"I thought 'hello' might be warning enough. What can I do for you?" I move towards the back of the counter, but he blocks my way.
"I've...come to remind you whose world you're lucky enough to be allowed a part of."
Jason is not particularly short, nor is he particularly tall. I am, however, not far off six foot, so we stand eye-to-eye.
I'm not exactly sure what Jason is talking about, but I do wonder if he has, perhaps, been watching too many Andrew Tate videos.
I don't bother to give him the benefit of the doubt. I take a step forwards. "You're inmyworld now, Jason. And you are lucky enough tonotbe allowed part of it. Get out of my way."
Jason swallows. "No."
"Are you just going to stand there blocking my way, or are you going to tell me why you're here?"
The decision is clearly too much for him. He blinks, but neither moves nor says anything.
I cluck my tongue and push past him. Waking the computer, I check for any new orders. "Out with it, Jason, or leave."
He takes two noisy, hurried breaths, then says in a rush, "I was recognised on your TikTok and been given a whole lot of shit by my friends, my family, pricks online who don't even know me and are calling me a beta because I let a woman do that to me, and the police have come around to have a word about me doing burnouts. I've done nothing to you and you've ruined my life."
I stop and look up at him.
His chest rises and falls rapidly.
"You got some ribbing, you had a police warning and no charges, a bit of trolling from people who have no meaning in your life, and you've been called the type of man every woman wants, because none of them – news flash – are actually interested in alphaholes. It's hardly a life in ashes Jason."
He prods his chest. "I'm a victim."
"Yeah, of your own stupidity."
"You emasculated me." His voice rises and cracks on the second syllable of "emasculated".
"You were behaving inappropriately in a library and incriminated yourself by talkingat volumeabout shredding your tyres doing burnouts."
He pauses as if considering my words. And then ignores them. "I'm not a beta."
I sigh. "Ifthat whole alpha, sigma, beta bullshit were a scientifically-backed social hierarchy – and it's not – being an easygoing, sensitive guy is a good thing. It makes you a much better person."
"It makes me weak."
"It makes you the kind of person who might actually get a girlfriend."
Jason's eyes strain against the muscles anchoring them to his skull. "I've had girlfriends."
I raise an eyebrow and will myself not to blink.
He shoves his hands in his pockets, and after fifteen seconds of bravely accepting my challenge, loses. "Ihavehad girlfriends."
"A girlfriend who might be happy to actually stick around."
Jason's eyes narrow at this, like something's shifted within him. A changing of gears. A trigger switch. He pulls a hand out of his pocket and raises his fist towards me, finger pointing. "I'm sick of all your negging. I'm exactly the kind of man bitches fall over themselves for."
I wince. "Jason, is your mother happy about the way you talk about women?"
"I don't care what my mother thinks. She's a woman."
Of course he doesn't. Poor Jason. He's right. He is a victim. It's strange to view this other side of the social media influencing coin. That certain messages, repeated and shared enough can turn people into the ugliest versions of themselves.
At least, I hope it's the other side of the social media influencing coin. That my messaging can't be – hasn't been – interpreted in any kind of destructive way.
