The Misogynist

After years of ignoring my bookstore, Clark, the cafe philosopher from next door, took a sudden interest in my operation.  That, or he realized he'd been passing up on an opportunity to bend someone else's ear.  I didn't know much about him, aside from the fact that he claimed to suffer from Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, owned an expensive touring bike which he used in -35c weather (complete with studded tires for driving on ice), and smoked a pipe.  He often leaned his bike up against the outside window of the bookstore, which drove me crazy, as it prevented customers from viewing books in the display case.  On many occasions I would see him outside in the dead of winter performing warm-up stretches before riding off.

During his cafe rantings I would overhear on occasion, he made it clear that he did not like women, yet it never ceased to amaze me that he held a certain celebrity with female university students, and they would gather to argue with him in the cafe.  I'd never exchanged a meaningful word with him.

"The only woman I ever loved was my mother...", he declared for all to hear in the store, as he sidled up and sat down at the counter.  There were only two other people in the store aside from me, a woman in her mid-forties with her teenage daughter.  As though he'd rehearsed the whole scene, he continued, "...north american women are 'bush bitches'... give me a good asian or eastern european woman any day!"

He'd almost finished absentmindedly stuffing the most repellent smelling tobacco into his pipe, and scanned the room as though gauging the response of his audience.  "Not in here", I said, adding, "There are only a few things I will not tolerate in my store, and misogyny is one of them - you can check that bullshit at the door... anyway, you can't smoke your pipe in here!"

The mother was now approaching the counter from the opposite side, unleashing a barrage of insults including the suggestion that maybe he "would have better luck with women if you didn't smell like an ashtray," concluding her remarks with, "How do you think anyone is going to let you talk like that in front of a young impressionable woman, you misogynistic asshole!"  She then returned to perusing the books in the literature section, leaving Clark stunned and speechless.  "I'm going to have to ask you to leave," I said.  He gave me one last look before he gathered up his bag of tobacco, put his pipe in his mouth and lit it as he went out the door.

The next day I was bagging a purchase for a regular customer when I saw him scooting through the front entrance.  Raising my hand like a crossing guard, I shouted, "NOT TODAY!"