From nursery school to the nursing home, the interpersonal landscape of all our lives is thick with people we don’t particularly like. Coworkers, neighbors, friends of friends – there will always be those whom we must simply tolerate. It is an inevitability of symbiosis, one that has been present since before humans could speak, much less function long enough to need assisted living.
Those in tune with social cues are often cognizant of the instances in which they are the subjects of begrudging association. With the arrival of the 21st century and the integration of social networking, however, this absence of goodwill is now verifiable. It need not be so dramatic an declaration as creating groups dedicated to the hatred of specific individuals, so much as denying a friend request or removing someone to whom status has already been granted. This kind of slap in the Face – book – is not exclusive to Mark Zuckerberg’s creation, but evident in all virtual communities.
The 140 character musings of most Tweeters are open for public consumption; therein the snub lies not in the withholding of viewing privileges but the absence of returning the follow. Such inaction tweets volumes and smarts especially so when persisted despite public mention by a new follower, mention which even when returned still does not guarantee reciprocation.
A novice to the medium, I let him stroll on by the first time he crossed my literal path, on Santa Monica Boulevard one Friday night mere days after I discovered his luxuriant witticisms
My crush had waned from sexual to professional admiration by the aforementioned adventure; but even after a subsequent back ‘n’ forth, his slight endures and the sting lingers. And it’s not just he, but other Tweeps with whom I have been smitten, men and women alike. I wouldn’t quite claim a #trend, but it appears as though the adage does not always prove true. @ and you will not necessarily receive – a follow.
The dis transcended the digital yet again when I bumped into Djimon and his penis posse at West Hollywood’s poppiest danceteria, two weeks back.
“You follow me on Twitter,” Skinny Greathair sighed as he shook my hand, taking a drag from the cigarette in his other.
“I was just thinking the same thing,” I laughed. “But I wasn’t sure if I should say anything. What’s the etiquette, yah
“I recognize you from your picture.”
Interesting, I should have replied, because you don’t follow me. Instead I settled on, “Huh,” and excused myself back to my own troop of amateur dancers.
“You’re so put off,” my roommate is flabbergasted.
She tends to distort my intentions. I claim umbrage more than outrage. It would be unrealistic, not to mention clinically narcissistic, to expect everyone to have a taste for the tantalizing treat that is my personality. I am aware of that.
Nevertheless – specifically @cknowledged or not, these comtweetriots and their ilk are implying that I, that we aren’t intriguing or insightful or inspiring enough to appear on their homepage, much less list us for rapid access.
Twits will always be a twitter, though, Tweeps. So shake off, but not necessarily remove, the haters and continue to follow the beat, the click, of your own tweet.