee.
Naturally there was some consternation from the Korean car driver. No offense to Koreans in the slightest, but their style of driving differs a little to those from the UK. Stuff like, getting out of the way of an eejit on a scooter, that kind of thing, isn’t covered by standard etiquette. This driver did indeed stop after probably witnessing my airborne antics through their rear view mirror, but like any good skater I immediately bounced to my feet with a grin and a happy thumbs up and a yell of “I’m fine!”
I’m actually not entirely fine. There is a good chance I’ve broken my hand, but that’s not the point.
Anyway, after this glorious event I started to detect a pattern.
After being patched up by a fairly helpful security guy at work I went to grab some lunch and get on with my day (although with only one good hand this is kinda tricky). I am well known at work, and so people have no issue coming up and talking to me. But, as mentioned a definite pattern emerged.
And this is where we come to the title of this piece.
I have received comments from around a dozen men and a dozen women on the fairly visible injuries sustained, but the difference between the genders is distinct.
The men will approach and say “Woah, what did you do?” and want a graphic and stats laden description of the entire story. The women meanwhile will ask “On no! What happened to you?” requiring details on how much it hurts.
The difference is not in the details they request or imply they’re requesting. The big difference, and this is 100% in the 25ish test cases today is the “what did you do” versus “what happened to you”.
You see, men know instinctively that any time some bloke gets fucked up royally he was undoubtedly doing something idiotic to encourage that to happen. This could be spilling the pint of another bloke, attempting a cliff dive, or indeed performing a controlled bail from a scooter in the face of oncoming traffic. A man knows this is 99% likely to have been the cause, does not attribute blame and somewhat envies the fact that I was doing something wreckless and stupid while they were attending a budget meeting.
Indeed should my injuries have resulted from being hit by the car while walking, the answer to the question “what did you do?” would have been “I got hit by a car!” And note this well, this was no passive activity, this would have been described in terms of me having done some Hollywood stuntman work on the bonnet of the car. Again, my choice. Doing something stupid. Being manly.
Women meanwhile are interested only in what happened to me. A passive question, implying nothing other than that something happened to me. So why is this?
My supposition is that to women, the concept of Being A Proper Man is entirely foreign to them. Fucking yourself up by doing something stupid is, to them, stupid. However to men it is the demonstration of the hunter/gatherer still going strong. A clear sign that somewhere, somehow men are doing what they’re supposed to be doing. Not sat behind a desk, they’re out there kicking ass, taking names, getting mutilated.
Here’s a sample of conversation and the male/female equivalent :
Me : …so I landed on my face!
Male : Shit!
Female : Owwww!
Me (in pain) : Owwwww.
Male : *laughs* You wanker.
Female : Awwwww!
Me (looking at fucked hand) : My hand is fucked.
Male : *looks* Ouch. Nasty.
Female : *sad face* Want me to take you to hospital?
No I do not want you to take me to hospital. I do not want to go to hospital. To do so would imply that I am in pain. And while I may be in pain I CAN TAKE IT BECAUSE I AM A MAN. I do however reserve the right to bitch about it as much as possible. The only way you’ll get me into hospital is if : 1 – I’m unconcious, 2 – The bleeding gaping hole is larger than any of the bandaid we have, or 3 – I suspect I might have actually really fucked myself up. Anything short of that and I’LL BE FINE JUST LEAVE ME ALONE WOMAN. And get me a drink. And a sandwich. I’m just going to lie on the sofa and watch war movies. And complain a bit. STOP SOOTHING ME I DON’T WANT SOOTHING OH actually that’s quite nice, you can keep doing that…
And so on.
Additionally I do not want pain killers. If you take pain killers any time you have any kind of minor sniffle or skuffle you’ll resist their effects. When I take pain killers I want them to work because I’ll need them to work. Instead I’ll nail a bottle of scotch to numb the effects of being a man.
Like I have done this evening.
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